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“Yes, but after the day I’ve had, I’m thinking Walker’s is a better choice. Let me get my bag.”
They walked out together, navigating the street leading from the university to the bar as they talked new scientific discoveries and argued about old ones. She was grateful she hadn’t worn her red heels today—but not very happy about Ford being absent. She missed him like crazy.
Sam filled her in about how he’d met the woman in his life and asked about her own relationships, but she wasn’t quite ready to discuss that. Especially since she wasn’t entirely sure where any of it was leading.
The days separating her and Ford had taught her one thing, though, and that was how she truly felt about him. But he deserved to hear it before old friends did.
The minute they entered Walker’s, Sam took her by the arm and led her through the dark maze of tables to a seat. Seconds after they were settled, a perky brunette took their order and bounced away.
“Some things never change,” Sam said, watching her go. “The servers here are perpetually twenty-one, and you always order a whiskey sour.” He smiled at Angelina.
She smiled back and then glanced around and froze. There at the bar sat Ford. He hadn’t told her he was off-duty, and her heart gave a hard pang as pain tore through her. But that was nothing compared to the shredding it received when a pretty dark-haired bartender leaned across the bar and kissed him.
∞∞∞
Ford heard the crash followed by a sharp cry he recognized as Angelina’s. His balls drew up tight at the sound, but he knew what she’d just witnessed.
He glared at Liberty. “Find someone else to make Ren jealous, dammit. I’m not your toy.”
Angelina was running toward the exit. The table where she’d been sitting was tipped over along with her chair. A tall man ran after her. “Angelina, wait,” he called.
Fury struck Ford. In two steps he had the man by the shirtfront and was shaking him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you? Let go of me.” Sam wrenched away and shot out the door after Angelina.
Ford stormed out too. She hadn’t made it far. She leaned against the building, arms wrapped around her middle and tears running down her face.
The man-made it to her first and drew her into his embrace. She didn’t move to put her arms around him, but the entire view sliced Ford in two. He’d been gone for a fucking week and she hadn’t hesitated to find male attention. She’d come to Walker’s on a goddamn date, and all he’d been doing was stopping to have a drink with his buddies after a long week of abusing their bodies in preparation for war.
But Liberty had kissed him and Angelina had witnessed it.
Dammit.
“I suggest you let go of my girlfriend,” Ford said in a hard voice.
She gasped, and the man loosened his hold. “Look, buddy, I don’t know anything about a boyfriend. Angelina and I are old friends.”
Before the words were out of his mouth, Ford gripped him by the shirt and cast him aside.
“Stop it! Sam is my friend,” she cried, her tears drying up as anger flushed her face and sparked in her eyes. She stepped up to Sam and hugged him. Ford growled low in his throat, but they didn’t break apart for a long minute.
Sam said something low to Angelina.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll come find you tomorrow to talk, all right?” She gave him a parting squeeze. The man glared at Ford before walking away.
Angelina stabbed a finger into Ford’s face. “What the hell are you doing with a bartender?”
“I could ask what the hell you’re doing withhim!”
She waved a furious hand. “Sam is an old friend who used to teach in my department. We were catching up after I hadn’t heard from my so-called boyfriend in a week, believing he was training. Instead, he’s in there kissing bartenders!”
“Liberty is an old friend too.”
Angelina spun on her sexy-as-sin heels and strode off. He caught her in two long steps and held her prisoner. “You aren’t walking away from me. You’ve got the wrong impression about me and Liberty.”
“Oh yeah? Well you have the wrong impression of me and Sam.”
He stared down into her face, his heart drumming wildly at the thought of losing her to a misunderstanding. “Look, I missed the fuck out of you.”
