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“Hey. Sorry I’m late. The tranny in that Camaro that came in last week is killing me.” Shane slid onto a bar stool and eyed Jackson’s burger with all the reverence it deserved. “Man, that looks good.”
“Help yourself,” Jackson said, sliding the plate over.
Shane promptly looked at Jackson as if he’d tried to give away his kid. “Okay, that’s not right. What gives?” His laugh was a cross between nonchalant joking and what’s-on-your-mind, but Jackson wasn’t in the mood for either.
“I ate a really late lunch.” Jackson signaled the redhead behind the bar and ordered a beer. When in doubt, a tall, cold one could always take the edge off.
“Bullshit. I’ve seen you put away one of Lou’s burgers on a full stomach more times than I can count. What’s going on?” Shane pinned Jackson with a dark stare.
So much for not going there. The bartender made her way over, her bottle opener sounding off in a muffled clink against the lip of the amber glass as she liberated the cap from his bottle of Budweiser.
“Nothing’s going on.” Maybe if he peppered the conversation with terse one-liners, Shane would lose interest or change the subject. It wasn’t like they tended to sit around and talk about their feelings much, anyway.
“Have you talked to Carly since I took her back to her car on Saturday?”
Or not.
“No.” The word came out sounding harder than Jackson intended, causing Shane’s brows to lift.
Great. Just what Jackson needed was the Spanish-freaking-Inquisition over this. Nothing had even happened.
Much to Jackson’s dismay.
After Carly had left the party—and who could blame her, really—every neuron in Jackson’s brain had screamed at him to find her and explain. He’d been knee-deep in formulating a fast excuse to follow her through the yard when it struck him like a steamroller on steroids.
Letting Carly leave was the perfect way to cut ties with her before things went from seriously hot to seriously heavy. She was married—separated, but still—and he sure as hell was never going down that road. Plus, it was pointless to start something he wasn’t going to finish. Better to just let it fade out now, even if he looked and felt like an asshole.
Jackson shifted in his seat, the unforgiving wood of the bar stool making his back ache. There was something else, something dark and suggestive that lurked in the back of his mind and refused to let go. Carly was the only woman he’d ever wanted so much, he’d lost control trying to have her.
And so he couldn’t pursue her. Plain and simple.
Despite all that, the thought of not seeing her safely to her car on Saturday night had rankled, to the point that Jackson had pulled Shane aside not two minutes after she’d walked away to ask him to do it. God love him, Shane had driven Carly back to her car, no questions asked. It was the last they’d spoken of it. Until now.
“Are you planning on seeing her again?” Shane propped his forearms on the bar and dug into the cheeseburger.
Even though he hadn’t come right out and admitted to Shane that anything had really gone on, clearly his buddy could read between the lines. And since those lines all pointed to the past tense, anyway, refuting the facts just seemed insulting.
“I don’t think so.” Jackson took another draw from his beer, making a face at the bottle as he swallowed. Beer wasn’t supposed to go down like motor oil, but whatever. Everything he’d touched to his lips lately had tasted terrible.
Shane chewed for a minute before continuing. “Look, if you want to drop the subject, just say so. But from where I sit, it looks like it might do you some good to air it out.”
Jackson bit back the urge to compliment Shane on his skirt. Truth was, the whole thing was weighing him down like a truckload of wet cement. It might not be his usual style, but throwing the story out there for Shane was a far cry from getting all touchy-feely. Christ, at this point, he’d do anything to stop feeling like shit and get his freaking appetite back.
“You remember that storm we had a couple of weeks ago, right?” Jackson started, taking a deep breath. Twenty minutes, two Cokes and the full story later, Shane pushed back from the bar with a low whistle.
“Gotta hand it to you. The wordeasyjust isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”
Jackson scrubbed a hand down his face, realizing he felt strangely better having told Shane what had happened. Not that it mattered much. In the end, the result was still the same.
“Nope. It’s probably for the best that she hates my guts.”
Shane slanted a hesitant glance his way. “Yeah. I tried to tell her the truth before I drove her home.”
“Youwhat?” Jackson couldn’t tell whether he should be pissed or relieved. On second thought, pissed was rarely worth it between friends. “What’d she say?”
“Let’s just say hating your guts is in the right ballpark. She thought I was covering for you to smooth things over, and she was pretty adamant, so I didn’t push it. Sorry if I overstepped my bounds, man.”
“No big deal. Like I said, it’s probably for the best,” Jackson said slowly.
