Page 8 of Where You Left Me

After a few moments, I change the subject when I finally get the nerve to ask about the topic that’s been festering in my mind during the years since I’ve been gone. “I gotta say, I’m kinda surprised you and Jones never got together.”

“Ha ha ha!” Rosie barks out. Until she reads my expression and realizes I’m being serious. “Oh, shit…for real?”

“You two have always been close. You used to tease each other. He has a nickname for you.” I shrug a shoulder. “I guess I just assumed.”

“First of all, and I mean no offense, but…gross. Second, Jones and I have always been more like brother and sister. There’s never been any feelings from either of us. Sorry to disappoint you, but our story was never going to end like Cammie and Maverick’s with the brother’s best friend trope.”

Relief fills my tension-filled shoulders.

“And third,” she continues. “Jones has always been off-limits. He’s your guy.”

The way that sounds,your guy, sends a million different kinds of feelings to implode inside of me. I guess in my mind, he has always been my guy too. But years ago, I had to let him go and come to terms that he was no longer mine.

Now that I’m back in Maple Ridge, and I know he hasn’t been claimed by another woman, all these weird longing andpossessive feelings bubble up in me. I’ve got no right. But even still, I find myself letting jealousy snake around me the longer the young women flirt with him at the bar.

I pick up the full bottle and press it to my lips, tipping back the bitter brew. It’s been a few years since I’ve drank beer. Lately, I sip on a glass of red wine after a long day. But it doesn’t stop me from nearly draining the bottle without coming up for air.

“Better pace yourself, Wine Wednesdays can be dangerous,” Cammie warns, like the mom of the group.

Some things don’t change.

It reminds me of her mom. And how I wasn’t here when she and Jones lost her a few years ago. I wanted to come back for the memorial. But I just couldn’t. My grief over my own loss was just too much.

“Don’t discourage her, Cams. Drink up!” Rosie says.

After two glasses of wine,one beer, and a shot of some amber-colored liquor, Rosie has somehow convinced me that singing karaoke is the best idea we’ve ever had. Who am I to argue?Buzzed-Miais now in control.

It’s been a while since I’ve seenBuzzed-Mia. I’ve missed her. She’s fun and carefree. She doesn’t think about grief or the things she’s lost.

While Rosie and I belt out the lyrics to Shania Twain’sThe Best Thing About Being a Woman—very off-key, might I add—Jones’s eyes don’t leave me. It should bother me, but I’m letting loose for the first time in a long while. So instead, it makes me feel sexy and powerful.

Buzzed-Miadoesn’t care if I’m flirting with fire.

Tomorrow, when I’m just me again,Hungover-Mia, I will care. But right now, nothing can touch me or take away how alive I feel.

The alcohol must be hitting me harder than usual since I don’t drink a lot these days, because I find myself hooking a finger in an invitation for Jones to join me on the karaoke stage. He shakes his head in reply, no trace of expression on his face.

I should give up. I don’t want to embarrass myself. But something is nudging me to keep trying. I motion with my hands and mouth,get up here.

“C’mon, Jonesy, don’t make this smokeshow beg,” Rosie urges in the mic.

A hint of a smile plays on his mouth, and he drops his head in what I hope is abandonment.

After what feels like forever, he tugs the towel from his shoulder, tosses it onto the bar, and proceeds to the stage.

My stomach flip-flops. I drink him in. All legs and muscle and manly. A humming sensation builds between my legs, and when he spins his hat backward, I practically have an orgasm on the spot.

Damn he is one fine looking specimen.

Rosie hands him her mic as he steps up to join me. He gives me a look that’s unreadable.

“You got me up her, better make it count,” he says with a little growl.

I choose a song, and when the music begins, Jones slides me a look. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it punches me in the gut. There’s hurt shadowing his blue-grey eyes that are also burning with love and confusion. Because I feel all the same things when I look at him.

He starts singing the lyrics toI Remember Everythingby Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves. When he does, he doesn’ttake his attention off me. It sets fire to my skin and at the same time, the pit of my stomach aches. I have the urge to simultaneously sob against his once familiar, comforting chest, while also kiss those pursed lips.

It surprises me when I’m able to form the words and sing the lyrics when it’s my turn. As I do, Jones is unable to hide the emotions as they hit him. His eyes water and it forces mine to do the same. I wonder where fun,Buzzed-Miawent because this part is not fun. The alcohol was supposed to prevent me from thinking of Jones and thinking about all we lost.

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