Page 27 of Blindsided By You

In front of me, the door to the men’s toilets opens and a tall familiar form spills out into the passageway, instantly recognisable by his shock of dirty blonde hair. Kyle’s face lights up as he sees me.

“Jenna,” he says. “Where’ve you been hiding all evening?”

“As far away from you as possible,” I spit.

The words are undeserved, but Kyle has caught me in the wrong mood to play flirty games. I move to step around him and he blocks me. I attempt a sidestep, but he’s anticipated this as neatly as he would the evasive footwork of a player on the field. He rests one arm against the wall, blocking my escape and effectively caging me.

“Piss off, Stewart,” I hiss, descending to his level with my language.

“Aww, Jen, don’t be like that.” His face crumples, hurt rising in those hazel eyes. Oh, he’s good, this guy, turning it on to make me feel bad for standing up for myself. “Not the way to treat an old friend.”

“Don’tcall me Jen. You weren’t my friend then, and I definitely don’t want you for one now.” He’s picked the wrong time and the wrong person for this shit.

He recoils, stepping away from me, arms raised in surrender.

“Sorry, Jenna,” he says. I raise a brow, my mouth falling open a little in disbelief at this unexpected apology. “I mean it. Iamsorry.”

His voice is quiet, actually apologetic. He studies me with an odd intensity, and his expression softens further. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Kyle wear anything but the cocky arrogance of a man with a big ego—until now.

“Okay, okay,” he says, taking another step back, increasing the distance between us. “I’ll go. You don’t want me around. I see that. And I understand.”

But he doesn’t leave. He scrubs at his neck and shuffles uncomfortably, his lips drawn in a tense line. He takes a deep, deliberate breath.

“But you should know, Jenna, I’m not proud of the way I was as a teenager. I get it that people who knew me then might want nothing to do with me. And Iamsorry. I treated you badly. Not just you. Pretty much everyone. I can’t change the things I did. All I can do is assure you I learned from them. The man you see now isn’t the kid I was back then.”

Innocent eyes meet mine as he runs one hand through the sweep of blonde hair that falls in a perfect curve across his strong brows. In any other situation, the gesture might seem calculated, a sexy ploy to weaken a girl’s defences. An invitation to come upstairs and tangle your fingers in those ‘come play with me’ locks, preferably while he’s got his dick inside you. But now, as he huffs out a resigned sigh, I sense only frustration—with himself.

Giving me a wide berth, he heads for the cacophony of conversation spilling from the bar. As he leaves, his big feet drag a little, not his usual confident strut, and I sense possible truth in his claims. Thereisan undeniable difference in Kyle. His words alone showa self-knowledge I’d always assumed beyond him. I’d never have predicted he would develop even a shred of empathy for the string of girls he chewed up and spat out after a quick taste. Perhaps he has.

These bewildering moments have thrown me off-balance. One minute, a stranger approaches me with tiresome disrespect; the next, someone I’d least expect shows genuine remorse for discarding me years ago.

How is it Kyle, notorious for using women, sees I can be hurt? While Adam, voted ‘Mr Nice Guy’ by everyone who knew us, couldn’t grasp the damage his leaving would cause. Perhaps his blasé attitude was his way of living with the guilt. Even so, I can’t forgive Adam for what he did, but in some strange way, I think I may have already forgiven Kyle.

The piano player has moved on to a new tune, one I should know—I’ve heard my mother play it—but the name eludes me. Mechanically, I move towards the music, overtaken by a desperate need to solve the mystery, hoping if I observe the movement of hands on keys, it will jog my memory.

I’m also reluctant to rejoin the others. I’m flustered and far from in the mood for conversation. The piano bar offers a hideout where, over a gin, calmed by the music, I can process all that’s happened today; because I realise that it’s not just the drifting change in my feelings towards Kyle at work here. There’s Geordie to consider.

For a whole week now, I’ve tried to deny my attraction to Geordie MacDonald. Who am I kidding? I’m pleased the electrical work isn’t a quick fix and I’ll admit it—Geordie’s arrival these past few days has provided a welcome piece of eye candy. But not only that; inside that beautifully crafted exterior is a tempting soft centre.

Although I know the sneaky admiring glances haven’t all been one way—I felt the heat of his eyes on me—I didn’t want to read anything special into his appreciation of my looks. It’s what guys do, right? So, whenever my traitorous brain has suggested there might be anything beyond his tactful appraisal of my body, I’ve slapped it down hard; reminded myself I’m his sister’s friend, and there’s no way he’d ever think of me as anything more.

But from the moment he slid into the seat on the bus beside me this morning, I encountered a Geordie MacDonald who seemed determined to convince me otherwise. Sure, there was a tentativeness in those first couple of minutes, but still the immediate feeling he was flirting with me. And damned if I didn’t like it. A lot. My response was instinctive. I flirted right back, and it grew from there.

Tonight was the most fun I think I’ve ever had at a rugby game; and there have been many over my lifetime. Sure, it’s way more relaxing when you’re at a match for pleasure and not work—no pressure to do anything except enjoy the game—but there was extra pleasure in Geordie’s company: conversation, laughter, shared hugs of triumph and moans of despair over our team’s changing fortunes. I want more of that company, more of him, and I don’t think it’s simply because I’m lonely, or have a man-shaped hole in my life. It’s that Geordie fills that hole in a completely unexpected but perfect way.

The feelings that surface when I think of Geordie are like tingly effervescent bubbles rising tantalisingly in a glass of champagne. I’ve already had a sip, and he’s sweet and delicious and refreshing. It’s oh so tempting to spend some time with him, see where it goes, but I’m also worried what might happen if I give in to that temptation. Just like champagne, pour it in too eagerly, and it makes a mess.

I don’t want to make another mess of things, and especially not with him. He deserves better, and I’m worried what Rachel will have to say if I do. She’s my friend, but in her own stiff way, she loves her younger brother. There’s always been an underlying protectiveness towards him, not surprising, given their father’s attitude to his children, but especially his son. I suspect Rachel may be unimpressed at me hooking up with Geordie, but there’s a strong possibility she’d be furious if it went pear-shaped.

The fact I’m attracted to Geordie—and I’d have to be stupid to not see he’s attracted to me—is bold and confronting, even frightening, but it also holds an exciting possibility. That’s even more reason to linger here a while before taking myself back into his orbit.

“What will it be, miss?” The bartender offers me a smile as I slide onto a high stool at the bar.

Chapter 14

JENNA

I’mnotsurewhat’scausing this melancholy cloud—this evening’s confusing encounters, the nostalgic music reopening barely healing wounds, or the two gins I’ve downed; Rachel swears gin always makes her cry.

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