Page 8 of Blindsided By You

He picks up his beer, throws his head back, and takes a long swig. I can’t help but follow the swallow rolling down the smooth golden line of his throat.

“So, here we are then,” I say. “Back in the hood.”

His eyes lock onto mine for a moment, then drift to my mouth. It’s noticeable in the dip of his head because little Geordie is not so little anymore. Taller than me, but not too tall. An upper body that suggests strength without bulkiness. A leanness indicating the agility essential for speed and rapid directional changes.

With the practised eye I’ve developed shadowing my father, I assess he’s pretty much perfect for the position Dad wants to play him in, at flanker. It was Dad’s own position, so although he’d never admit to it, he sets the bar extra high, especially for the guy on the blindside. He’ll ride their arse hard if they don’t live up to his exacting demands.

As if sensing my scrutiny, Geordie jerks his arctic blue-grey gaze back to me. My eyes meet his odd, glassy stare. He blinks, drawing my attention to his lashes so thick and long, the kindthat girls spend large amounts of money acquiring by artificial means. I’d never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before, but then you don’t tend to stare into those of your best friend’s kid brother. Until now; and he’s no kid.

“Yeah,” he says, “I certainly never expected to choose life in Cluanie. Who’d have thought?”

“And you’re working with Sparky? That would be an experience in itself.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he chuckles, a slight huskiness that is undeniably and surprisingly sexy. I wonder if he knows it? Probably not. There’s still a hint of the guileless kid in his gaze. “Never a dull moment with Sparky around. Just as well, as the work is fairly run-of-the-mill.”

His eyes drift south again, and nervously dart back to mine, and I get it. I realise this weird thing he’s got going on—he’s trying very hard not to look at my chest.

“Good man, Geordie,” I mutter under my breath, appreciating he’s making an effort when so many other males don’t bother to hide their desire to ogle.

And then my mouth falls open in a startling whirl of horror and confusion. I don’t know what’s worse; the thought that I’ve acknowledged the kid I haven’t seen for almost fifteen years is now a man—and a very attractive one too—or that I’ve spoken out loud. What the hell is wrong with me? Guarding my thoughts and choosing my words is second nature to me in my work. And now it’s not. Not with Geordie.

“What was that?” He frowns, and an adorable little crease furrows at the top of his nose. I have the ridiculous urge to kiss it away. Perhaps it’s the champagne making me a little crazy.

I’m not sure Geordie’s question and his confusion is because he heard what I said, or because he didn’t, but I’m saved either way when Connor Murray appears behind him.

Now that’s a good man, too—not that I’d ever cast lustful eyes in his direction. He was a mate of sorts back in high school and even now I see him firmly fixed in the friend zone. Just as I should be shoving too-damn-handsome for his own good, sweet-natured Geordie MacDonald solidly there alongside him.

“Hey, Geordie, Jenna. Better come in, eh?” Connor angles his head towards the brightly lit lounge. “Your old man’s about to make a speech.”

We follow him inside, where Dad stands on the third stair, an adoring audience arrayed below with all faces turned towards him. Geordie and I tag onto the back row. It’s squishy and, as we edge in closer, our hands touch, and a sensation races up my arm like an electric shock. What the hell is wrong with me?

Noticing me standing on tiptoes, trying to look beyond a line of people all taller than me, Geordie ushers me across with large gentle hands on my waist. Now I’ve got a clear line of sight, but also, as I tuck in front of him, there’s an acute hyper-awareness of his light lingering fingers, his breath brushing across my hair, and the heat of him, even though there’s space between his body and mine. I inhale deeply, checking. Yes, indeed, that intoxicating mingling of masculine musk and the citrus scent of a freshly-showered body, with an underlying hint of spicy liniment, emanates from him.

This is wrong on every level: best friend’s brothers are off limits, especially younger ones; Dad’s players are definitely off the menu, although I wonder if the rules still apply outside of a pro team.

I force myself to focus on my father’s lips moving, although I don’t hear a sound, apart from the stern warning my brain issues to my body, telling it the nine-month man drought is not a valid excuse for this sudden and inappropriate fixation on Geordie MacDonald.

I argue back against the cautious part of myself. Thisismore than a physical pull. Yes, the boy I knew has morphed into an undeniably attractive man, but there’s something else. After only a few moments of talking to Geordie, for the first time in ages, I feel more like my old self. It’s as if he sees me as the Jenna I used to be, young and full of promise, the world at my feet, not this weary version of myself going through the motions. It’s like a hit of some drug, instant, addictive.

“Jenna,” Geordie hisses in my ear, bringing me back to the horrible realisation that all eyes are upon me for the second time this evening.

“Come on love, don’t be shy,” Dad says with a grin that looks a lot like the old Robbie Sharpe. I can’t recall the last time I saw that expression. I’ve rarely glimpsed his happiness at anything since Mum got sick. He extends a hand towards me and the crowd parts to let me through. I make my way to join him, with the memory of Geordie MacDonald’s touch, those long fingers searing the skin of my waist, even through the glossy satin fabric of my top.

Chapter 5

GEORDIE

I’veastrongurgeto fight my way through the cluster of people crowded around Jenna and her dad, but hold back. There’s a ring of smiling faces now, but I swear during her little speech there was hardly a dry eye in the house.

Can’t blame them. It got to me too, listening to her thank everyone for coming, while acknowledging the gaping hole left by her mother’s death. I’ll admit it took all my willpower to not let the sad knot tightening around my own throat leak out in a tear. According to my father, I’m soft. Guess he’s right, but I try not to see it as the flaw he does.

Meanwhile, Jenna stayed cool and composed. I suppose it’s those skills honed in the glare of the media keeping her upright when most might have crumpled. She knows how to say the perfect thing in the moment, even tonight when it’s so intensely personal.

My sister has that skill too, but where Rachel projects a brash, uncompromising ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude, with Jenna it’s the sort of composure you admire, seeing her keep it all together, whileallowing enough of a glimpse of the devastation at losing a parent show through so she doesn’t come across as hard or unfeeling.

Touched by her words, the guests all want to gather around and reassure her; volunteer support while she adjusts to life without her mum; offer anything that might help ease the loss that dragged her back here to Cluanie.

Yes, I want to do that too—promise her she’s not on her own—but I also want to have Jenna all to myself, not with an audience of nosey locals hanging on my every word. For the first time in ages, there’s a woman I’d like to get to know better and I’m not having the small town gossips nix it with their chatter before I’ve even started. By the time dessert’s served, half the town will have me proposing and the other half planning the wedding reception.

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