Page 9 of Blindsided By You

It’s not just what Jenna says that pulls me in. Yeah, she’s also stunning, but this isn’t just a passing spark of attraction. There’s something beneath that polished, controlled exterior—something raw, like she’s holding back more than she lets on. She let something slip out on the terrace, just for a second, but it was enough. It hit me deep, stirring up this fierce protectiveness, like the roles had flipped and I was the older one now. Maybe that’s why I pulled her in without thinking—to hold her for a moment, let her feel it. She’s home. She’s safe. I’ve got her.

I always liked Jenna. Somehow, despite me being an irritating little shit, I’m pretty sure she liked me, too. I just hope that hasn’t changed, because I’d really like to steal a little time with her tonight, if I can pry her away from all these well-wishers.

It’s a dangerous move for sure. Can’t let her father notice me paying her too much attention, otherwise my rugby season will be fucked before it’s begun. For Coach to think I’m hitting on hisdaughter would be a disaster. Playing rugby for Cluanie R.F.C is the only thing I can truly say I love about this town. I totally believe his threat to bench anyone who goes near her—but if he doesn’t know, there’s no reason for him to follow through on it.

I grab another beer from one of the overstuffed tubs. The guys I was with earlier have drifted back to the same corner of the lounge, locked in a loud argument, their laughter cutting through the room. The whole group erupts at a smartarse comment from Brodie. It’s tempting to rejoin them, but Jenna won’t be heading that way—not with Kyle holding court over there. I caught the look she gave him before, and there’s no way she’s putting herself in his orbit. He’s got history with half the women in this town, and the rest know better.

So instead, I linger on the edge of the room, waiting, hoping the tide of people will eventually push her my way.

She moves through them like it’s second nature—a light touch on a shoulder, a dip of her head, a quick, easy laugh. I guess this has always been her world. Events, parties. Her work has only made her better at it, gliding between old friends and total strangers like there’s no difference. Not like me. I hang back, hover on the edge, waiting to be sure I belong.

She stops to chat with a sweetly smiling kid—Skylar, yeah, that’s her name. Tiny blonde thing who’s always trailing after Brandon Smith. She looks like any other teenager dressed up for a night out, sparkly dress, bare legs, but there’s got to be more to her. Rumour is Brandon turned down a pro contract just to stay another year for her. If that’s true...well, maybe love makes you do stupid things. Me, if I’d been good enough to play professionally, I’d have signed my name without a thought.

Jenna catches my eye while she talks, and I tell myself that look means she’s coming my way soon. I can be patient where she’s concerned. I’d wait all fucking night for a chance to talk with her some more.

Finally, she gives the girl a small smile, squeezes her shoulder, and then—just like that—she’s walking my way.

I want to get her alone. Out there, on the terrace, when it was just the two of us, something arced between us. And I want it back. But in here? No chance. Not when she’s the centre of attention, not with a dozen club committee wives waiting to interrupt. If I can get her out there, just for a few minutes, maybe I can find whatever that was between us.

As Jenna’s eyes meet mine, I jerk my head toward the terrace. She lifts her brows in acknowledgment, snags a glass of bubbly, and falls in step a few paces behind me. I try to play it cool, like I’m just slipping out for some air, but my feet move too damn fast. I flick a glance over my shoulder—no one’s noticed. Meanwhile, Jenna, a few steps behind, has perfected the art of looking unhurried. Perfection, that’s her.

Right now, the little guy on my shoulder—the one who’s been there all my life, keeping me on the straight and narrow, urging me to take the safe path—isn’t just whispering; he’s losing his mind. Telling me Jenna’s my sister’s friend. Coach’s daughter. Reminding me exactly what her father does to guys who lay a hand on his girl. I not only ignore his words, I swipe that fucker away and head on out to the terrace.

Besides, I’m not about to hit on Jenna—not tonight, not when the past six months must feel like a weight she can’t shake. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, not some other time—she’s gorgeous andwhip-smart, and any guy with a pulse would be tempted—but not tonight.

The scent of Cluanie hits me the second I step through the door—wood smoke floating on the night air. That’s a summer evening in my hometown, where the chill taints the twilight the moment the sun disappears and fires crackle in hearths year-round.

Outside, I slouch into a wicker chair by the pool, one of those seats that promises comfort but delivers regret. It’s definitely not made for a guy my size, so I’m forced to stretch out my legs in front of me, ankles crossed.

Jenna takes a seat next to me, the chair hugging her shapely denim-clad arse as if it was made for her. Her eyes flick to my feet, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

“What?” I say, and her smile widens.

“The cowboy boots,” she says, shaking her head with a giggle. “Not what I expected.”

I glance down to where my jeans have ridden up, showing off the tan leather of my favourite boots.

“Comfortable. All those cowboys sure aren’t wrong.”

“I thought you were on an oil rig, not a ranch.”

“Yeah, I was. These aren’t my work boots.”

“Your going out ones?” She raises a brow.

“Yeah, special.” The tooled leather is damned nice. Cost me a fortune, too. “My roommate on one of the rigs invited me home to Fort Worth for Christmas. Took me boot shopping. So damn good I bought a few pairs.” Her eyes sparkle like she’s about to take the mick about my footwear choices. “You don’t like them?”

“No, they’re nice.” She stifles a laugh. “I just never pictured myself sitting on my terrace in Cluanie with a guy in cowboy boots. And definitely not Geordie MacDonald in cowboy boots.”

“Well, I’m damned glad I wore them tonight. Saved my ankles from your father’s bloody dog. Little bugger had a go at me.”

“Yeah, I heard. Sorry.” She casts me an apologetic look. “And Kyle too.” She shrugs. “Not sorry.” We both burst out laughing.

“Yeah, Kyle brings it on himself,” I agree.

“Actually, he was Mum’s dog.” Her face softens, laughter fading as her eyes mist over. Despite the brave front she put on earlier, the pain is still raw, just beneath the surface. “Poor Andy. He’s not coping too well with the change.” A single tear slips onto her cheek, and she scrubs it away with the back of her hand.

“And you?” I keep my voice soft. I don’t want to push, but I want her to know I care. “How are you doing?”

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