Page 22 of Can't Get Over You
“You didn’t needme. You just needed a ride.”
“But it was you who showed up.” Her eyes went soft. “Both times.”
“Yeah, because everyone you know was in that church.”
“It could’ve been anyone. But it was you. Thank you, Jude.”
Whatever held him upright—his bones, his resolve, his instinct for survival—softened, nearly taking out his knees.
How the hell could anyone hurt this sweet, sincere woman?
But he had a purpose, so he turned away from her. “Let’s go.” His boots crunched on snow and gravel, and he wouldn’t let himself check to see if she followed.
The moment he opened the club door, the roar of conversation and the smell of pot hit him. The juke-box blasted out a Slipknot song, while people laughed, shouted, and hung out. It was a late Saturday afternoon, and the party was in full swing.
When he was a kid, his dad would take them camping most weekends. Of course, at the time, they had no idea he waskeeping them away from the decadence of the club. For a few years, they’d loved it, but then, they’d reached a point when they’d started making friends and had sports commitments, and disappearing every weekend hadn’t been viable anymore.
It wasn’t the reason his dad moved away—no, that was because of what happened to Wyatt—but it was certainly a major factor.
Finlay entered ahead of him but came to an abrupt stop, forcing him to grab her hips so he didn’t slam into her.
The feel of her body sent him back to all those restless nights when he’d dreamed about her. He wouldn’t say he had a type. Generally, he was attracted to a smile, confidence, and a lack of inhibitions.
But something about Finlay’s curves had always driven him wild. An image hit of pulling her up hard against him, cupping her full breasts, and grinding his cock on her ass.
He let her go as if she were on fire.
He didn’t know where that thought had come from, but it was an unacceptable reaction to someone he hadn’t seen in twelve years. Someone who’d just run from her own wedding.
She cast a glance over her shoulder as if wondering what she’d done wrong.
Trust me, Ducky, it’s not you. It’s me.He pushed in front of her and said, “Stick close,” as he moved into the room.
The massive warehouse space featured an active bar, four pool tables, and several couches that faced a giant TV with a video game playing on the screen.
An old friend spotted him. With a lift of his beer and a smile, Jordan sauntered over. “Dude. What’re you doin’ here?”
“Came to see Carlo.”
“Ah.” The smile faded. “Is this about Marco’s kid?”
“Yeah, he called. Guess he needs some help?”
Jordan gave a curt nod. “Carlo’s having a hard time keeping up with him. We try to pitch in, but everyone’s got their own shit to deal with. Come on. Let me take you to him.”
“Thanks.”
Jordan clapped him on the shoulder. “Afterward, we’ll grab some beers, catch up.”
“Another time. I need to get my friend something to wear and then take care of the kid.”
Finlay stepped forward and reached out a hand. “Hello, I’m Finlay. It’s nice to meet you.”
Even with her wind-blown hair and savagely cut wedding gown, she was still gracious.
“Hey. Jordan.” He shook her hand. “And I got you. Hang on.” He waved to a woman at the bar who came right over. “Marta, you got something for her to change into?”
The woman touched the shredded dress. “I don’t have anything so fancy, but I can set you up with jeans and a T-shirt.”
