Can't Let Go. Gena Showalter
it! When had he placed his hands back on the bar? “Don’t be.”
“If you don’t want to eat, how about you give me a compliment instead?”
“I’m not in the mood to be nice.”
Rather than leaving him alone, as he’d hoped, she studied him with compassion in her beautiful dark eyes. “Is your leg paining you?”
He scowled. Was she making excuses for his waspishness, or had she watched him so intently, she’d recognized the signs of his distress? “Be honest. You’re trying to make me squirm again, aren’t you, Wade?”
“Wade?” She snorted. “Let me guess. By using my last name, you put a little emotional distance between us.”
Yes. Exactly. Nicknames mattered, created a bond. He’d rather die than create a bond with Ryanne.
He’d called Constance “sweetheart” and his girls “Daddy’s little sweets.” He’d settled arguments about who could ride an imaginary pony first. He’d fielded questions about where babies came from when the girls were far too young to ask about such things, and battled monsters in the closet.
When I grow up, I’m gonna be a mom. Bailey had grinned a mischievous grin. Moms are the boss of everyone.
Well, I’m gonna be a dad. Hailey had hugged him. Dads are nice to everyone.
Even when I’m a big girl, I’m gonna love you best, Daddy.
My friend Sally doesn’t have a dad. Will you be her dad, Daddy? I told her you build the biggest fort-castles in the world.
He remembered the day the girls threw pennies in the wishing well.
“What did you wish for?” he’d asked.
Bailey had gazed at him adoringly. “I wished for you to be handsome, Daddy.”
He’d tried not to laugh. “Thanks, little sweet. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“I wished for you to stay home forever, Daddy, and never leave again,” Hailey had said.
He rubbed the sudden burn from his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
He didn’t like that Ryanne had guessed his intent. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised that she’d done so. The woman had a knack for reading people.
“Well.” She fluffed her fall of ebony hair. “Aren’t you precioso.” Her sassy tone somehow contained both a Spanish and Southern accent. “By the way, I’m calling you cowboy because you always look like you’re ready for a ride.”
Walk away. Walk away now. No good can come from this conversation.
He stood, but remained rooted in place. Her gaze slid down his chest, making him regret—and extol—his immobility.
“Jude, wait!” Lyndie raised her hand like a student in class. “Dorothea, uh, she has a question for you.”
“I do?” Dorothea asked, then cleared her throat. “I mean, yep, I do.”
Not wanting to frighten Lyndie, he forced his posture to soften. The elementary schoolteacher spooked far too easily. He’d noticed her tendency to leave a room whenever an argument kicked off.
He even forced himself to smile at her, and hell, it felt weird to lift the corners of his mouth. Weird, wrong on every level and stilted. As soon as he looked away from her, he returned to his normal expression, the one that said I don’t want to be here, or anywhere.
His gaze landed on Daniel’s fiancée. “Ask,” he said, knowing she didn’t actually have a question for him. He wasn’t sure why Lyndie wanted him to stay, but he wasn’t going to call her out.
Dorothea looked at Lyndie, then Ryanne. Frowned. Opened her mouth, closed it. Finally she said, “Yeah, so...I’m going to be picking bridesmaid dresses soon. Ryanne, of course, is a co–maid of honor with Lyndie. Lyndie is wearing pink chiffon but thinks Ryanne should be forced to wear a trash bag. Do you agree?”
His gaze zipped back to Ryanne, who was now watching him with a thoughtful expression...and upset? “A trash bag won’t detract from her raw sensuality.” The primal admission left him before he could stop it, wiping her upset away.
A grinning Lyndie pressed a hand above her heart. “If you guys were in a movie, female viewers would be sighing dreamily right now, and male viewers would be throwing popcorn at the screen. You just set the bar very high.”
Ryanne peered at him, her lush lips gaping open. “You claimed you were too grumpy to be nice, but I swear I just heard the best compliment of my life.”
“Truth is truth, not a compliment.”
“Well, then, that’s even better.” She beamed at him, so radiant he wanted to take her in his arms and—
Nothing.
Ryanne wasn’t his type, would never be his type. Forget her job. She was too bold, too brash. Too...everything. She drew attention and loved it. Nothing slowed her down. She sizzled with passion and marched through life with no care for the obstacles thrown in her way.
Jude craved solitude, which meant he wasn’t Ryanne’s type, either. Actually, he had no idea what type of man she actually preferred. She was an equal opportunity flirt, charming young and old alike. Hell, charming large and small, tall and short, rich and poor.
Always irritating me, and I don’t know why.
The front door opened, saving him from having to think up an appropriate reply, and the members of Power Trip—the band she hired on Friday and Saturday nights—strode inside.
Daniel and Brock came in behind the drummer, and both males pulsed with a palpable air of anger and frustration they couldn’t hide behind cheerful waves.
Something had happened out there.
The women sensed a problem, as well. As soon as the guys reached the counter, Dorothea threw her arms around Daniel. Lyndie inched away from Brock and glanced at the door, as if planning an escape route.
Ryanne reached out to latch on to Jude’s wrist, the softness of her skin momentarily paralyzing him. Can’t force myself to pull away this time...
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
No doubt Dushku had struck.
Daniel gave an unconvincing laugh. “Who said anything was wrong?”
“Someone trashed the alley outside, spray-painted vile things on the wall, that’s all,” Brock said, and Daniel glared at him.
Dorothea and Lyndie gasped with horror.
Ryanne stiffened. “Show me.”
Jude wrapped his hand around her wrist; she’d held him, and now he held her. It was an intimate pose, and one he wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle. Did he let go? No.
“Stay in here. Please.” He knew his friends, and knew a trashed alley wasn’t the only problem out there. “Let me make sure everything is safe. That’s what you pay me the big bucks for, after all.”
At first, she opened her mouth to protest. Then she looked at her friends. If she insisted on going outside, they would insist on going with her, and they would be in danger, as well. So she nodded, released him.
Silent, he, Daniel and Brock headed outside. His friends led him to the back alley, where he saw bitch, slut and whore, and an assortment of other vile words, spray-painted on the walls. His molars gnashed again, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned to powder.
The boys kept going, stopping when they reached Ryanne’s SUV, parked behind the building. Rage sparked.
The tires had been slashed, and the words YOUR NEXT spray-painted over the windshield.
“Idiot,” Jude muttered. “You’re. Not your.”