I grit my teeth and send Ash a message to let him know I’m here but that the bouncer won’t let me in. I watch Ash across the room, but he’s busy talking and doesn’t notice he has a message. None of the guys are looking this way, so I bite the bullet and call him. Again, he doesn’t acknowledge his phone is ringing. He either doesn’t have his phone on him, or the ringer is off.
I leave a quick message when his voicemail picks up as I glare at the bouncer, then I head back to the main bar. I’ll have one drink, and if Ash hasn’t messaged me back by the time I finish, I’m going home.
I manage to slip up to the packed bar just as someone else is leaving, but it’s still another couple minutes before one of the bartenders comes over and I can order a Sauvignon Blanc. I’ve just gotten my drink when Ihear a painfully familiar voice.
“Gray?”
I nearly spill the glass of wine as a lead ball forms in my stomach.
Please, no.
I turn to see Drew standing behind me at the bar. Drew, who I haven’t seen or heard from in a year. Drew, who strung me along for weeks before I finally couldn’t take it anymore. Drew, who still looks really good, despite that I want to feel repulsed by him.
Why? Why do I still carry a torch for this man? We weren’t even together that long, and by the end he was treating me like absolute shit. How can my body still react this way when I see him?
Shame wells up, nearly drowning me. It’s followed by the inevitable spike of anger. Anger at him for being such a jackass. Anger at myself for missing him despite it all.
“Drew,” I manage to say. I give silent thanks my voice doesn’t shake. “It’s been a while.”
“It has,” he says. “You look good.”
His eyes run up and down my body, and I fight back the shiver of pleasure I feel as I remember how he used to look at me that way. I refuse to let myself get sucked back in by him.
“How have you been?” he asks.
Really? We’re doing the pleasantries thing? We’re going to pretend I didn’t leave a tearful breakup message on his voicemail, and he never called or texted me again?
“I’m fine. You?” I say, then sip my wine. I’m a big girl. I can do this.
He steps closer and leans in to be heard over the blaring club music, and I’m torn between jerking away and leaning toward him.
“Not bad,” he says loud enough to be heard. “I got a promotion at work, and the car is looking good. I’m almost done with her, but it was touch-and-go for a while.”
Drew has been restoring a classic Corvette Stingray, and he launches into a story about the trouble he had finding some part. I nod along, notreally listening.
I’m wondering how rude it will be of me to turn and walk away when a large hand lands on my hip, making me jump. A masculine scent I half-recognize winds its way up my nose, and I turn to find Ash behind me. My stomach somersaults as he presses his body to mine, and I feel the warmth of his hand even through my dress.
“Everything okay?” Ash asks as he looks over my shoulder at Drew.
I’m nearly sandwiched between the two of them right now, and my body threatens to combust. Moreso when Ash tugs me gently back against him away from Drew. If I didn’t know any better, I’d call the gesture …possessive.
Drew’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. You…you’re Ash Gunnarsson.”
I had no idea Drew followed hockey, but he looks totally starstruck.
“I am,” Ash says over the music. “And you are?”
“I’m Drew,” Drew says. “I’m a huge fan of yours.”
“Thanks,” Ash says. “Do you and Gray know each other?”
“We dated briefly about a year ago,” I jump in. I give Ash a meaningful look, hoping he gets the message that this is the guy I told him about.
“Ah, I see,” Ash says, and I can tell he does.
“You and Gray know each other?” Drew asks, looking between us.
I start to explain but realize I’m again handcuffed by the NDA the university’s lawyers couldn’t get fully removed. I can only discuss parts of my work with Ash if and when Mr. Kaladin determines Ash is ‘cured’ of his trash talk issue.
