That still didn’t give her the right to overstep Dave’s boundaries so massively, the way she’d just done. She’d leaped so high over Luc’s boundaries, she could still see the curve of the earth extending out beneath her.
God, oh god, oh god.
Casey reached into the back for her tissue box, grabbed a few, and noisily blew her nose. Once she could breathe again, she took a deep breath in, releasing it in a whoosh.
She absolutely couldn’t let this stand. She had to apologize. Of course she couldn’t apologize to Luc—she didn’t have his phone number, so she would have to lurk outside of his house again and follow him again, and no.
Although it hadn’t taken her very long to track him down, courtesy of a photo Dave had texted to her with the curt message, I’m still with Luc. His clear subtext was Please leave me alone, but of course, she’d done the exact opposite. She’d waited outside of the restaurant—Werewulf’s—that she knew Dave frequented when he wasn’t on base or overseas with his Navy SEAL Team. She’d watched and waited until he came out of the place with the handsome, dark-haired man in that photo. They were laughing together—it was clearly Luc—but they left in separate cars.
And so, in Casey’s boundary-busting assault on Dave’s private life, she’d done the despicable and followed Luc Rosetti home from Werewulf’s. He didn’t live far—just a few short blocks away, in a somewhat low-rent apartment complex.
At least she’d had the good sense not to knock on his apartment door in the middle of the night. No, she’d crashed at her brother’s swanky apartment in downtown San Diego, and she’d returned, early in the morning, to wait for Luc to emerge.
But he’d gotten right into his car—an ancient classic that was obviously lovingly maintained. She’d followed him again—yeah, that wasn’t at all crossing any socially acceptable boundaries. To the grocery store. Where he bought a crap-load of toilet paper that was, according to the sign in the window, seriously on sale.
She’d almost gone in and bought a trunkful herself.
But she hadn’t followed him in—that had seemed too creepy and weird. Instead, she’d creepily and weirdly sat in her car, waiting for him to finish his shopping and come out of the store.
Where she’d ambushed him in the parking lot.
Luc Rosetti was even better looking up-close and in-person. Thick, wavy, dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and humor in a face that wasn’t quite symmetrically perfect, but pretty damn close. Large-ish nose—the perfect size for his handsome, angular face, with a generous mouth that curled up in a seemingly permanent expression of good nature. And his incredibly trim body in that military uniform...
Apparently Luc, too, was a U.S. Navy SEAL.
Like Dave, he had the complete, glorious array of Navy-SEAL-training-inspired muscles.
Like Dave, Luc was only about an inch taller than her own strapping five-nine. He was compact and... fit.
So very, very fit.
He also clearly was not an alcoholic or drug addict of any kind, nor did he look like he suffered from depression and anxiety, so he had that going for him, too.
Plus, he was a gay SEAL—he had so much in common with Dave.
Jon had screwed it up for good this time. And Casey herself had done a full belly-flop into the muddy waters of Audacity Creek, following her brother to Stupid-Mistake-ville without hesitation.
Just a few short years ago, Dave would’ve laughed his ass off about just how predictable she was.
But it wasn’t a few years ago. It was right now.
So. How to set this right? Or at least attempt to.
Her phone was on the passenger seat where she’d tossed it after flinging herself into her car and fleeing. She picked it up and found her recent exchange of texts with Dave, in which he’d sent her that pic of him and Luc. Which she’d immediately used to disrespect them both.
Quickly, she typed him a message.
I’m so sorry.
Good start. She scrolled back to look at the texts she’d last sent him, telling him that she’d reserved a block of rooms at the resort hotel at Dana Point, near where Stefan and Peter were getting married, and did he want one?
He’d said no thanks, that San Juan Capistrano was close enough to San Diego. He’d rather just drive home.
She’d pressed. You’ll miss the brunch in the morning!!
His response was one word: Casey.
She knew damn well that his message’s subtext included words like stop and don’t. But she’d ignored that. At two months clean and sober, Jon’s incredibly healthy and strong. You’re gonna love seeing him. Maybe he can convince you to stay over.
