“Hold up?—”
“No fucking way?—”
“CheerleaderJenna?”
“The girl who had your balls in a jar?”
Marcus drops the cue ball onto the felt with a dull thud. “As in, the Jenna you were in love with for like… all four years of high school?”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t in love with her. And no one had my damn balls in a jar.”
“You drew her in your sketchbook,” Kyle counters. “Like, a lot.”
Eric nods, smirking. “Pretty sure we had to stage an intervention when you started practicing writing her name in calligraphy.”
“That never happened,” I lie smoothly.
Marcus squints at me. “You’ve been gone a long time, man. She recognize you?”
I let the question hang there, then shake my head. “Nope. Not a clue.”
Eric winces. “Ouch.”
“Nah, I kind of like it.”
They all stare at me.
“I get it, though,” Marcus insists. “I mean, look at you now, man. Half of Maple Ridge is drooling all over you. She should be apologizing for not seeing the vision back then, the potential.”
I smirk. “You drooling over me is not the mental image I need.”
“You’re welcome,” he says smugly.
“Back then, I was a skinny kid with braces and a zit constellation on my forehead. She had a life. I had charcoal pencils and too much free time. I don’t blame her for not remembering me.”
Kyle shakes his head. “Still. Jenna Howard in your shop, asking for the biggest chocolate dick you’ve got.” He whistles. “You can’t make this shit up.”
“Apparently you can mold it, though,” Eric adds.
I lift my beer in a half toast. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”
We’re still laughing when the door opens and a burst of cool air sweeps through the bar. I glance toward the entrance out of habit and nearly forget how to breathe.
Jenna walks in with three other women, all of them talking and laughing as they make their way inside. She’s in dark jeans and a soft-looking sweater that hugs her plush body, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. The low light catches the glint of a delicate necklace at her throat and the shimmer of gloss on her lips.
She looks…happy. Lighter than she did in my shop a few days ago. There’s still something fragile underneath, like glass that’s been carefully glued back together. But she’s smiling. And it hits me harder than I expect.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Marcus mutters with a sly grin.
Kyle lets out a low, appreciative hum. “Damn. She got even hotter over the years.”
Eric elbows me. “Close your mouth, man. You’re staring.”
I ignore them. Because, yes, I’m staring and I don’t care. She’s just as beautiful as she ever was, and it’s a shame she doesn’t know it.
One of Jenna’s friends—Paige, I think?—spots Marcus and waves before dragging the group over.
“Well, hey there,” she calls, bright and bubbly. “Didn’t realize it was boy’s night.”
