“Then do something about it,” Ford says firmly.
“Like what? Show up at her cabin? That’s what her stalker ex did.”
“Call her. Oh, wait, you don’t have her number because you’re an idiot,” Everett teases unhelpfully.
“Not helping,” I growl.
“I’m just saying, if you really cared about her, you’d figure it out. Find her on social media. Ask around. Show up at her work …” Mason states.
“That’s literally stalking.”
“It’s romantic!” Ford says.
“It’s a felony. And you should know that.” I glare at him. He should know this shit.
Ford rolls his eyes at me. The dingle of the bell at the front door rings, and I glance up out of habit.
No way. It’s like I’ve made her materialize out of thin air. There she is.
Sloane.
My heart stops. She’s wearing jeans that hug her curves and a sweater that makes her look soft and touchable, and her hair is down around her shoulders. She’s beautiful. She’s here. She’s … freezing.
Our eyes lock across the crowded bar, and everything else disappears. The noise. My brothers. The entire world. It’s just her and me and a week’s worth of regret and longing and words I should have said. She looks tired. Like she hasn’t been sleeping either. And there’s something in her eyes, surprise, yes, but also pain. Raw, aching pain that mirrors my own.
I stand up without thinking, and that’s when my brothers notice.
“Holy shit,” Wilder breathes. “Is that her?”
“She’s hot,” Colt adds, and I remind myself to kick him in the balls later.
I can’t answer. Can’t speak. Can only stare at her like a drowning man seeing shore.
“That’s her,” Ford says, and there’s amusement in his voice. “That’s definitely her.”
Sloane’s friend and sister, the ones who showed up at the cabin, flank her on either side. The loud one with wild energy and the quieter, elegant one. They’re both staring at me, too, but their expressions are harder to read.
“They’re cute. Invite them over,” Mason says quietly.
“What? No. I can’t …”
“You’re going to let her walk out of here without talking to her?” Ford challenges.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Then why is she still standing there staring at you?” Wilder points out.
He’s right. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t looked away. And neither have I.
“Go get them,” Everett says, physically pushing me toward her.
I stumble forward a few steps, and suddenly I’m walking toward her. Toward the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
“Sloane,” I say when I reach her, and my voice comes out rougher than intended.
“Jax.” She swallows hard.
“Hi.”
