But he just couldn’t stop.
She said something to her pops when she skirted him to getin the backseat, and after she did, the man looked right to Jag.
He then dipped his chin Jag’s way.
Well, shit.
She’d told him that Jag was Note Guy.
And the dude was cool.
Jag gave him the salute he’d seen Hound give every once in awhile, finger to temple and out.
The man quirked a grin, lifted his chin this time, andangled into his car.
The brother glared at him.
Jag ignored that, tried to catch sight of her in the car,but couldn’t.
So he walked into Arby’s, hoping like hell there was a“later.”
Later turned out to belater.
The next time Jag saw her, it was at a party, and well overa year had passed.
She hadn’t left him a note.
Since she hadn’t, he hadn’t left her one either.
And he hadn’t because he didn’t want to be that jerk,creeping on some girl who’d lost her mom, doing it by leaving notes on hermom’s tombstone.
The party where he saw her was a party she shouldn’t havebeen at.
He knew her the instant he saw her, even though she’d grownup—a lot—in the time in between.
He’d never forget her, though.
Never.
And the second she locked eyes on him, he knew she hadn’tforgotten him either.
The minute she saw him, she immediately looked guilty.
As she should.
He was eighteen.He was the son of a biker (actually two,but only one was blood).It was a rough crowd, and a big one, everyone (that heknew) was of age (or at least, not a minor).There was definitely booze, somedrugs, some folk who he knew could get rowdy, and not in a good way.
Jag could be there.
She was maybe sixteen, at most, seventeen.
She had no business anywhere near there.
He went right to her, fighting his way through the crowd toget where she was.
And when he got close, he saw she’d already started tattingup.
Shit.
