Page 100 of Sweet Surrender

And that says a lot about the kind of man he is.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Gizmo

“You good, brother?” Vince asks.

I glance his way and want to grit my teeth at the way he’s studying me, looking for any signs of . . . what the fuck ever, but then again, he is the one who came and got me. He didn’t push for more answers than I gave him. He just fucking knew what I needed because of where I was. “For the tenth time, yes. I’m good.” I slap a hand on his back.

“Wouldn’t be doing my job if I weren’t checking.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He barks out a laugh. “None of us like this touchy-feely shit. I get it. You get it. I’m just glad you’re doing all right.”

Am I? I wasn’t five hours ago.

“Yep. I’m doing all right.” Especially as I mull over Hendrix’s words too. “You could have called me. I would have been there for you, no questions asked.” I have no doubt that she would have—she’s that kind—but why put extra stress on her when this is only temporary?

“I’d be doing a helluva lot better with a drink in my hand, but I promised her,” I say with a lift of my chin in Hendrix’s direction and then a growl I don’t even realize I emit as another man walks up to Hendrix. I can’t fucking blame them. Not when she’s wearing that deep purple dress that hugs her curves just like I’d prefer to be doing instead of being across the room thinking about it.

Madison comes nowhere close to touching what Hendrix has.

“Her,” he says with a hum in his throat that I want to ignore. “I remember what it was like to say shit like that—her—when it came to Bristol. Like you want to pretend that fucking ache in your chest isn’t there but you can’t fucking ignore it.”

“I’m not ignoring shit. She’s here for . . . a set time. We’re simply enjoying that time.”

He snorts. “Enjoying. That’s a word. So is, I don’t want Hendrix to see me like this.” He says my own words from earlier back to me. The ones I uttered when I was a fucking mess and Vince wanted to bring me home.

“Those are several words but we know math isn’t your strong suit, so I won’t hold it against you,” I joke.

“Yeah, well, those several words told me a lot about your headspace when it comes to you and—” He lifts his chin much the same way I did and then winces.

I follow his line of sight and roll my shoulders as another man—an actor—approaches Hendrix.

“You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off,” Vince says.

“Shut up,” I grunt.

“Is that where we are with this now? Already?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, but don’t look his way.

He laughs, clapping me on the back. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

I don’t respond. Because he’s not wrong.

Rocket saunters up, grinning as he takes a sip of his scotch and looks where we’re looking. “Gotta hand it to you, Giz, you sure as shit know how to pick ’em. I mean, she’s fucking hot and funny and—”

“You met her for ten minutes. Back off, fucker.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. “Remember that bet way back when? The drums for breaking up with my girl?”

“How could I forget? She was good at a lot of things,” I say to wipe the smug look off his face.

“Yeah, well, I think it’s time to reciprocate that bet. When your time is up with her, maybe it’s my turn to have your seconds.”

Fury flashes instantly in a way I’ve never experienced before. My glare is nothing compared to how tightly clenched my fists are. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”