by Marina Adair
“You’re here now,” Bridget said, bringing his attention to the fact that Ali wasn’t the only Marshal woman who had zeroed in on him. Like a heat-seeking missile, Bridget was off her chair and walking his way before he could change directions.
Her hips swishing for his benefit, her lips pursed in a practiced smile. She was wearing her game face. He’d expected to see her, prepared himself so he could get through the event, but his chest ached all the same.
“Thanks,” she said, rising up to give him a kiss. Had she moved a centimeter to the right, it would have been more lip than cheek. “For agreeing to have my party here. You didn’t have to do that.”
Hawk wanted to laugh. She knew damn well that saying no to a man who’d treated him like a son, even after their divorce, was impossible. Hawk hadn’t had a lot of experience with unconditional love growing up, but Marty had always been there for him. Even before he’d married Bridget—and after their marriage had crumbled. So there wasn’t much Hawk wouldn’t do for the old man.
“Right,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d said no.”
“It’s one night,” Hawk said.
Which wasn’t exactly the truth—and they both knew it.
This party was the compilation of seven years of history and family, a true test of his vow to always love her. It didn’t matter that she’d walked out on their marriage, Hawk had promised Bridget, and Marty, that he’d make her happy. And that promise didn’t end when Bridget filed for divorce.
It just became more complicated. And that complication, which had colored the past few years, was finally coming to an end.
Hawk was determined to live up to his promise—right up until the moment she vowed her love and life to another man. Then it would be up to someone else to ensure her happiness. And maybe, then, Hawk would be free to find his own.
“Does that mean you are coming tomorrow night?”
Hawk looked around the bar and cringed. “Is that your way of telling me my bar is going to look like this until then?”
Bridget laughed. “No, it’s my way of telling you that I want you to be there. To be a part of my special night.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I’m working the party, so yeah, I’ll be the guy behind the counter pouring overpriced wine in fancy flutes.”
“I meant, I want you to come as a guest.” She rested a hand on his chest and he was certain she could feel it pounding. “I can’t imagine you not being a part of my day.”
Hawk took a step back, a big one to clear his head—the confusion pumping through his veins. She’d denied him the right to be a part of her tomorrow two years ago. So while serving drinks was going to be uncomfortable enough, there was still the bar separating him from the emotions of the event. But mingling with her friends, being in the fray with a bunch of people who had known Bridget was leaving him before he did? Actually toasting the happy couple? Not going to happen.
“That might be a little awkward,” he said.
“It doesn’t have to be.” She looked up at him with those big green eyes he could never deny. “We were friends first, then lovers. There is no reason we can’t go back to being friends, and why you shouldn’t be a part of the celebration.”
There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t—and wouldn’t—but all Bridget was thinking about was her night. How having him there, toasting her, supporting her would mean that she was free from the guilt. That she was forgiven.
That if things went bad, she had him to turn to and lean on.
“You were my friend, then my lover, then my everything, Bridge,” Hawk said, a sour taste in his mouth. “I get that we’re over, and I’m even okay with it.” Surprisingly, he was. Six months ago it would have been a different story.
Something shifted the moment he’d seen Ali in that dress. Oh, he’d been over Bridget long before that, he just hadn’t admitted it. But seeing her welding in that dress, the vulnerable excitement he’d seen in her eyes when she told him about Architectural Digest, confirmed it.
Just like it confirmed that the feeling he’d had for Ali had become something much more than friends.
The kiss? Hot damn. That told him he was not only over the divorce, but ready to move on.
“But that doesn’t mean I want a front-row seat to the big event,” he said quietly. “Or that I can just pretend we’re nothing but old friends.”
And that’s when Hawk got it, what Ali was so afraid of. Because there was no way he could go back to being friends with Bridget, at least not the way they’d been before. He’d forgiven her, could even wish her happiness in her marriage. But he couldn’t forget the pain she’d caused him.
Friendships, like all relationships, were based on trust and the ability to be vulnerable without the fear of being taken for a ride. And Bridget had taken him on so many rides over the years, he wasn’t interested in adding another stamp in his passport.
“Then what are we?” she asked, her heart in her eyes.
Hawk wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Bridget would always be a part of his life. Hell, she was some of the best parts of his past. Some of the worst parts, too. But no matter how much he’d wished it at times, that kind of history didn’t just go away. Especially when he loved her family as much as he did—maybe more.
“We’re friends with a complicated past,” he finally said. “And you should focus on the guy who’s going to be your future. I’m focusing on mine.”
The color in Bridget’s face rose. “You mean Ali?” Then she laughed, one of those laughs that was uniquely Bridget. It was sexy, serene, and condescending all at the same time. “I know Ali, she wouldn’t ruin your friendship for a fling. Outside of my dad, she’s incapable of long term—in any capacity.”
“If what you say is true, then it would be one of the few things you have in common,” he said and watched her face fall. “But I also know Ali. Have for the last fifteen years. And while she might not make a bestie out of everybody she comes across, she is one hell of a loyal and caring friend to those people special enough to be a part of her life.”
Bridget lifted her chin. “Maybe, but I know you. And she’s not your type.”
“If you really knew me, then you never would have left,” he said, because she’d know that he wasn’t the kind of person to give up when love got hard. He was a fighter, and would have fought for what they had. “You’d also know that, once down, it doesn’t mean I stay down.” He studied her shocked expression, as if she had no idea who she was talking to. “Are you upset about me and Ali? Or are you upset because I’m no longer waiting for you to take me off the shelf and play with me until you get bored again?”
“I never meant to make you feel that way.” The sad part was she really believed what she was saying. “I’d start missing you and wondered what if I made a mistake…” She shrugged. “But in the end I knew it wasn’t right, and I just wanted us to be happy.”
Hawk wanted to tell her she made the biggest fucking mistake of her life, because he would have stopped at nothing to make their dream family a reality. All he ever wanted was to make her happy, but in the end she’d brought him more pain than his dad ever had.
“Ali makes me happy.” When Bridget’s shoulders sank, he almost admitted the truth. But then realized that everything he’d just said was God’s honest truth.
Ali made him laugh, she made him frustrated as hell, and here was the kicker, she made him a better man. No, Ali wasn’t the typical beauty queen he’d gone for in the past. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t beautiful. Ali radiated a confidence that was as magnetic as it was sexy.
Hawk cleared his throat and looked around the bar. “Speaking of happiness, where’s the fiancé?”
Bridget squared her shoulders, twisted into her most appealing stance, and plastered on one of those manufactured cool-as-a-cucumber expressions she wore for the world. An expression she’d never worn for him. Until now.
“Oh, Jamie?” Sh
e gave an affected laugh. “He had a business meeting in Silicon Valley. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“In time for the party?”
“Of course.” Bridget smoothed down her dress. “He wouldn’t miss it, and since he doesn’t really care about color palettes and wine tastings, he said he trusted my judgment.”
“You always were great at throwing a party.”
She smiled. “I like to think I have a touch with creating ambience, but I have to give credit to my dad and sister. They put this together, well, with the help of my friends.” She waved a hand around the bar. “What do you think?”
He held her gaze. “What do you think?”
Bridget dropped her hand to her side and gave a small shrug. More than fluent in nonverbal-lady-speak, Hawk understood that she wanted his approval. Which made no sense. She hadn’t given a rat’s ass about his opinions since the divorce, but he could tell she needed it now.
“I think it is very you,” he said honestly. The Martha Stewart decor, the couture wedding, even the starched and sophisticated jet-setting fiancé. It was everything Bridget had always wanted. And nothing that Hawk could relate to.
“You said the same thing when I decorated our house,” she said with a soft laugh. “You hated everything about it.”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “You loved it more than I hated it.” And I loved you more than anything.
Bridget studied him for a long moment, her eyes going soft, reminding him of the woman he’d known when they’d been alone. In love. “You’re one of the good guys, Hawk.” She looked over at Ali, who was sucking down a beer from a goblet, then back to him. “Don’t forget that.”
“And you’re one step from having everything you always wanted, so don’t forget that you need to let it go.”
Let me go.
Hawk gave a parting smile and headed toward the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, the one he kept stashed for moments like this, and poured himself two fingers.
“You okay?” Ali asked, taking a bite of her burger.
“As okay as a guy would be to watch his man cave turned into a tea room.”
“Your ‘man cave’ is used by the Destiny Bay Ladies Choir for The Bachelor viewing parties,” she reminded him around bits of fry.
He crossed his arms. “Fine. Maybe it’s because you’re eating in my bar.”
Ali looked over her shoulder and pointed to the sign above the door. “‘Bar and Grill’ means people are welcome to pull up a seat and enjoy a burger and beer.”
“Not when the burger isn’t from my kitchen.”
“I like Burger Barn’s fries better. They’ve got the right crisp to grease ratio.” Ali sopped up some ketchup with her fry and offered it to him. “Taste for yourself.”
Why the hell not, Hawk thought. His ex was ten feet away, his pretend girlfriend was ten inches from his face, and he could use a little taste of sunshine.
Resting his elbows on the counter, he slowly leaned in and took the fry—with his teeth. His lips brushed the tips of Ali’s fingers and she snatched them back and skewered him with a look.
But not before he watched her eyes dilate. Heard her breath catch.
“You’re right,” he said, licking his lips. “Perfect combination.”
She waved a hand at his mouth and whispered, “We agreed, no touching.”
“And I thought we agreed to keep this simple,” he said, looking around his bar at the matchy-matchy theme and realizing the only thing that didn’t match was him. “At no point do I remember agreeing to a wedding magazine spread in my bar.”
“You should be thanking me,” she said. “I saved you from hours of talk about tulle and proper wick management for candles and which fork to use with shrimp.”
“Why hear about tulle when having it draped all over my bar is so much better.”
“Trust me, this is pretty tame,” she said, dousing another fry.
He thought back on the dozens of parties Bridget had thrown during their marriage. The floating candles in their pool, the rose petal walkways, the food with names he couldn’t pronounce. The way he’d always felt like the odd man out. Even a designer tux and a six-figure Rolex couldn’t make him comfortable in her world.
“Point taken.” He snatched the fry out of her hand and ate it. “Some kind of warning would have been nice, though.”
“When the first bolt of fabric arrived, I came into your office to tell you, but you were sleeping,” she said, then studied her lunch as if it held the answers to life. “I didn’t want to wake you because I knew you’d insist on hanging the fabric and lifting the boxes and well…being Superhero Hawk. And I knew it would only make it”—she pointed a fry at his shoulder—“worse.”
She looked up and lowered her voice. “Are you okay?”
Honestly, he was. Sure, he was holding his shoulder, and his breath, because a strange feeling filled his chest. But he was feeling relaxed, content. There Ali sat, in the middle of her own personal hell, and instead of dumping his mistake on him, she’d handled it. So he could sleep.
“Are you looking out for me, sunshine?” he asked, sending her a wink.
“No. Just curious.” She took a bite of her burger. “Fi’s got a poll going on Facebook about what excuse you’ll use to bail on going to the party. If you’re using your shoulder, I can double my money.”
“I’m not bailing on the party.” Hawk rubbed his temple and noticed that some of the patrons in the bar were watching his every movement. “And some might say you’re asking because you care.”
“Nope.” She inhaled the last bite and wiped her mouth off with a napkin. She picked up a bag from the chair next to her and set it on the bar top. The smell of hot grease and a Burger Barn double cheddar jalapeño special seeped into the air.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“In case you were hungry.”
He was hungry, but he was also touched. “Wow, sunshine, did you bring me lunch?” He opened the bag and took in a deep breath, then met her gaze. “That’s a very girlfriend-like thing, you know. Some might call it a sweet gesture.”
“It’s plan B.” She tossed her napkin on the bar and stood, that skirt not going any lower from the gravity. “In case the shoulder doesn’t pan out, I had Chester add extra peppers and cheese. Lactose and spice on a girly stomach like yours is a pretty potent combination.”
Hawk leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. “Not as potent as that dress of yours.”
Chapter 7
Ali never considered herself a crier. She’d learned that tears could blur reality for a time, but when they vanished, they only made the truth that much clearer. Yet she was one dress away from bursting into tears. Or punching someone.
Hawk would do, since he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess. Unfortunately, he wasn’t around, and since punching Kennedy would be like kicking a puppy, Ali settled on flapping her hands to the side and groaning. She’d seen Bridget and her mom do it a thousand times, but it just didn’t bring the same satisfaction as slamming her fist into something.
“I have the red dress from Fi’s Holiday Hot Buttered Rum-Run Party,” Kennedy said from the bed, where she was sprawled out like they were at some kind of slumber party—and not the most miserable night of Ali’s life. “It would look great with your complexion.”
Ali pulled the excess fabric of her new dress out to the sides and swayed. “Unless I grew six inches and two cup sizes, it would just look…”
“Like you’re playing dress-up?”
Ali spun to face her friend and glared. “I was going to say, it looks a little big.”
Kennedy bit her lip. “More like, pastor’s wife.”
Ali looked down at herself and gave a little twirl. “It’s not that bad.”
“You could hide another person under the skirt. And that cut?” Kennedy made a dramatic gagging sound. “I swear Ms. Bitsy has a hat that would look lovely with it. She wore it to Easter Sunday service.”
> “It’s the best one so far,” Ali said, looking at herself in the mirror. The dress was practical, pressed, and perfect for a night of working the bar. “Plus, it’s black, so it will match my boots, hide any food stains I might attract, and piss off Bridget. What more could you ask for in a dress?”
“I don’t know, one that shows off your figure, makes men think about sex.”
Ali plopped on the bed and fell back with a huff. “I could wear pasties and dental floss, but the second Bridget walks in the room, no one will notice I’m there.”
“And by no one, you mean Hawk?” Kennedy guessed.
“Hawk is my beard, nothing more.” Kennedy gave a noise that translated into bullshit. “I’m serious.”
“Okay, then why won’t you wear the pretty green dress in the back of your closet? The one you got on our last girls’ weekend to Seattle that says, Let’s get serious…at my place?”
Because she was afraid that the one man who she’d want to take her up on the offer was still in love with another woman.
Ali covered her eyes with her hands and groaned.
God, when had she become that girl? To be fair, she’d been that girl since the moment she’d heard her dad call Bridget “Daddy’s little princess.” Ali, on the other hand, had always been “Daddy’s little helper.” Not a bad position, since she’d much rather hold a soldering iron than a curling iron, and blending lipstick wasn’t nearly as much fun as blending metal alloys.
But just once it would feel nice to step out of the shadows and enjoy the sun on her skin. Enjoy the attention of a man, knowing that there was no one else he’d rather be with. That she was the first choice.
Not the runner-up.
There had been a moment in the bar yesterday when Hawk had looked at her with something other than friendship. Something that had crackled and sparked and felt so real Ali almost let herself give in to the fantasy.
Then suddenly, Bridget was there. Tall and regal and everything Ali could never be—and reality had crept in. Ali went from being the object of his affection to the amusing little sister with one well-placed bat of Bridget’s long lashes.
