The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

He’s not going to let go without me pitching a fit.

I’m not interested in making a scene, so while we’re still by the table, I manage a pained smile for Carson and say, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

I barely have time to stand before West yanks me across the room like he’s my own special bodyguard, pulling us all the way outside, where we stumble into the cool evening air.

It was a warm day for October, but as it often does around here, it’s cooled off considerably come evening.

He releases my arm once we’re several steps away from the door.

It’s now or never.

I take the chance and look up at him. I see the razor-sharp glint in his eyes and try to decipher what put it there.

Anger? Jealousy? West being the same overprotective beast he’s been for half my life?

His chest heaves as he looks on in volcanic silence.

Anger again?

I’m not sure, but a part of me reacts to this raw power steaming off his shoulders, so intense I can almost hallucinate smoke rising. I have to suck in a breath and try to calm the ridiculous rush of hormones that make me dizzy.

I thought he was working tonight. I’d even thought about him a couple times—not Carson—while picking out a dress. The simple country sundress makes me look like a Dallas girl, and I’m not entirely sure it was ever meant for a cultured man from Boston.

Yikes.

Still, I never imagined he’d respond like this to a hint of teasing.

“What the hell, West? What is this? Dragging me around like I’m out with a boy after curfew and—”

“What the hell are you doing with that guy, Shel?” He booms back, cutting me off.

God, just who does he think he is?

Except, I think I know. He’s the man who made it perfectly clear he’ll never love me.

So why this big mad tantrum? Why’s he trying to embarrass me like I’m sixteen again?

The steely-eyed anger—visible in his hot glare, his clenched jaw, aimed at me like a weapon—is new.

I’ve never seen it before.

That irritates me even more.

“Well?” he grinds out, demanding an answer.

“Um, let me see,” I say, feigning ignorance for a moment before glaring back. “It’s called a date, West,” I snap. “One you just interrupted for no good reason.”

“Really? And will your date continue after you’re back at Thelma’s place?”

Holy crap.

My jaw drops.

Fully processing his insinuation, my anger flares. If he was anyone else, I’d slap his stupid face off, but knowing him, he’d duck and I’d miss like every cartoon spat ever, and that would just piss me off more.

I hate that I only have words for a shield against this nosy, heartbreaking idiot.

“That’s none of your business, Weston. None whatsoever.”