The Complete Irreparable Boxed Set

When he saw what had changed, he was floored.

Willow had been tagged in a status by some boy named Angel Rodriguez that read, "can't wait to take out my girl tonight," and had a fucking winking smiley face next to it!

His girl? Since when was Willow anyone's girl? That wasn't even the boyfriend she had broken up with, this was some new asshole.

Fax forgotten, he spent the next half hour investigating Angel Rodriguez and concluded he was not the kind of guy for Willow.

Not that he had any right to decide who her type of guy was... but someone needed to look out for her, right?

Willow was still listed as single, but he didn't even know if she would keep her information current.

He debated sending her a text message. Just a brief one to ask her how life was...let her know he was thinking about her?

No. No, that was stupid. He was only thinking about her because he knew she was vulnerable and he didn't want her to fall prey to any vultures that might be circling.

Like that Angel kid.

At the end of his stalking session, he concluded that he had no good reason to contact her and he should leave her alone, even if he did think that kid seemed shifty.

It was not his concern.

The fax came through, reminding him that he had actual work to do, and he put the girl out of his mind.

As it approached 9 pm, he was back in his office. He found his way over to the computer again, figuring he would just see if there were any updates. Strangely the first post about taking "his girl" out had disappeared from her page, but she was tagged in a new picture, and what he saw made his jaw go a little slack.

Willow was all sexed up. She had straightened her long brown hair, put on more make-up than she needed, but it enhanced her beauty and made her look older, and she was wearing a tight-ass black mini skirt with some flowy bright coral-orange shirt. Her legs looked fucking incredible, except for the hand resting on her hip—the hand of her date, Angel.

Ethan scowled. One look at the picture and he knew what was on that kid's mind.

His fingers itched to send her a text, but he stopped himself. He wasn't a fucking kid; he couldn't interrupt her date to warn her that the guy she was out with undoubtedly wanted to have sex with her.

She was also an attractive teenage girl, so she probably already knew that.

He still didn't like it.

What if that kid tried to take advantage of her vulnerable state? Teenage boys were little bastards, only thinking with the little head and certainly not mature enough to handle Willow.

What the hell was she doing?

None of his business, he reminded himself.

If Willow was moving on with her life, good for her.

Yep, good for her. She was probably capable of handling herself around a horny teenager—surely he wasn't the first she had dealt with.

But he was the first since losing her virginity.

Or having it ripped away from her.

By him.

He had absolutely no right to dictate who she shared her body with now that her virginity wasn't holding her back.

He told himself he was just worried about her well-being, but since the images in his mind were of her in that mini-skirt, and flashes of memory of the night he held her in his arms and she looked like she wanted to be kissed...he wasn't sure he was being honest with himself.

It didn't matter.

He was a married man and she was an 18-year-old girl.