“What can I getcha?”
“Somebody who works up here left me a voicemail from my buddy’s phone, looking for somebody to come get him.”
The enormous bartender nodded down to one end of the bar. “That him?”
Aaron followed his gaze, didn’t see Rick. “Nope.”
“Must be the other one then. His sister’s already taking care of things.” He gestured with a glass.
Aaron turned toward the back of the bar and stopped dead at first sight of the goddess with her arm around his friend in front the stage.
Hooo-ly shit.
Little Gemma Forester was all grown up.
Aaron clearly remembered the teenage girl. The first time he’d met Gemma, he’d all but swallowed his tongue. It was so absolutely wrong for a fifteen-year-old girl to be that smoking hot, and even more wrong that he couldn’t seem to stop himself from noticing. She was fearless and brilliant, having no qualms about jumping into debate with her über-intellectual brother and no problems keeping up. That’d made it hard to remember the age gap, hard to remember that she was completely off-limits for reasons beyond being his best friend’s sister. How many high school sophomores could intelligently argue Kafka one minute and political theory as applied to the Empire in Star Wars the next? He’d liked her. She was unapologetically direct, without a bashful cell in her body. Unlike so many other girls, she maintained eye contact, pinning him with her icy gray gaze in a way that he found both unnerving and sexy as hell. Confidence always worked for him.
She’d crushed on him as, he imagined, most little sisters did on their older brothers’ friends. Trying out her skill at flirtation on him. It had been sweet and flattering. And totally inappropriate.
But this was no teenager. It was one thing to intellectually know that ten years had passed. It was quite another to see evidence of it. From the smooth, dark sweep of her hair, to the well-cut overcoat and fancy shoes that added to her already impressive height, every inch screamed polish and sophistication. And irritation. No wonder. She’d clearly been dragged from a date. Rick wrapped his arms around her, tipping his head against her shoulder and saying something Aaron couldn’t make out. Gemma staggered a couple of steps under his weight before finding her footing again.
Aaron shoved away from the bar and went to offer his assistance. The entire population of occupants inside Red’s seemed determined to foil that plan. He got bumped, shoved, and even whirled into an impromptu two step by one ambitious blonde that wouldn’t take no for an answer. By the time he made it through the pack, Gemma was already heading for the door, Rick suspended between her and a beefy guy in boots and flannel.
Aaron edged in front of them. “Hello Gemma.”
~*~
“Hello Gemma.”
She stopped mid-step and her focus narrowed on blue eyes she hadn’t seen in a decade but remembered like it was yesterday.
In all the honky tonks, in all the towns, in all the South, you had to walk into this one.
She actually felt all the maturity, all the layers of poise and composure she’d worked for slip away as nerves began to dance a rumba in her belly and her tongue tied itself in knots. Just like that, she was fifteen again, with a crush on her brother’s best friend. A crush that got totally shot down.
Aaron Hendricks smiled at her, flashing that slightly crooked incisor and she felt a blast of very adult heat blow through her system, complicating the nerves with a healthy dose of pure chemistry that scrambled her brain. Oh. My. God.
“Aaron,” she said. Her voice came out breathless. Mortification flared bright. She could feel the color rising in her cheeks and hoped the lousy lighting was low enough to hide it. The need to escape beat in her blood. No. No, she couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t deal with him.
“What are you doing here?” she managed, tightening her grip on Rick, who was only semi-conscious by now.
“I think Red went through Rick’s entire contact list. I got the voicemail, so I came to get him.”
Because Aaron was still the dedicated, responsible friend in the bunch. She’d always liked that about him.
“I’m taking him home,” she said. Under other circumstances, she might’ve cringed at the brusque, dismissive tone. She wasn’t rude, as a rule. But she didn’t trust herself to speak without stumbling over her own tongue.
“I think that’s a good idea. Let me help you with that.”
“No!” Gemma snapped. God, she didn’t want him helping. She wanted to get away as fast as humanly possible. “Jason and I have got him.”
Jason, who’d readily offered his assistance when she’d nearly face-planted off the stage with her brother, eyed Aaron with suspicion. “This guy hassling you?”
“No,” said Gemma, suddenly exhausted. The last thing she needed was some kind of testosterone showdown. “He’s fine. We’re fine. Let’s just get my brother outside.” She glanced over.
Aaron was still there, still looking concerned, still looking delicious as ever with those broad shoulders her hands itched to stroke and that sensual mouth that had starred in countless sexy dreams.
“Let’s go,” said Gemma, tugging their little trio toward the exit.