“I think so.” Abbi gives me a sympathetic smile. “They have a child together. Even if Kace doesn’t get the reunion he wants, she’s not going anywhere.”
“He deserves someone good.”
Abbi glances at Kace again and shakes her head. “Stella, baby, you know I love you, but you two are all wrong for each other.”
I scoff. “That’s not what I meant. I know Kace and I are never happening. But he needs someone . . . someone good,” I repeat. Because that’s seriously what I want for him. “And don’t look at me like that. Kace might star in my go-to fantasies, but I know better than to think I’m the girl for him.”
She frowns. “You really do just want him to be happy. That’s sweet.”
I shrug. It doesn’t matter what I want. As long as he’s hung up on his ex, his soul mate could be standing right in front of him, and he’d never notice her—especially if she’s the redheaded wild child who’s been in love with him since seventh grade.Chapter TwoKaceMy wife is on a date. This is nothing new, but tonight she brought her date to Smithy’s bar, which means all I have to do is turn around, and I get to witness every flirtatious touch, every lust-filled stare. Obviously, I’m keeping my eyes on my beer, because who needs that kind of misery in their life?
“Smell that?” Smithy asks, sniffing the air. He pulls the tap and pours a beer, bopping along to that special drumbeat only he can hear.
“What?”
“Smoke, man.”
Frowning, I sniff the air then look around. I smell burgers, beer, and the light pine scent of Smithy’s mop bucket. He might be a goof, and a bit too fond of the ganja, but he keeps his place clean. “I don’t smell anything.”
He sniffs again. “You sure you don’t smell smoke? Because Stella looks fire tonight.”
I glance over my shoulder, playing it cool. As if I didn’t notice my best friend’s little sister the second she walked in. As if I haven’t been noticing her way too much for months now.
Not checking out Stella takes physical effort, and the minute my gaze lands on her, relief washes over me. It’s the feeling of putting down a weight you’ve been holding for too long. The feeling of drawing in a breath when you break the surface of the water. It feels good to look at her, and I wish I could get away with doing it a whole lot more.
Sometime during the past ten years, Stella became a bombshell. There’s no other word for it, and right now she reminds me of a centerfold more than the pest who’d follow Dean and me around all summer. She’s sass and smiles. Her curves make it really fucking hard not to stare under normal circumstances. In a skimpy red dress, she’s the focal point my gaze has returned to again and again since she arrived an hour ago. That’s the fastest way to get my mind off my ex-wife. I can hardly remember other women exist when Stella’s in front of me. She’s bad fucking news—as evidenced by her dickhead date—and I know this, at least rationally. She’s a mess, the all-drama, too-much-trouble party girl I’ve been programmed to protect, and the polar opposite of what I’d want if I was interested in bringing another woman into my life. But my dick doesn’t care about reason, apparently.
Bad for me or not, I do worry about her, especially when I see her with guys who treat women like they exist purely for their pleasure. But at least Abbi showed up and saved me from my instinctive need to hover over her table and stand guard when that douchebag left.
Stella notices me staring and smirks. Busted.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I retrieve it to see she’s sent me a text.
Stella: Would you stop checking me out? I’m THIRSTY, and it’s not nice to tease.
Me: Need me to bring you another drink?Her laughter rings across the bar—bold, loud, sexy, and shameless, just like everything else about her. My gaze drifts her way again, and she shakes her head before her fingers fly across the screen and my phone dings again.
Stella: Is that what you think THIRSTY means?
Me: Honestly? I have no fucking idea.I’ve turned on my barstool to face her side of the room, and I don’t bother taking my eyes off her as she grins down at her phone and taps out a reply.
“Smithy, what are Stella and Abbi drinking tonight?” I ask without taking my eyes off her.
“The usual.”
I turn and stare at him, because I have no idea what that is.
He gives me a disappointed shake of his head. “Lemon drop martinis. You buying the next round?”
“Sure. Why not?” Hope is with my mom tonight, and Amy gets her tomorrow, so it’s either hang at Smithy’s and buy some drinks or go home to an empty house. If buying drinks means I get to give Stella my attention a little longer, it’s a damn easy decision.