Stone Cold

Jude rakes his hand through his hair. “God damn it. I hate when you’re right.”

A cool burst of relief washes through me, colder than the air conditioning they’re pumping into this packed bar. Maybe I’m finally talking some sense into him.

“You’ll thank me tomorrow,” I say. “For now, just sit back and have a good time.”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slump as he nurses his beer like a sulking man child. While his attention is still trained on the blonde, at least his ass is glued to his seat. It’s still a victory in my book. “It’s just … what could it hurt, right? Jovie would never know. Literally. We’re in a different fucking country.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

“I’m thinking about proposing to Jovie when we get back,” he says. The audacity and timing of his statement makes me physically ill. “Not right away, of course. But sometime this summer.”

“Really? I’m all but chaining you to your seat to keep you from screwing some random girl and now you’re talking about how you want to marry Jovie?”

“You didn’t let me finish.” His words slur into one another and he waves his hand in my face. “I’m just saying, if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with one woman … why can’t I have one last …”

His words trail into nothing, but he doesn’t need to finish his thought. I know where he’s going with it. Jude will justify anything if given the chance. He’s probably lost in his own mind right now, qualifying this entire thing six ways from Sunday.

“Because you’re better than that,” I say. “And because Jovie deserves better.”

He elbows me before turning his unfocused gaze in my direction. “Why do you give a shit about her all of a sudden? You’ve never liked her. I know it. She knows it. You know it. The state of Maine knows it.”

I don’t laugh at his lame attempt at being funny, and I don’t tell him how dead wrong he is.

“I’m trying to save you from yourself,” I say. “You do stupid shit when you’re drunk.”

“Isn’t that kind of the whole point? We’re young and dumb and we’re allowed to do stupid shit.” He turns his attention back toward the icy blonde. “Sometimes I feel like I can close my eyes and see my entire future with Jovie. Marriage, kids, a nine-to-five, boring, ordinary stuff. She’s a good girl. And she loves me. God, does she love me. But sometimes I wonder … are we only together because nothing better has come along?”

“You think she deserves better than you?”

“I think on some level we’re both kind of settling,” he says. “Like she’s pretty, right? And smart. And fun. And she checks all the boxes. But sometimes I wonder if there’s someone else out there who can, I don’t know, keep me on my toes a little more.”

“Do you think Jovie feels like she’s settling with you?”

He blows a hard breath through his nostrils, giving it some contemplation. “Kinda. Yeah. I don’t think she realizes it though.”

I toss back the last of my eighteen-dollar tequila, letting it burn on the way down.

“Dude, you’re sucking the wind out of my sails here.” Jude smacks me on the back. “This conversation is way too heavy for a night like tonight.”

The song changes to a techno remix of some House of Pain number and Jude hops up from his chair, making his way to the dance floor and jumping to the beat like the drunk idiot he is tonight, his drink lifted in the air. A few seconds later, he disappears into the crowd.

I don’t see him again the rest of the night.

Chapter Thirty

Jovie

* * *

“Jovie?”

I’m strolling down Fore Street, savoring my mocha gelato and basking in the midday sun when someone calls my name.

Turning around, I almost drop my spoon when I spot Jude Hudson striding toward me, a man on a mission. His long legs bring him closer with each step and given the fact that we’ve now made eye contact, there’s no way I’m getting out of this.

“Hey,” I say, not making an attempt to be overly friendly. I can be cordial just as I was at the diner the other day, but it would have been perfectly acceptable for him to notice me and keep on walking.

It’s what I’d have done had I noticed him first.

“I thought that was you,” he says. “So crazy running into you. Again.”

“Right.” I don’t know what else to say, so I take a bite of ice cream and scan the picturesque sidewalk instead.

“We didn’t really have a chance to talk before, so I wanted to say hi.” His hands rest at his hips and he stares so hard at me he doesn’t blink. It’s almost as if he’s visually pinning me into place. “So … how long have you been in Portland?”