It had been a couple days since Willow’s world had capsized. Since the ex-boyfriend from hell had popped back into her life. And she’d done a damn good job of pretending it hadn’t happened. She’d replicated the life of a hermit, diligently avoiding most public spaces—and thus avoiding the gossip mill. She had at least seven voice mails from Rory to tend to, but she just didn’t have it in her yet, wanting instead to keep her head buried in the sand a bit longer.
The prediction she’d made to Rory a few days before rang through her head, how the Thomas boys would peel away from town before the people of Havenbrook could blink. She didn’t know one way or another if they had—she’d asked Mac and Avery not to mention anything about the twins, and she’d studiously kept her head down and her nose to her work.
The thought of Finn still being in Havenbrook sent her stomach into a tailspin. More concerning, though, was the fact that the thought of him leaving without a word, going back on his promise of seeing her again, sent a whole flurry of other emotions swirling in her belly. And since there wasn’t enough wine in the world to explore that particular issue, Willow avoided examining it further. Pulled the proverbial blanket over her head and ignored. She went to work and then straight home, usually forcing Mackenna to run and grab supper and bring it back to the house so Willow could stay hidden away.
She just had to ride out the few days until Finn and his brother bailed again—and she was already two days into it. She could hold out through the weekend. By Monday, the Thomas boys would once again be just a distant memory.
She squinted at the painting she’d been working on for the better part of the day. Definitely needed more red. She’d just dipped her paintbrush in a deep, blood shade when the phone rang. Without setting the brush down, she reached for the phone with her other hand. “Hello?”
“Please tell me you’re doing something other than sitting in front of your easel, wastin’ the day away,” Mac said.
Willow froze, paintbrush suspended in mid-air. Her sister was creepy sometimes, but Willow wasn’t going to tell her she was absolutely right. Though she wouldn’t consider this “wasting the day away.” “’Course not.” A lie didn’t count through the phone, right?” “What’d you need?”
“Avery was thinkin’ about Chinese for supper. That sound all right to you?”
“I could go for Chinese.” What she could go for was not leaving the house, and having her sister and Avery deliver it to her certainly fit that bill.
“All right. We’re just finishin’ up a few things, so it’ll be a bit.”
“’Kay. See you later.”
Willow didn’t know how long “a bit” was, but she planned to use it to her advantage and brought the paintbrush back to the canvas. Some mindless TV droned on in the background, but she didn’t pay it much attention. Instead, she focused on the canvas and threw all her frustration into it. The painting—a mix of colors and patterns with no rhyme or reason—was raw and wild and a great big mess. Exactly like Willow.
She’d been using paint as a means to express herself for as long as she could remember. Even after Finn had left, she’d managed not to allow her favorite pastime to be dampened by his memory. Which meant her having flashbacks now didn’t make any sense, but yet there she was. Every instance over the past few days when she’d picked up her paintbrush, snippets from her teenage years, from her time with Finn, would rush to the forefront of her mind. The first time she’d shown him one of her paintings, the look of awe and pride on his face. How he’d never made her hobby seem like a waste of time like her daddy had. When he used to sit behind her and play with her hair as she painted, his arms a solid weight around her, making her feel safe and secure, like she’d never felt before.
It had all been lies, of course.
She didn’t know how long had passed before Mac and Avery found her there, both their eyes narrowed.
“You liar,” Mac accused as she tossed her purse on the side chair, setting down boxes from Wok This Way on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You said you weren’t still doin’ this.”
“And you believed me?”
“’Course not. I hope you know you’re in the same exact place we left you. Hours ago.”
Willow raised an eyebrow and spared her sister a glance. “At least I’m not moping on the couch. Besides, I’m not sure what you thought I was gonna do. I’m not exactly in hostess mode.” She gestured toward her ensemble of frayed sleep shorts and a faded, paint-splattered tank top she’d had since high school.
“This is getting ridiculous, Will,” Mac said.
“What is?” Willow could avoid with the best of them.
Avery snorted, plopping on the couch as she grabbed her takeout container from the table. “How long do you think you can stay holed up in here? Avoidance will only get you so far.”
Avoidance seemed to be doing her just fine, thank you.
Mac went to the kitchen, bringing back silverware for them before taking a seat in one of the side chairs. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your little game of hide-away, because it ends tonight.”
Willow rolled her eyes as she put down her paintbrush and went to wash her hands. If there was one thing that could pull her away, it was mediocre Chinese food. “How do you figure?”
“As soon as you finish that Kung Pao Chicken your lovely, beautiful, devoted sister brought for you, we’re heading out to Ropers,” Mac said.
Before Willow could express her displeasure at the thought of going out, Avery held up a hand. “Don’t even try to argue. Mac’s right. You’ve had a shit week, and no one would blame you for inhaling seven cartons of ice cream.”
How dare she. It’d only been three.
“But it’s time to get out,” Mac said. “You deserve to have some fun. Have some drinks, dance a little. Enjoy yourself. And since Ropers is a half-hour away, it lessens the chances we’ll run into anyone from town, which keeps you out of the gossip mill.”
That was the problem with having a sister for a best friend—she’d been there their whole lives and knew Willow almost better than she knew herself. The fact was Willow hadn’t just been avoiding Finn in town, but also the busybodies of Havenbrook, every one of them having had a front row seat to her heartbreak ten years prior. She’d lived through one round of the pitying stares, the whispers people thought she couldn’t hear. She had no interest doing it again.
And she couldn’t deny she could use a night out with her best friends, especially after the week she’d had. There was no doubt in her mind she’d have a good time—she always did when the three of them hit the town.
“Fine,” Willow said as she sat next to Avery and dug into her container. “But drinks are on you both.”
Avery glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, her mouth turned up at the corners. “Don’t you worry about drinks. No work tomorrow and me as D.D. means we’re getting your ass drunk. And once you change out of all this—” she gestured to Willow’s ensemble with a lip curl “—we’ll be getting free drinks all night long.”
Willow’s nightly glass of wine hadn’t done shit to stop her mind from traveling back to places it was better off not going. Maybe getting good and buzzed was exactly what she needed.
An hour later, they walked into Ropers, the closest bar Havenbrook had—at least, for the time being. Willow and Mac had spent many a night there in their early twenties, rebelling from their daddy in the tamest way possible. It was already packed, which was to be expected on a Saturday night, too many bodies crowding the bar and the tall tables set up around the space. A live band played current favorites at the back of the room, the dance floor separating them from the rest of the tables. As much as Willow loved to dance, it would take a few drinks to get her inhibitions low enough to venture out there. But as Avery thrust a Long Island Iced Tea into her hands, she figured she’d be out there within the hour.
“Drink up while I scope the place,” Avery said, her gaze already roving over the available men in the bar. Her eyes lit up, and she tilted her chin toward Willow’s left. “Couple hotties have all eyes on you.”
Willow raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink, trying not to cringe at the heavy alcohol. It’d been too damn long since she’d had anything but wine—maybe getting a good buzz going wouldn’t take long at all. “Or they have eyes on you.” Her best friend was gorgeous on a normal day, but when she put effort into it like she had that evening? She had to beat off the guys with a stick.
“I’m not the one with my legs on display,” Avery said.
Willow glanced down at the short shorts she wore—shorter than her standard, but when Avery had thrust them at her, lending them to Willow from her wardrobe, she’d figured what the hell. She’d paired it with a thin, gauzy tank that dipped down low in the front and back, and wedge sandals that made her average-length legs look a mile long.
“No, but your boobs are saying hello to anyone with two working eyeballs.” Willow tipped her chin toward Avery’s ample cleavage on display.
Avery just shrugged. “Work with what you’ve got—that’s my motto. And we all know my boobs are my best asset.” She gave a little shake of her shoulders to punctuate her point, pulling laughs from Mac and Willow. “Yours, my lovely friend, is your legs. Mac’s is her ass, which is why I put her in those tight as hell jeans. Honestly, you both act like I’m an amateur.”
“After this long, neither of us doubts your powers,” Mac said, taking a swig from her bottle of beer.
“Well, good. You shouldn’t. Remember the last time we went out? We had those guys eating out of the palms of our hands.” Avery winked. “Stick with me, girls, and I’ll make sure the free drinks keep coming.”
“This wasn’t free.” Willow held up her glass, the contents nearly gone.
“It was more important to get you well on the way to Drunkville than it was to wait for a freebie.” Avery bumped her hip against Willow’s. “Speaking of, how’re your lips, girl? Tingly yet?”
Mac smiled around the mouth of her bottle, both of them knowing Willow’s first tell of being tipsy.
Willow held her fingers close together, squinting her eyes as said tingly lips lifted up at the corners. “Li’l bit.”
Avery threw her head back in laughter as Mac grinned her approval. It’d been a while since Willow had let loose like this, setting out for an evening with the sole purpose of getting good and drunk. It’d been a while since she’d needed to. The main focus of her frustration was usually relegated to her daddy or Rory, and she’d had years of practice dealing with those two. This week had been the usual multiplied by seven thousand, and it’d left her floundering.
As Mac launched into a rant about the lack of available men in Havenbrook and her dismal dating life, Willow glanced around the bar, her gaze skating over the swarm of bodies stacked upon each other, the space having filled up even more since they’d arrived. As she sucked the last bit of her drink through the straw, her eyes skittered over a trio standing by the front door, then snapped back, her body stiffening as she took in who’d just walked into the space. Even thirty feet away, there was no mistaking exactly who it was. There was also no mistaking the way her stomach bottomed out at the same time her heart started galloping like a racehorse.
Finn stood by the door, Nola and Drew on either side of him. As he surveyed the room, Willow took the opportunity to survey him, the unabashed ogling something she’d tried to rein in when he’d been in her office and had been watching her. Now she had the opportunity to stare with him unaware.
His hair was mussed, like he’d been running his hand through it. The scruff on his jaw had grown in even more since the other day, and she nearly sat on her hands to hold back the urge she had to feel it against her palms. He was casual in a white T-shirt, the material clinging to huge muscles that looked both strange and completely at home on his frame. He tucked his hand into the pocket of the dark jeans hanging low on his slim hips, causing Willow’s eyes to trail all the way down his body.
“Hello?” Mac snapped her fingers in Willow’s face. “What’s got your attention?” Before waiting for Willow to answer, she looked over her shoulder, her head snapping back almost immediately. “Well, shit.”
“What? What’s up?” Avery asked, turning in the direction Mac had looked. Once she spotted who they’d been looking at, she whistled low. “Damn. Looks like we picked the wrong place to drink.”
“What do you want, Will? You wanna leave?” Mac asked, setting her empty bottle on the table. “We can try Rudy’s instead?”
Rudy’s was a dive bar a few miles farther down the road, just a bar top and some high tables inside, no frivolous extras—like clean bathrooms—to be seen. It was a place you went strictly to get shit-faced. And while that sounded pretty good right about now, Willow’s drink was already working its magic, the alcohol flowing through her veins. She’d spent the past several days avoiding Finn, staying holed up in her house or her office. But she’d be damned if she let him run her out of here too.
“What I want,” Willow said, tearing her eyes away from Finn, “is another drink.”
Avery and Mac exchanged a look, then Avery nodded. “You got it, sweetcheeks. Be right back.”
One thing Avery had mastered was getting the bartender’s attention almost immediately, her cleavage going a long way to shorten the time frame. Less than five minutes later, Willow had another Long Island Iced Tea in her hand.
She worked hard to avoid tracking Finn’s movements, instead counting on Mac and Avery to take care of it for her. Every once in a while, she’d catch Mac’s eyes narrowed at some place over Willow’s shoulder, but she never looked. Told herself she didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. She was here to have fun, and she wasn’t going to let Finn Thomas ruin that for her.
“You ready to move this out on the dance floor?” Avery asked as Willow finished her second drink.
Willow scrunched up her nose, the tingly sensation from her lips having spread to most of her face. “Maybe.”
“If there’s one thing that’ll get your mind off this week, it’s a hot man who rocks a cowboy hat and whose ass looks sinful in a pair of jeans.”
Willow laughed, trying to suck up one last sip of her drink. “That was oddly specific.”
“Yeah, well, prepare yourself. Mr. Oddly Specific is headed this way.”
A few seconds later, three guys surrounded their table. Every one of them was a good-looking country boy—and each of them knew it too.
“Evenin’, ladies,” the first guy said, tipping his hat. “How ’bout y’all come out and dance with us.”
It wasn’t a question but rather a statement, cockiness rolling off him in waves. Arrogance usually turned Willow off, but it wasn’t like she was going to start dating the guy. Hell, she wasn’t even going to take him home for a night of fun. She’d come here to forget about Finn and the mess he’d tossed back on her doorstep. Alcohol went a long way toward helping her do that. Dancing with this guy would go even further.
Avery and Mac deferred to her, and after a short nod from Willow, the girls both grinned, hopping off their stools and leading the way to the dance floor. Mr. Oddly Specific settled in behind Willow, his hands on her hips as the band played a current radio hit. His body was a little too close for her liking, but she ignored it, instead focusing on letting the music flow through her. She raised her hands above her head, swiveling her hips to the beat as she closed her eyes and tried to forget the fact that her ex-boyfriend hadn’t fled Havenbrook like she’d assumed he would. Tried to ignore the fact that he was mere feet from her, somewhere in the bar.
Tried to ignore the way her nipples tightened at the thought, a low hum running through her body, the tattoo at her hip tingling with memories.
Moments later, she knew exactly why her body was buzzing. Even though she didn’t look behind her, she recognized the second Finn replaced Mr. Oddly Specific at her back. The air around her grew charged, the fresh scent of him wrapping around her like her favorite childhood blanket. How, after so long, did he still smell the same? More importantly, how did she remember? And why did it transport her back to years ago, to memories of sunsets watched from the bed of his old truck, long walks along forgotten trails, and hidden moments in her childhood tree house, every single one of them heavily weighted with comfort and security?
Finn didn’t say anything, didn’t announce his arrival or that he’d somehow gotten rid of the other guy, just placed his hands on her hips, exactly as the man before him had.
But this felt different. Though it always had with Finn.
Heat spread through Willow’s body, pooling low in her belly. For all intents and purposes, Finn’s touch was chaste. His hands rested over the denim of her shorts, and though she could feel the heat of him against her back, none of his body touched hers. And yet even with that minuscule touch of just his hands against her, it lit her up more than some men had been able to do while lying naked beside her.
It was the first touch the two of them had shared in years, and her body warred with itself, half of her wanting to flee, to find Mac and Avery and get the hell out of the bar. But the other half wanted to press back against him, wanted to lean into him and feel those newly developed muscles along her back. Wanted to pretend for a while they didn’t have history, that he hadn’t stomped on her heart. That she wasn’t the brokenhearted sweetheart of Havenbrook. Wanted to pretend he was just some guy who could make her body hum simply by his presence.
So that was exactly what she did.
She continued dancing like she hadn’t noticed the change in partner, though how she managed was a damn miracle because her entire body felt like it was on fire. Finn kept his touch subtle, but the tips of his fingers scorched her even through the layers of fabric separating their skin. And even though she was burning up inside, feeling like there was a neon arrow above her head, pointing straight down at her, the people around her were oblivious. Avery and Mac were somewhere on the dance floor, though she couldn’t see them. Which was probably for the better. If either of them saw her and Finn dancing together, they’d drag her out by her hair.
When the music switched to a slower, grittier song, the undercurrent of the beat and lyrics blatantly sexual, she and Finn didn’t pull apart. Instead, he closed the last couple of inches between them, settling along her back as he slid an arm around her waist and tugged her against him, brushing his palm across her stomach along the way.
The lights were dim, the dance floor packed with so many people it felt like they were hiding in plain sight. Maybe that was what allowed her to relax back into him, her ass settling into the cradle of his hips. She caught her breath at what she felt behind the fly of his jeans, how hard he was for her, and couldn’t stop her eyelids from fluttering closed, her head lolling to the side as it rested against his chest.
Finn leaned closer, running his nose along the column of her neck, and it was so easy to forget everything when he touched her so reverently. So easy to block out all the horrible memories they shared when he held her like she meant something. So easy to shove aside all their history.
At least, until Finn rubbed a circle against her hip over the material of her shorts, his fingers in the general vicinity of the brand she’d had put on her ten long years ago.
“You still have my bird on you, Willowtree?” His lips pressed against her ear, his voice a quiet rumble that ricocheted through her entire body, first sending a shiver down her spine before snapping it straight.
The tattoos they’d gotten on her eighteenth birthday had been one of her last acts of rebellion. And, unfortunately, had become a daily reminder of how much she’d misjudged someone she’d thought she’d known better than anyone. A daily reminder of her failures, one she couldn’t run from.
As his words charged the space between them, she didn’t pause to think—didn’t turn around and give Finn a piece of her mind, didn’t so much as stomp on his foot. Instead, she plucked his hand from around her waist and walked off the dance floor without a backward glance, ready to get the hell out of this bar. What had started out as a night to forget everything Finn had brought to her doorstep ended up only serving as a reminder of exactly why everything about him was a bad idea. He had trouble written all over him, and if her reactions were anything to go by, she couldn’t trust herself around him, not even with their sordid history.
If Finn wouldn’t stay away from her, she’d make damn sure she stayed the hell away from him.