I’M SURPRISED BY how busy the parking lot is when we pull in a few minutes after eight, then Jill informs me that Finnegan’s is the most frequented spot in town. Once we make our way inside, it’s apparent, even to the likes of me, that this place is a staple. It’s obviously been around for a while, the décor outdated in that way some would find unappealing, but no one seems to mind. In fact, it’s the people that make this place what it is. The regulars. I know this by the way conversation seems to come to a full blown halt when Jill and I walk in.
“Don’t pay attention to them,” Jill murmurs, looking up at me as she squeezes my hand. “They’ll lose interest in a minute.”
“Right,” I grumble, my eyes scanning over the gawkers.
“Magnolia’s serves the best coffee in town. Everyone knows who I am. You’re new, you’re huge, and you’re totally hot.” I cut my eyes over to her and she smiles up at me as she goes on to say, “They’re curious. Welcome to our small town. Come on.” She tugs on my hand, and I follow her lead. “We’ll sit in the bar.”
We find a vacant table in the far corner, and I make sure to take the seat that allows me full view of my surroundings. A waitress comes over not long after we’re seated, and Jill orders a hard cider before I request a water.
“You always order water. You’re not on duty, you know?” she asks gently when we’re left to ourselves.
“I don’t drink.”
“Ever?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows in surprise.
“Never.” Before she can inquire, I inform her, “Personal preference.”
“Good to know.”
I dip my chin in a short nod and then pick up the menu, glancing over my choices. Jill doesn’t bother looking, choosing to peer around the bar instead. It doesn’t take me long to decide on the raspberry chipotle pork loin, and I’m setting aside the menu when Jill sucks in a gasp. I then watch as she turns her attention down at the table, whispering a curse. Rather than ask what causes such a reaction, I divert my attention behind her, scanning the bar. When I spot him looking our way, I stare at him blankly until he has the wherewithal to turn away and mind his own fucking business.
“I need to speak to him,” she mumbles, as if to herself, her gaze still trained on the table.
“Why?”
Her head pops up, her eyes finding mine as her cheeks color with a blush. “I—this morning, we—I just need to talk to him, okay? If Linea comes back, I’m having the Italian club sandwich.” I scowl at her in response and she gives me a pleading glance before she begs, “Leo, I’ll only be a minute.”
She leaves before I can say otherwise, and I don’t take my eyes off of her as she makes her way to the bar, hesitantly approaching the man I saw flirting with her this morning. She touches his shoulder lightly, and I curl my fingers into a fist, channeling my frustration. Knowing that she’s over there because I pushed her there is irritating as hell, but that’s not what irks me. It’s knowing that when I leave, that fucker will still be here, which really pisses me off.
Long-distance isn’t something I’ve ever had to concern myself with. Now, realization settling in, I’m beginning to understand that it’s not just her safety that I can’t ensure while I’m traveling the globe—it’s all of it. The longest we’ve been apart is seven weeks. Ashley’s tour has us out of the country for twelve; then his nationwide dates have us on the road for another ten. It took a fraction of that for some other dick to come sniffing around what’s mine. What’s to stop her from taking some other guy’s bait when he’s here and I’m there?
I don’t look at our waitress when she comes back, setting our drinks on the table. Neither do I spare her a glance as she takes our dinner order. I keep my eyes zeroed in on the situation across the bar, not giving a fuck how rude I’m being. When Jill finally turns around, headed back to our table, I narrow my eyes on her when I catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips. She runs her fingers through her hair, tossing the long, ashy blonde locks down her back, as if to hide the expression, but it’s too late.
“What the fuck was that?” I grumble as she takes her seat across from me. She freezes in response to my tone, her eyes immediately seeking out mine. Her silence doing nothing to sooth my aggravation, I lean closer to her and repeat, “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”
“Leo,” she whispers, pressing her torso against the edge of the table. She extends her hand toward me, but I don’t even so much as glance at it. Sighing, she goes on to murmur, “We went on one date. He asked me out almost right after I met you, and I told him no. Then the wedding happened, and I didn’t see the point in saying no anymore.
“We went out a couple nights ago. He was nice to me. We had a good time. It was nothing, really. Just dinner. This morning, he was in the middle of asking me out again when you showed up. Obviously, I’m here with you now. He saw us, Leo, what was I supposed to do? Ignore him? I try and make a habit of not being a bitch. Our history might not mean much, but I owed him a little, so I went over and explained.”
“Explained what?”
“That you and I are…complicated; that I was sorry if I disappointed him, but you were the reason I said no to him in the first place. And you know what? For the guy who was getting dumped, he took it a lot better than you’re taking it right now.”
“You were smiling.”
“I’m sorry, am I not allowed to do that?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
I keep my trap shut, feeling equal parts irritated by her smart ass reply, and annoyed by my sudden desire to kiss that smirk off her face.
My silence chases away her amusement and she folds her hands in her lap, looking down her cheeks as she tells me, “He wished me luck. He told me you were a lucky guy and that he’d see me Monday morning, so long as I promised you wouldn’t be there to kick his ass or something.”
I stare at her, willing myself to calm down and breathe deeply. I remind myself that she’s not the one in the wrong here. She never betrayed me because I never gave myself to her. Not to mention the fact that she already informed me the fucker never touched her. Now, given that I’ve had my naked dick inside of her twice today already, I decide that whatever blurred lines we had between us before are about to be made perfectly clear.
“Let’s get a few things straight,” I mutter, keeping my voice low and level. “You belong to me now. It’s not complicated. You’re mine. Period.”
She pulls in a deep breath, lifting her gaze before she semi-repeats, “I belong to you?”
“Yes.”
Eyeing me dubiously, she asks, “And you? You belong to me?”
“Yes.”
“So all those things that you said—”
“I’m here, aren’t I? You think I’ve ever crawled back to a woman before?”
My question is met with silence, and the look on her face makes me feel like a dick for even asking. I close my eyes, shaking my head once before I meet her gaze again and start over.
“I told you why I’m here. I meant it.”
She bites on the inside of her cheek, reaching up to sweep a bit of hair behind her ear before she works up the courage to ask, “So—you’re saying you’re my boyfriend?”
Quirking an eyebrow at her, I answer her question with a question of my own. “I look like a boy to you?”
Fighting a smile, she shakes her head at me in reply.
“You’re my woman. I’m your man. Simple as that.”
No longer fighting her gorgeous smile, she murmurs, “We’re going to do this.”
“It’s already done, baby. I’ve seen to it twice already, by my count.”
“And when you leave?” she asks, her cheeks rosy in response to my last comment.
I extend my arm across the table, palm up, and wait for her to slip her hand into mine. When she does, I inform her, “Nobody touches what’s mine. No one.”
She gives my fingers a squeeze before she whispers, “I don’t share, either.”
“Fucking settled.”
Silence passes between us, and she looks away from me and down at our hands. I don’t resist her as she flips my palm over before lacing her fingers with mine.
“Lee?” she calls, her voice soft and sweet.
“What is it, baby?”
“You were right.” Bringing her eyes back up to meet mine, she smiles at me bashfully as she clarifies, “We’re not done making up yet.”