I hung up, put my phone in my purse, and pushed my door open, determined to march into Biff’s before I started to waffle again.
It was nearing the end of summer, but the heat was still in full force, and the air outside felt sticky. I walked across the broken pavement of the lot, my heels crunching on the gravel. Wearing heels had been a no-brainer. If Jay was in there, I wanted the extra three inches, and the simple sandals made my legs look longer, and less like I’d spent years climbing to the top of human pyramids.
I rounded the side of the building and ran my sweaty palms over the pockets of my jean shorts, then placed them on the large wooden door.
Please let him be inside.
I pushed it open and stepped across the threshold. I scanned the wide room quickly. My initial impression said it was like any other bar. Dimly lit, over-decorated with sports stuff on the walls. The large plasma TV over the bartender’s head cut to commercial the moment I focused on it, but I’d caught the green field and men in helmets.
My skin tingled with pin-pricks. Something was wrong.
In the center of the room, there was a glass display case. From the lighting, size, and placement, it was clear how proud the bar’s owner was of it. Confusion constricted my brain. What the hell was the furry thing inside?
It was a skunk that wasn’t black and white. It stood upright, its paws displaying the long, scary-looking claws protruding outward, and a wicked snarl on its muzzle—
“Oh. My. God,” I muttered.
It was a wolverine. The plaque on the display case read “Biff. Official Mascot of the University of Michigan, 1927.”
My muscles locked into place. The door slammed shut behind me and my startled gasp drew the gazes of the few customers sitting at the bar. One of whom had striking eyes. The color matched the navy blue of the flag hanging over the display case, decorated with an ugly yellow M.
No. No, no, no!
Jay’s after-work hangout was a Michigan-fan bar.
-8-
JAY
The foam of my beer was more exciting than the conversation Smitty was trying to have with me. The usual guys I hung out with had bailed, and I would have too, if I wasn’t still trying to get over the weekend. Fuck, I’d been sure Kayla was going to text or call, but it’d been radio silence.
I was stuck with Smitty. He was at least ten years older, and clung to me like a remora to a shark, hitting on any women who came our way.
I’d left a message with Dave on Sunday afternoon asking for Kayla’s number, but remembered afterward he’d already left for his honeymoon. So, I’d come to Biff’s to lick my wounds tonight. The sting of rejection was new and probably good for me, but I hated it. Our kiss against the wall had been short, but hot, and I’d thought there’d be more. I certainly wanted more. She’d gotten my gears grinding in all the right ways, and talking to her had easily been the best conversation I’d had with a girl in years.
I thought we’d clicked.
Instead, I’d spent Saturday night nursing a spoiled eighteen-year-old, who threw up twice in my room. I’d saved him from an epic hangover, and the bastard never thanked me in the morning for any of it.
The universe has a fucked-up way of working, though. I heard the door of the bar slam shut, followed by a woman’s gasp, and . . . there she was.
Why, hello there.
She looked like sex on heels. Her blonde hair was down this time, falling in waves past her shoulders. Kayla wore a silky black shirt over jean shorts, and the top few buttons of her shirt were undone. Casual yet teasing, and it made my dick twitch.
“Kayla?” I was up off my bar stool in a heartbeat.
Her gaze snapped to mine, but her expression didn’t make sense. She looked like she was either in pain or pissed, or maybe both.
“This was a horrible, horrible idea.” Her voice was full of dread.
I strode toward her, but she retreated. Her back slammed against the wooden door with a thump, and she grimaced. I’d forgotten how small she was, and the large doorframe exaggerated her petite size. I’d also forgotten how hot she was. Well, not forgotten. I’d been thinking about her and that kiss a lot. My memory hadn’t done her justice though. I stared at her mouth. Sexy, even as it twisted downward like she’d tasted something bad.
She whirled around and flung her hands against the wood, pushing with force at the door she’d just come through.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to escape hell!”
“What?” What was she doing here, and why was she acting like she wanted to flee? “How come you didn’t text me?”
She gave up on the door, and frustration tightened her voice. “I couldn’t. The number you gave me was wrong, and Dave wouldn’t give me your real one.”
My mouth went slack.
How the hell had I been so stupid? For a split second, I blamed Dave, but that wasn’t fair. He’d been following my orders, after all. It was crazy the hoops some girls would jump through—or guys they’d screw—to get to me. It was fucked up, and I’d made sure my friends knew sharing my info with anyone with tits was totally forbidden.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m glad you didn’t think I was blowing you off.” The grin that spread on my face was unstoppable. “Did you drive all the way here just to get my number?”
She turned to face me. Well, not exactly. Her attention was focused on Biff, and her eyes were wide with horror. That was weird. The stuffed wolverine wasn’t exactly friendly-looking, but it wasn’t that scary, either.
She must have figured out I was waiting on her answer, and her head moved in a slow nod.
“Okay.” I aimed for a playful tone. “You gotta pen?”
There was no reaction from her. She was stiff and tense. Maybe it was because she was the only girl in the bar. Things were definitely looking up now.
“Come on. Let me buy you a beer.” As I headed back toward my drink, I locked eyes with Smitty. My expression hardened as his gaze drifted over to Kayla with interest. Forget it, pal. This girl is all mine.
But was she?
She hadn’t moved. She was frozen to her spot by the door, and I ran a hand through my hair, confused. “You coming?”
“No.”
“You don’t like beer?” I’d really meant it more as an offer of a drink. It could be whatever she wanted, because all I wanted was to put her sexy ass in a chair across from me so we could get reacquainted.
“Are you a student at Michigan?” She phrased it the same way I imagined she’d ask me if I was a recruiter for ISIS.
I paused. “Yeah.”
Why did she look so disappointed?
“I go to Ohio State,” she said.
Oh.
Well, shit.
Part of me was instantly irritated. A gut reaction. This would be a lot easier if she went to another school. Any school instead of OSU. But I decided to ignore the info and gave a half-smile. “You do, huh? That’s cute.” I glanced at Smitty, who occupied the barstool beside mine. “Scoot over.”
Disgust flooded his face. “For a girl who goes to Ohio State?”