Marcie was right. She needed to heal. She needed to put Bobby behind her, once and for all. New beginnings were upon them. Jennifer straightened.
“You do, too,” she said, managing a cool edge to her tone despite the tiny quaver, not quite suppressed. His hands still rested on her arms, making her skin tingle. She would have stepped away from him, but the bar stool was behind her and, besides, she wasn’t going to run. Or hide. Or let him believe she couldn’t deal with him being around her. She was an adult. She could deal. Casually, she added, “I’m surprised you’re here so soon. I thought you would arrive closer to the wedding.” The big day was a full two weeks away.
“Better early than late,” he said, his hands dropping from her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He offered nothing more in his answer, and she asked nothing more in return. They just stood there. Staring at one another. Close. Too close.
What did he see when he stared at her? Was she what he remembered? More? Less? She told herself that what he saw mattered about as much as the peanuts on the counter. A lie she swore to make truth. But his gaze slipped to her lips, and she knew he was thinking about kissing her. She was thinking about kissing him, too, and hated herself for that weakness. It would be so easy to lean in close to him, to lift to her toes, to see if their kiss still tasted of wildfire and passion. The temptation rippled through her with such demand, she wanted to scream. And yes—run.
That was not what a grown, respectable, confident woman did. Not obviously, at least. Since running wasn’t an immediate option…
Delicately, she cleared her throat. “How long will you be here?” Inwardly, she cringed. Why had she asked him that? And why was she searching his expression for a hint of his reaction to both her question, and to seeing her again?
And she found what she was looking for. There was a familiar intimacy in his gaze that touched her heart and her body. There was warmth to their nearness, a subtle sizzle, forcefully demanding her acceptance.
His brow inched up slowly. “Were you asking because you want to know how long until I leave, Jen?” He paused a split second. “Or because you want to know how long I’m staying?”
She knew what he was asking. Was she glad to see him? Yes. No. She didn’t want to be, but she was. She didn’t want to feel like that. Her life was fine without him. She’d spent far too long asking why he’d left. Now she simply wanted him to go away. Again.
Marcie’s scream saved Jennifer from responding. “Bobby!” she yelled as she launched herself at him. Within seconds, she was giving him a bear hug.
Jennifer knew opportunity when she saw it. She ran. Darted toward the restroom. The one stall was thankfully vacant, and Jennifer quickly dashed inside, shut the door and slid the lock into place with a firm twist of her wrist.
Bobby had never been one to allow a girl her privacy. When he wanted to fight, he wanted to fight. When he wanted to talk, he wanted to talk. Even when she didn’t. Well, they just made love until she did.
That thought sent a rush of heat spreading through her limbs, and her hands shifted to her arms where he’d touched her, branded her. After all these years, she still wanted him. She wasn’t sure whom she was more angry with. Marcie for giving her all of three minutes of warning that Bobby was about to show up or Bobby for making her all hot and bothered after leaving her heartbroken.
“Neither,” she whispered into the wood-paneled restroom. She was ticked at herself for allowing Bobby to be such a big deal. He’d done her wrong, and she deserved better than him. It didn’t matter that he was long, strong and packed with sex appeal. It didn’t matter that old feelings had rushed over her upon hearing he would be attending the wedding. What mattered was what he had done to her and what she would not allow him to do again—hurt her. Right.
She was going back out there to show him she was not affected one way or the other by his presence, and darn it, it was going to be true. Okay. Maybe not true tonight, but at some point in the very near future it would be. For now, she’d settle for pretending.
Jennifer turned to exit and hesitated. Maybe she’d dab on a bit of makeup. Not because she wanted to impress him, but darn it, looking good was revenge in itself. Having him show up when she was looking beaten, broken and makeup-less was not helping with the confident, I-am-so-over-you attitude she hoped to convey.