Page 15 of The Bridges I've Burned

Metallica’s S&M album cover looked up at me while I tried to keep my mouth from gaping open. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe she just hadn’t bothered switching the song between Taylor Swift singles.

No hate on T. Swift. That woman was a legend. But she had a type of fan, and Miss Louboutin over here fit the mold perfectly.

The polished princess took a sip of her red wine, and then the song flipped.

The Smiths.

Her gaze finally turned toward mine.

And my night just got a whole lot more interesting…

CHAPTER THREE

There was a difference between being one hundred percent happy for your best friend and her fiancé and actually wanting to witness that happiness.

Okay, that sounded kind of bitchy.

Let me rewind.

I’d arrived in Ocracoke with little to no issues. Well, unless you considered a fuck ton of traffic an issue, but I had been prepared for that. I trudged down the coast at a snail’s pace, stuck in between what I was sure was every family on the eastern seaboard. But I had a plethora of audiobooks and all the snacks a girl could want, so there were little to no complaints.

When I rolled off the ferry and drove the short distance to Macon and Marin’s little bungalow house, I thought surely this would be when the excitement kicked in. I hadn’t seen my best friend in months. She was getting married, and I had three weeks away from work.

But the second I saw the two lovebirds, all wrapped around each other like those live oak trees Marin loves to paint, all I could see was green.

I didn’t want to be jealous, but damn was I ever.

Maybe it was just residue from that awful call from my evil stepmother, and I just needed a night to clear my head. Then, I’d be the best, most supportive maid of honor the world had ever seen.

I made an excuse, saying I was tired from traveling, which they totally bought. Macon gave me the key code to my rental, and I bolted out the door. A few minutes later, I was hauling my shit into the ridiculously cute little house Macon owned, and not ten minutes after that, I had gotten…bored.

So, I got in my car and drove around until I ended up at the taphouse I’d heard Marin mention a few times. Macon had a love-hate relationship with the place. He enjoyed the food, but kind of hated the owner.

Apparently, Gavin—that was the owner—was a little too open with his appreciation of Marin, which drove Macon crazy. I’d spoken to Gavin a few times during my visits to Ocracoke, and Macon truly had nothing to worry about. That guy was a relentless flirt. He’d bat his eyes at your eighty-year-old grandma just to coax a smile out of her.

I instantly regretted my decision the second I walked into the place.

Karaoke night.

I briefly considered turning around and finding somewhere else, but there weren’t many decent bars in Ocracoke. So, I headed for the polished wood grain bar and found an empty stool, ignoring the idiot on the stage who was singing an off-key rendition of “The Sign” by Ace of Base.

I flagged down the bartender, a good-looking guy who looked like he spent more days in the water than on dry land. With tanned skin and sun-kissed hair, he was a surfer-boy fantasy come to life.

Just not mine.

“What can I get you?” He gave me a lazy smile, his eyes dropping to my empty ring finger.

“Just a glass of red. Whatever is good.”

“No problem. I’ll hook you up.” He winked, giving me a once-over before sauntering away.

I let out a sigh and looked over the bar menu before deciding against ordering anything more. My car snacks were still holding me over, and I honestly didn’t want to talk to the flirty bartender any more than I had to.

I had a strict man ban for the duration of this vacation.

Did I just rhyme?

For the next three weeks, it was all about Marin. She was my priority.

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