Page 15 of Just My Luck

“No. Not really.” She looked at me. “The other day—at the store when you helped me? My son saw my ex.”

She didn’t offer any more explanations, but I was able to fit the pieces together. I breathed a sigh of relief that she saw my intervention as helpful. An odd sense of pride swelled in my chest, and a protective ache followed closely behind.

I risked a look at her. “Are you okay?”

Her hazel eyes searched mine. “I’m not sure. I think so? I haven’t seen him, but Ben swears he did. I want to believe him, but I mean—why would he come here? Just to fuck with us?” She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just stressed about it. Every time the door opened, I worried it was him.”

Rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. I didn’t know anything about her ex, but if he was the type of man who’d put this kind of fear into a woman who’d given him children, he was immediately on my shit list.

I’d known a whole host of scary men, but her ex had never met me. “What does he look like?” I ground out.

Her face pinched as she thought. “Um... blond hair, blue eyes”—she held her hand only a few inches above her own head—“about this tall? A pompous air about him that makes you want to punch him in the face?”

A humorless laugh escaped me at that last part. “A picture would be helpful. That way we can make sure everyone knows he’s not welcome here.”

I was lost in the greens and browns of her eyes as they went wide. “You’d do that for me?”

I nodded. Protecting Sloane felt like the simplest thing in the world. “Of course.”

For the second time in a week, Sloane surged forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Her body pressed against mine as she tucked her cheek into my chest.

Instead of freezing this time, I shifted and held her close, pulling in the sweet smell of her shampoo and letting it brand itself into my lungs. Her soft frame was dwarfed by mine as I held her.

Slowly, she shifted and tilted her head back to meet my eyes. I couldn’t look away. The air buzzed with electricity. Blood surged beneath my skin, settling low between my legs. Sloane’s breasts pressed against my chest as my arms banded ustogether. Her soft breath tickled my neck, and my eyes fell to her lips.

Blood whooshed between my ears, and time stood still. My right hand smoothed up her back, settling between her shoulder blades. Sloane’s head tilted as if she was granting me access to those tempting, plush lips.

My muscles flexed, every inch of me rock hard and coiled tight. If I snapped, I’d devour her and incinerate us both.

A reckless part of me didn’t care. I was drawn to her in ways I couldn’t explain. Her fingertips toyed with the hem of my T-shirt, skating across the skin at my back as a finger dipped below the hem.

I lowered my head, ready to plunder, and fuck the consequences.

As I pulled her closer, a sharp knock at the office door jolted me upright, nearly pushing Sloane away from me.

Without hesitation, Reina’s face burst through the doorway. “Abel, what the hell? I’m drowning by myself out here!”

“Yeah!” I grumbled. “One minute.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Reina pulled the door shut, enclosing Sloane and me in the charged atmosphere of my small office.

“Abel, I—” Sloane’s hand brushed her bottom lip as if we hadn’t been interrupted and she could feel the kiss that almost happened.

Irritated—either by the fact we were interrupted or that Sloane made me weak, I wasn’t sure—I shouldered past her toward the reprieve of the taproom. “I’ve got to go. It’s busy tonight.”

Without looking back, I flung the door open and stomped toward the front of the brewery, hating myself and my inability to articulate the riot of emotions I was feeling.

Minutes later, Sloane appeared, her smile perfectly in place, as though I hadn’t nearly mauled her in my back office. If Reina hadn’t interrupted us, I imagined hauling her onto my desk and stripping her bare before sliding my cock into what I could only guess was the tightest pussy on the planet.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets and willed my hard-on to go away before someone noticed I was pitching a gargantuan tent behind my jeans.

Jesus Christ, I’m losing it.

Reina was right in that it was another bustling night. I found myself working tirelessly behind the bar, pouring pints and being an outsider to the witty banter that defined our small town. Despite the lively atmosphere, an undercurrent of tension lingered in my neck and shoulders.

Memories of my past mistakes played like an unwelcome reel in my mind, especially when Sloane’s kids popped into my head. The shame I harbored resurfaced, whispering that I was forever defined by a single dark moment, marked by my own shortcomings.

The door opened, and Bootsy Sinclair’s familiar face sauntered in. Bootsy, a simple soul with a loyalty that ran deep, worked for my father. It was his innocence that made him dangerous, as his loyalty was unquestioning, and his curiosity was often a subtle form of espionage for Russell King.

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