Page 110 of Under the Ink

Jacob Goodman. JacobFuckingGoodman.

Goodman.That was a misnomer if she’d ever heard it. At first, she was surprised and felt a flash of anger that Ginny would betray her by inviting that rat. But, of course, her friend probably didn’t feel like she had much of a choice. Ginny’s parents were paying for most if not all of the wedding, and so they probably had a say in who was invited.

But it would have been nice if Ginny had warned her.

Maybe Ginny hadn’t known. After all, the poor girl had been distracted over the past month or so.

Jacob was the preacher’s son—the man who’d officiated the wedding—so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would be there.

It probably also shouldn’t have been shocking that he was chatting it up with a young woman, a girl who was eighteen if she was lucky. Doing the math in her head, Naomi figured Jacob had to be close to twenty-five by now. And she had no right to judge, considering Sage was probably between five and ten years older than she.

The difference was Sage was no predator.

He wasn’t a rapist.

Jacobwas.

But what if he wasn’t? There had always been that question at the back of her mind—did he know? Had she unknowingly given consent? Because things had grown awkward afterward—and she’d felt violated, regardless of how it had happened—so she’d never asked him straight up.

Why not now?

At least they were in a public place—so he couldn’t ply the young woman with alcohol unseen by others once Naomi was gone.

The two were standing by the cash bar, and the bartender handed another guest their drink before addressing Jacob. And although Naomi had vowed not to drink anything at the wedding—meaning she’d planned to avoid even getting close to the bar—this was the one exception she’d allow herself.

And it was agoodone.

Where had this sudden boldness come from? She didn’t know, but she was going to jump on it before she overthought it and talked herself out of it. Rather than stand behind them, Naomi walked to the left of the young woman where Jacob couldn’t miss her.

And she made sure of it, tilting her head until he made eye contact.

When he spoke, his face was unreadable. “Naomi Baxter. Imagine seeing you here.”

“Jacob Goodman. I could say the same thing.”

The poor young girl sensedsomethingthere—either that or she was bailing now that she had the chance. She said, “See ya,” and, after a tiny smile toward Naomi, darted off.

Oh. It was also possible that she was a church girl who was freaked out by the way Naomi looked.

Careful…might get a little devil on you.

Taking the loss in stride, Jacob got a little closer to Naomi. “You look…pretty different.”

That’s thanks to you, asshole.

“But I have to say all the tattoos are striking—even if you have to cover them up in church.”

He had no idea what all she was covering…

“Sir, your drink,” the bartender said, sliding a glass to Jacob by its stem.

Dropping a bill in the tip jar, Jacob said, “Thanks. And you, ma’am?”

“No, thank you.”

Jacob turned to her and said, “I figure a martini looks acceptable, right? Something a good upstanding citizen might drink when running for a public office.”

Unable to resist, Naomi asked, “What would Jesus do?”

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