Page 16 of Good Guy Gabe

“Why not? You’re being ridiculous.”

“You don’t know the story, Gabe. Wilmington is a big place, but it’s still got small-town issues. They’re never going to forget her husband.”

“The ex? From the sounds of it, she hates the guy, too. That’s why she’s divorced.”

“Not divorced. Widowed. He was . . . a very bad man. And I promise you, I don’t think she did anything wrong. Most people don’t. But there are enough people who do—”

She suddenly cuts herself off, and if I thought she might have been feeling bad before, I can definitely tell she’s feeling bad now when she gasps and covers her mouth as her gaze goes past me.

A hand lands on the back of my arm. I already know it’s Joss before she says, “I’m not feeling well, but you should stay. I’ll call for a ride.”

I don’t need to look at her to hear how upset she is. It took me all of ten seconds in her shop to imagine us on a giant sofa in oversized sweaters with three kids and two dogs cuddling around us while we watch game reels and sip cocoa. I’m not going to drop that because she was once married to a criminal. We all make bad choices. So I don’t get upset, I getpissed.

Emily stiffens up. Her lips purse into a scowl. The gleam in her eye tells me that any compassion she might have felt died with the grip I put on Joss’s waist. “You understand it’s nothing personal.”

Incredibly, Joss nods. Even smiles apologetically. “Of course. I hope the quilt does well.”

Absolutely not. This isn’t happening. Joss is mine. Where I go, she’s going. No one’s going to get me without her, and Joss needs to know right now that she is my utmost concern.

I nearly open the app to retract my bid so it doesn’t do well, because Emily doesn’t deserve that victory, butI can’t ruin charity.

Icanruin a charity event.

I move my hand from Joss’s bicep to her waist, shoot one more pointed glare at Emily, and turn away. I head toward Merrick, who’s dicking around on his phone to piss Selene off. Even better, there’s a door not far behind him marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

When Merrick sees me approaching, I mouth,“Barbecue Express,”at him.

Several other teammates catch it and casually grab their dates, easing their way toward the wall as though they’re concerned a grenade might be pitched into the crowd.

Merrick grabs Selene’s shoulder to pull her from her conversation with the team owner’s daughter to scream, “When were you going to tell me about the video you’re selling of getting fucked in the ass by Darren Whiting and Corey Devine at the same time and then showing off your stretched asshole to the world?”

Well, shit. I have no idea if that’s a real video or not, but I asked him to ruin the event, and he delivered. Gasps ripple across the crowd. Everyone’s repeating it to everyone else, spreading it like wildfire, giving me the opportunity to lead Joss toward that Employees Only door without anyone noticing.

Chapter 8

Joss

EMILY’S RIGHT. I think that’s the hardest part about this. She was looking out for me by not inviting me. I should have told Gabe immediately, cut things off cleanly.

Now it’s going to hurt. Because no matter how I feel about him, no matter how charming and funny he is, no matter how safe he feels, no matter how hard my heart pounds every time his giant hands sweep down my sides, he is in the public light where I’m not welcome.

“Is this a back way out?” I ask, distracted by the shift to linoleum and primer paint.

He hurries me down the hall. “Not sure,” he says, his head turning to look at the doors we pass, reading the signs on them until he comes to a dead halt.

I attempt to stop myself, but my heels don’t have a lot of traction. They skid, and I bump into him. He catches me and pivots me into a door, using my ass to push it open. I don’t need to turn around to recognize the distinct, peculiar scent of cleaning supplies, water, metal, and paper. A public restroom.

He sits me down on the counter next to the sink. His hands settle on either side of my thighs, containing me, but I’m not one to get claustrophobic. The containment is comforting in a way.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his deep, resonant voice echoing on the tile walls.

“About the exit? I’m sure if we keep going, we’ll—”

“About what Emily said. And what your friend said. What people were gossiping about.”

I frown. Right.That. “No, but—”

“Then you don’t have to,” Gabe says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s just asked me if I want to tell him what my first car was or what color my underwear is.

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