Page 11 of True Fate

Pleasure was always better when you loved the guy, wasn’t it?

Of course she still loved him—even if it seemed he’d never forgive her. The foolish girl who’d once walked away from the greatest guy in the world.

Across the way, the greatest guy leaned against a picnic table, long legs crossed at the ankle, the cup he hadn’t set down all evening resting on his flat stomach. Ripped jeans rode low on his hips, a white T-shirt clinging to the broad planes of his chest and shoulders. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble shadowing his jaw gave him a slightly dangerous edge. A snake tattoo coiled along his forearm, flexing as he moved, unexpected for someone so solid. So steady.

That new piece of him had surprised her.

She chewed on a ragged thumbnail, wondering if his jeans were button-fly and how fast she could unfasten them with her teeth. But the best part of his ensemble? The stylish, absurdly charming suede loafers. A delightfully preppy twist that didn’t match the tattoo or the threadbare jeans at all.

Lainey was, without question, a shoe girl.

Justin seemed absorbed in conversation with the group of women circling him, including the odious Samantha. He had studiously avoided Lainey all evening while managing to stay close—or close enough—to the clingy brunette. She could tell by his body language he was bored. She even suspected he knew exactly where she sat at the nearby picnic table. But every time their gazes collided, and it had happened more than once, his expression remained utterly indecipherable.

It was a great trick to strip someone bare while revealing nothing of yourself.

He was working hard to maintain…whatever it was he needed to maintain. Lainey, on the other hand, was just trying to keep her buzz.

Two glasses of wine down, maybe two more to go.

She just wanted to sleep—without the past pressing down or the future creeping in. Even if it meant a raging headache tomorrow.

Her life had changed radically in the past two years, and if getting a little drunk helped, just for tonight, she was willing to call it what it was: surrender.

No boyfriend. No lover. No family. No job.

She was absolutely, categoricallyalone.

Lainey hadn’t told anyone the real reason she’d come home: the young man she’d failed to protect. On the last day of the trial, she’d packed up her desk, knocked on her supervisor’s door, and handed in her resignation. Her savings would last long enough to figure out what came next. Being a psychologist had taken its toll, and she wasn’t sure she had anything left to give. Burnout was real.

Loose ends.So many loose damned ends.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Lainey glanced up to find a man standing beside her table. He smiled and gestured to the empty bench. His blond hair was swept back in a style that looked effortlessly arranged. Crisp white button-down, pressed jeans, polished black Oxfords. A lawyer, she guessed. Or maybe a doctor. She was about to explain that her friend would be back soon—which was true, since Fontana’s volunteer shift at the vinegar fry tent ended at nine—but in that moment, she couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Justin. He looked from her to Mr. Doctor/Lawyer, a flash of fury lighting his golden eyes before he turned away.

A-ha.

Lainey amped up her smile until it felt like she was posing for a dental ad. “Actually, I was heading for another glass of wine. Can I bring you one?”

“Sure. I’d love that.” He offered his hand, his nails possibly manicured. “Terrance. I’m new in town. Insurance.”

Insurance. Lainey bit back a laugh and shook his hand. She had to try this single thing eventually, even if her heart wasn’t in it. Unfortunately, her heart was in the hands of the brooding painter-slash-architect across the way. “Lainey. Retired psychologist.”

He grinned, green eyes sparkling with practiced charm. “You’re too young to be retired.”

She took two steps backward, saluting him with her cup. “You’re right, I am.”

The line at the wine tent wasn’t as long as it had been during her first two runs. Maybe a sign she was indulging a little too much.

“You couldn’t let the guy buy the drink?” Justin asked as he moved into place behind her.

Her fingers clenched in the folds of her skirt, and with as much casualness as she could muster, she glanced over her shoulder. Justin stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, a frown tugging at that gorgeous mouth of his. “I thought you were never going to speak to me again, True.”

“Let’s just say I’ve sworn off women for the moment, Prescott.”

She dug in her purse for her drink ticket. “Since?”

His lips took on a wry twist—close to a smile but not quite. “Since this morning.”

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