Page 61 of Let Me Love You

“You find a job yet?” he questions.

Sometimes I hate the way he keeps tabs on me. Hell, he’s worse than Uncle Fen. Part of me wonders if it’s because he feels guilty. For knowing Troy McAdams. For being friends with him. For not spotting the red flags or how dangerous his friend was. I don’t blame Henry. I’ve fallen for a wolf in sheep’s clothes on more than one occasion.

“No,” I answer.

“Why not?”

Resting my elbows on the counter separating us, I steeple my fingers in front of me and hold his dark gaze. “Because I started selling pictures of my body on the internet to make ends meet, and now every doctor’s office and hospital within a hundred-mile radius knows about it and wants nothing to do with me.”

I don’t know why I tell him. I shouldn’t. It’s none of his business, and shining a light on the mess of my life probably isn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t help it. Wanting to shock the impenetrable bastard in front of me. Wanting to see him flinch. To see himfeel. Something. Anything. Even if it’s only disgust.

His dark, flinty eyes dip to my low-cut black tank top, traveling south along my waist and hips, leaving me squirming.

I’m used to being checked out.

Call it a blessing or a curse, but it is what it is. I’m pretty in an emo, untouchable, this-girl’s-got-daddy-issues kind of way. Add in the fact I’m a bartender who looks like she enjoys getting freaky in the sheets, and I’ve been hit on more times than I can count.

But being checked out by Henry Buchanan? It’s new. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“Eyes up here,Professor,” I warn.

His nostrils flare as his eyes meet mine again, and he tips the rest of his drink back. The glass clinks against the bartop once he’s finished. “Selling pictures of your body on the internet was a poor decision.”

“One of many,” I point out.

Without a word, he pulls out a small stack of bills and sets them on the counter. “Keep the change.”

Then, he walks out of the bar without a backward glance. When the door closes behind him, I pick up the bills, my jaw dropping.

Five hundred bucks.

His tab was maybe a hundred.

Sometimes, I hate his pity.

Always, I hate his charity.

And lately? I’ve hated how he gets under my skin whenever he’s around.

21

ASHLYN

We haven’t spoken about Jaxon in days.

I’m not sure if it’s because Colt thinks I’ll spiral as soon as he does or if it’s because I actuallywillspiral if I bring him up. But after our conversation in the car where I asked Colt to think about his future and what’s best for everyone, including him, me, and his potentialson, I’ve been sitting on pins and needles, waiting to find out his response while being terrified to know what it is.

Colt has enough on his plate. I don’t want to add to it, but I don’t know how to disappear from the entire situation, either. Which makes me feel terrible.

It doesn’t help that we can’t seem to catch a break from the spotlight. Someone snapped a photograph of all of us leaving the laboratory the other day and sold it to a few websites. The articles painted me as the homewrecker trying to split apart Colt’s estranged but happy little family. It doesn’t matter that Colt and I are the ones in a committed relationship. I’m still the bad guy for tearing his family apart. It’s so messed up, it’s not even funny, but there isn’t a thing I can do about it.

We’ve tried to ignore it. Colt and me.

But it’s hard when it feels like it’s hitting us from all sides.

And even though we’ve still snuggled together at night and have tried to find a semblance of normalcy, I’m afraid the onslaught of drama and red tape surrounding any topic involving Jaxon has left us both in a weird limbo neither of us knows how to escape. And honestly? I’m not sure if there is an escape. Not until we get those damn test results.

After the NHL draft last week, things have been relatively finalized from the Lions’ perspective, and Buchanan invited everyone in the organization to a team dinner tonight.

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