Page 208 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“It’s good to see you too, Jaine. How long has it been?”

“Three years.”

I frown inwardly at that response, my jealousy immediately replaced by even more guilt. It’s a stock answer from her. Three years. Back when she was expected to pack up everything she knew and leave town even though her life was full and her responsibilities many.

Gabe lets out a low whistle. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. Time flies.”

“When you’re not having fun.” She smirks at him. “I hear Sabrina’s been giving you a hard time.”

He laughs heartily. “Let’s just say she loves to bust my balls. She’s not to your level of bitch, but she runs a close second.” He glances over her shoulder. “Well, it looks like my dinner date has arrived. Don’t be a stranger, Jaine or I may take offense to the fact that you dumped me and made the DA your new best friend.” He smiles, using the opportunity to air kiss her a second time. Jaine ignores his wandering hands once more and smiles politely. We both then watch as he walks off to greet his female guest.

I turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have to tolerate that sort of behavior frequently?”

“Only from a handful of individuals, one of whom is no longer with us.”

I nod. She’s referring to Luciano. If I’d known that, I’d have hacked off his fingers and shoved them down his throat before we ended his miserable life.

She glances around. I’m sure several of the other guests are as known to her as they are to me. I agreed to meet her here as she was tied up in a meeting. Now that she’s no longer mine, I couldn’t insist on having her collected.

My reality is that she may never be mine again. We both know this evening is a make-or-break for us. I have to be the right fit for her and vice versa. Dylan’s right. A marriage can’t be sustained on love and intimacy alone. Not when you undertake the roles in life we do.

“You look breathtaking, Jaine.” My eyes sweep over her once more, and her cheeks pinken. Another inward frown. Have I never complimented her before? I realize if I had, it would have been infrequently. I gifted every other female with such words without a second thought, but seldom the one who mattered most and the words truly meant.

“Thank you.”

I help her into her seat before taking my own.

“And Sabrina is?”

“Sabrina Hawthorn. She’s a senior attorney at JAL. Has been for several years. When Cherry went off on her sabbatical, I had no choice but to redistribute some of my workload. Sabrina inherited my having to deal with Detective Prescott. Do you know her?”

“Not that I can recall, although her name does sound vaguely familiar. And how are the children?”

“Both are still a handful.” Her face softens.

I haven’t seen either of them since we returned from California. It didn’t seem appropriate somehow, given everything that’s happened between Jaine and me in the very recent past. I’m not sure whether I’d have been welcomed or not.

“JJ misses you,” she adds quietly.

Reaching across the table, I cover her hand with mine. Our physical connection instantly flares into life. I want her. The feeling’s mutual. I’m not sure how we’ll ever be able to deny its insatiable hunger if we do have to permanently draw a line under what we have.

“I miss him too.” I squeeze her hand.

We talk about many things as we eat. All are safe subjects, which concerns me. If we’re to try to make things work between us, we need to discuss more than the mundane. We need to discuss our future path.

Perhaps she’s avoiding the topic as she’s already decided we don’t share the same one.

She excuses herself to the restroom. When she does, I motion my head to one of the waiters, requesting that we be moved to one of the private booths in the bar area.

Standing, I wait for her to return. When she does, I take her hand in mine. I’m conscious she’s staring down at our connection as we walk. We’ve never held hands in public. I’m flooded with more regrets. There are so many everyday things that we never did.

I only hope I’m allowed the opportunity to rectify all of my mistakes.

Deep down, I know it’s unlikely.

She faces me across the small booth table, the high-back black leather seating easily shielding our private conversation. Now that we’re no longer in the public eye, I watch as Jaine Jones, the biker, surfaces.

“Thank you for the hog. Sorry… I should have said something sooner rather than just take the keys and ride off into the sunset.”

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