Bad Cruz(72)

Translation: unless you’re about to drop dead and require medical assistance, step away from the door and let me say hi to my girlfriend.

But was Tennessee really my girlfriend?

Probably not.

In fact, she would no doubt hit me with a sharp object if I ever called her that in public. Still, in my head, I could call her whatever I wanted.

“I’m well, thanks. And yourself?”

I looked past her shoulder at Tennessee inside the diner, serving a table of snotty teenagers who pretended to drop some utensils to look up her skirt. They laughed when she bent down, and for once I really paid attention to them, not her.

My blood ran cold. How dare they.

“Good. Good,” I heard myself say, anyway.

She turned her head to follow my gaze, realized who I was looking at, then pierced me with a look.

“Gabriella said you and she are taking a break.”

“We decided to stop seeing each other, yes.”

“Well, that’s just a shame. Listen, I know what it’s like, all right? Gabriella’s daddy was exactly like you. Very sought-after. Handsome, rich, well bred. He had trouble settling down, finding peace with just one woman. I understand the charm and allure certain women have on men.” Her voice became high-pitched, almost shrill. We both knew exactly who she was referring to. “But I’m here to tell you, honey, that Gabriella’s still interested. You had your fun on the cruise, and now you two can put it behind you. Sometimes a man needs to blow off some steam. Get things out of his system before he moves on. Better you did it now than after you got married.”

I wanted to tell her that her daughter couldn’t even compete with Tennessee Turner’s little toe.

Gabriella was a pretty present tied in a ribbon and Tennessee was a tempestuous ticking time bomb wrapped in a booby trap…and yet, she was the one I wanted.

But because I was me, the greatest guy alive, I bowed my head with faux-humility.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Holland, but I really have to run.”

She grabbed my forearm with her bony fingers, pressing hard to stop me from going.

“Heard you were getting some kind of a medical award. That true?”

“Yes. The AAFP. American Academy of Family Physicians.”

She grabbed me by the collar, stepping into my face, her smile melting into a scowl.

“Listen here, Dr. Costello. My daughter is smart, beautiful, and earns a good paycheck. The best catch in this godforsaken town. She is willing to go a long way to make you two happen. I’d hate to see you blow it on some one-night stand that has stretched into a month or two. Not to mention, people’ll start talking, and I’d hate for that to happen.”

I had no idea how Mrs. Holland came to the conclusion Tennessee and I were an item, but asking her would be a way of confirming our relationship, something my reluctant girlfriend didn’t want and I didn’t need.

So instead of feeding my curiosity, I took a step back.

“Ma’am, I have the utmost respect for your daughter, but I’m in a place where I need to think long and hard about my next step, and it wouldn’t be fair on her if I jerked her around.”

By the time I got out of Mrs. Holland’s pacified (retracted) claws, I was about ten minutes behind on getting back home. I threw another annoyed look into the diner. Tennessee was now swatting away a truck driver who’d passed by town and looked to be persistently flirting with her.

Truth was, I didn’t feel powerful at all in that moment. I felt like a pushover. Cornered to let the townsfolk treat Tennessee however they pleased. And restricted by Tennessee herself to claim her as mine and protect her the way I’d always wanted.

But ultimately, answering Mrs. Underwood, or Mrs. Holland, or just taking whatever the fuck I wanted from my girlfriend was out of the question.

I was too good.

Too decent.

I shook my head and went home.





An hour later, I was in hell.

More specifically, in my brother’s Mercedes as we made our way to Winston-Salem to his bachelor party. I was the designated driver, because Dr. Cruz Costello—you guessed it—was always on DD duty.

That, in itself, wasn’t too bad.

I needed to cut back on the alcohol, anyway, if I wanted to keep that lithe runner’s body. But the fact Wyatt had gone ahead and invited Rob? That was unforgivable.

Downright stupid.

It was bad enough I’d had to endure the douchebag’s presence over dinner the other day while my mother fawned over him and moaned about what an embarrassment Tennessee was to Fairhope, but now I had to spend an entire night with him, along with Tim Trapp and Kyle, one of the useless sons who was responsible for Jerry & Sons’ title.

“Why’d your first marriage end?” Rob asked Wyatt from the passenger seat, cracking a beer open. He looked much less heartbroken than that day I’d found him on his ex-girlfriend’s front porch.

“She was a cokehead and bled me dry financially, but man, she was a hot piece of ass. How about yours?” Wyatt sucked on his vape pen.

“My first marriage broke up due to the fact that Julianna was a goddamn bitch.” Rob did a hiccup and snort kind of mix, that didn’t earn him any points, taking a pull of his beer. “She was straight up a moody cow and always bitched when we had to move places because of my jobs—how was it my fault that I needed to travel from school to school to coach? And Dani, well, Dani was a sweetheart.”