Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding)(3)

Conscious of the blonde’s scrutiny, he skimmed the song selection and punched in a favorite.

“Hit Me With Your Best Shot” played again.

He frowned and jostled the jukebox a little harder this time. The song continued to play and…was it getting louder?

The blonde merely shrugged and held out the hammer.

“I got this.” He ignored the hammer, but reached around back and unplugged the machine for a few seconds, giving it time to reset. The aging machine probably just needed a little reboot and she’d rock the roof off this place like she always had.

Confidence took hold despite the blonde’s amused gaze, and he hit the play button. The same song pounded out of the speakers, the tune a sudden and unexpectedly potent reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Precise touch?” the blonde echoed, laughing a moment later.

The contagious sound of her laughter pulled at his memory, but he couldn’t place it.

“You’d have a better shot of sending a rotten egg into the net without breaking it than getting anywhere with this machine,” she continued. She tucked the hammer back in the bag of tools on the table behind her.

“Sunset Bluff.” The words were out, his mind snagging the faint memory before it slipped away.

She paused, facing him with that skeptical brow arched.

“You and me in a red Chevy with a passenger window that wouldn’t roll down.” There was no way he had imagined that face staring at him through the passenger window, right? He’d borrowed the Chevy specifically for that date at the last second when the transmission had died on his own car.

“I remember that truck.” A flattering smile curved her lips, reinforcing the fuzzy memory he still couldn’t quite nail down. “The radio sucked.” More tools went into the bag.

The radio? “That’s all you remember?”

Her gaze turned reminiscent. “I do remember you throwing up everywhere.”

Details he could have done without came into sharper focus. He could count on one hand how many times he’d gotten drunk before being drafted for the NHL at nineteen, and luck would have it that she’d apparently been there for one of those shining moments.

Fantastic.

He winced at the memory and the smile she tried to hide. Despite their embarrassing history, he found himself returning the smile. “At least tell me I made it up to you?”

She laughed even harder. “Not even close.” She hefted the bag off the table and carried it to the bar. “And I highly doubt it would have occurred to you to try.”

He hadn’t been nearly the jerk a lot of his high school buddies had been, even if his mind had been on hockey more than girls. With that easy, sexy smile of hers, he would have wanted to take her out again. He was sure of it.

“Then let me make it up to you now.” He gestured to the bar. “Let me buy you a drink. We can catch up, or at least maybe I can help you remember something better about that night.” His earlier determination to avoid women this weekend was going down in flames.

She threw him a disbelieving look. “You don’t even remember me.”

His silence was undoubtedly telling, but it was coming back to him. Heather…Heidi… Something like that.

“Besides,” she added. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Then later,” he pressed, wanting to talk to her a little longer. Maybe he could get her to laugh again. “You could tell me what’s changed around town. Or show me.”

When she bit her lip, tipping her head like she was actually considering it, he threw in, “We could sneak into the rink.” The outrageous suggestion had been one of his signature moves in high school, and it had never failed.

“You mean break in?”

He shrugged, both encouraged and just a little wary of the intrigue brightening those storm-gray eyes of hers. Why did it feel like he was missing something?

A moment later she burst out laughing. Again. “Did that actually get you laid?”

At least he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut on that one. Not that she gave him time to answer before she continued.

“You know what else I remember about that night? Taking the fall for my brother lending our parents’ truck without asking, then getting stuck cleaning up your puke and grounded for a month.”

Oh shit. She wasn’t the one he’d taken to Sunset Bluff at all.

“Hayley,” he managed, the croaked name rising to the tip of his tongue out of nowhere.

She nodded and lowered her voice. “Though I usually go by Detective Stone these days.” Without a word she waved at the two tables across the room and headed for the door. “I’ll call you later, Matt.”

“See ya.” Matt came through the swinging door, grinning as he stopped next to Jackson. “Welcome home, bro.”

Jackson stared at Hayley through the glass door. “That’s your sister.” Twin sister, though she and Matt didn’t look at all alike, or at least he’d never thought so before.

Matt had the decency to grimace instead of calling him an idiot outright. “Didn’t remember her, huh?”

An old guy with bushy eyebrows and silver hair that may have been inspired by Albert Einstein whistled and shot his finger up into the air before it took a steep dive. He mimicked the sound of an explosion.

“Crashed and burned with Hayls? Nice homecoming.” Matt slapped Jackson on the back. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Wasn’t your sister all Goth back in high school?” Now that he had her name firmly in place, he clearly remembered the dark clothing with skulls she favored, her jet-black hair and nails painted to match.

“It was a phase.” Matt leaned on the bar, his expression curious and just a little protective. “Since when are blondes your type?”

“They’re not.” Never had been. So why was he still thinking about that smile of hers?





Eight hours later Jackson had forgotten about everything except how damn good it felt to sit with close friends and talk about the usual bullshit. No one asked him about his going-nowhere career, his plans for after the wedding or why the hell he couldn’t shoot a simple game of pool without firing the cue ball off the table at least twice.

“Is this beer really called Bromance?”

In too good of a mood to care that he’d lost another match to Josh—who was drunk, no less—Jackson set his cue back on the rack and dropped into the chair opposite his friend.

He glanced at the half-empty bottle. “Yes. Bromance Brown Ale.” And whoever came up with that name must have been drunk at the time.

Josh nodded. “Okay. Good. I love you, man.”

“Maybe time to get you home.” A suggestion he’d broached more than a few times in the last two hours. He didn’t want the bride pissed that her man was too hungover to meet her at the altar.

“No. I don’t wanna go home yet.”

Jackson stretched his legs out under the table, studying his friend. “Why not?”

Josh peered at the scarred tabletop. “I might be having cold feet,” he finally mumbled.

Confused, Jackson straightened and leaned forward. “What’s that? What’d you say?”

“I might be having cold feet.”

“About the wedding?”

“No, about getting up from this table.” Josh burst out laughing at his own joke.

His friend hadn’t said a word about any problems with him and Allie. Hadn’t said a whole lot about the wedding in general actually, but weren’t women the ones who usually gushed about that stuff? “Shit, man, are you serious? You want to back out of the wedding?”

“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

“But you have doubts.”

Josh sighed. “Doesn’t every guy before he straps on the old ball and chain?” The moment the words left his mouth he slumped a little. “Didn’t mean that,” he added, sounding a little regretful for comparing Allie to some kind of a prison sentence.

“I guess some guys do.” Jackson shoved a hand through his hair, wishing Matt hadn’t left them to go back to Stone’s. This wasn’t a conversation he was in any position to have on his own. “I’ve never had the guts to even propose to someone, so I wouldn’t know.” One blog rumor and premature ring browsing by his ex-girlfriend certainly didn’t qualify as a genuine proposal.

Josh was one of the few people who actually knew the truth about Melissa. As far as the public was concerned, he’d been the one to call off their “engagement”, and Melissa had basked in the media spotlight after he’d supposedly broken her heart.

“But yeah, it’s probably normal to feel a little nervous about it,” Jackson continued. “It’s a big step. It’s serious.”