They slammed back their whisky, then bolted their glasses to the table.
As the waitress slid another round to them and left, Clint’s gaze inevitably fixed on Margot again. By now, she was resting her hand on Brad’s arm as they shared another joke.
Clint threw back the newest shot. He kept telling himself Brad was his fraternity brother. Brad was making her laugh when she needed it, which was more than Clint had accomplished earlier.
Riley was rolling up his sleeves, as if acknowledging it was going to be a long-ass reunion weekend. Then he noticed the direction of Clint’s gaze, and he followed it out the booth and over his shoulder, spying Margot.
He turned back to Clint, holding back a grin. “Got your email about the video this morning. Still have some feelings for her?”
“Not even a speck.” He was pissed that it was so obvious. “I just figured it’d be proper to do some damage control for her sake.”
“Right.” Riley fiddled with his glass. “Was Jay the one who posted that video?”
“It appears so. He runs his family’s farm now, so I got a hold of him there. He took the video down already.”
“Did you threaten to cuff him again?”
“No. I just did what my brothers do and I threw a few legal words around. That did the trick.”
“Why’d he even post it?”
“He said it was his contribution to the reunion, but you remember Jay well enough. He was bitter after we blackballed him for not paying dues and—”
“In general being a douche bag.”
“That, too.” Clint pushed his glass away. “Him posting the video was nothing against Margot, but it sure feels personal.”
Riley paused, making Clint shift in his seat. No use lying about how interested he still was in Margot.
“Just a warning,” Riley said. “Dani will even tell you that Margot is still as hard to get as ever.”
Now Clint’s pride was poked, and dammit, it’d been happening too much lately for him to tolerate it.
“She may be hard to get,” he said, “but not impossible.”
“Good luck, after what happened last night with the video.”
“She’ll put it behind her.”
“Whoa. Is that a challenge I hear?”
Clint smiled, then jerked his chin toward the bar. Margot sat right next to Brad, arm to arm.
God.
He glanced away, not wanting to watch, but clearly unable to help himself.
“Not that I want to encourage you,” Riley said, “because I think she’s a lost cause, but Brad doesn’t seem all that interested in her. I remember way back when he dated Margot that summer and it didn’t work out.”
Clint’s smile was back. “Why do you think that was?”
“You know Brad. His parents were conservative as hell and raised him to marry a girl who’d be a good wife. Margot was just a fling while he was interning far from home and both of them probably knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. Besides, he got divorced a few months ago, and he’s a long way from dating anyone again.” Riley picked up his next glass. “But if your mind is set on Margot, I’ll be your wingman. Dani knows that you’re not really the guy with the bad reputation you got because of some college joke. I don’t know why you never stressed to Margot that Jay was behind it all.”
“Wouldn’t have done any good. She’d already written me off.”
“So why do you think things will change now?”
“Just a hunch.”
Clint glanced at the ill-fated couple. Brad leaned his elbow on the bar instead of canting toward Margot, his disinterest clearer than shiny glass.
Maybe things would work out, he thought.
Maybe he would get to make everything up to her.
3
SO FAR, EVERYONE had treated the subject of the video as if it was no big deal, and that gave Margot quite the shot of joy. Why had she even been worried? They were all way past college mischief.
But she couldn’t ignore how some of the brothers, as well as Brad, kept glancing over at Clint. Even if they weren’t teasing her about that video, it was on everyone’s mind.
Just one more reason to avoid him.
She’d actually been working up to telling Brad about her basket for the past hour, but things were still a little haven’t-seen-you-in-a-long-time tense between them. Still, he hadn’t dropped any hints about having a girlfriend or anything.
So why not go forward?
She ran a gaze from his wavy dark brown hair to his smile. He’d always reminded her of Ben Affleck but much less cocksure...unlike another person she could name.
But she wasn’t going to think of Kid Quick-Trigger on the other side of the room, in his booth, drinking whiskey. Mr. I’m-So-Cool-in-a-Cowboy-Hat. Señor Slick. She’d been telling herself to ignore Clint Barrows over and over, but this time she meant it.
Brad set his beer down on the bar. It was still half-full. “It really is good to see you, Margot.”
Did she hear a “but...” in there somewhere?
“I liked seeing you, too,” she said. “Catching up has been nice.”
Was nice the word for the conversation they’d been having about running a dairy farm?
Then again, was her auction basket all about the art of conversation?
He fiddled with his beer mug for a moment, then said, “Some of us are getting up early tomorrow to go fishing. Don’t ask me why we torture ourselves like this.”
“Why do you?” She smiled, hoping to get past this semi-awkward stage and right to the basket.
“Because that’s what we used to do,” he said. “Fish. Golf. Be sportsmen.” He checked his silver watch, then got out his wallet to pay the bar tab. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the homecoming pregame kegger?”
He was...leaving?
Margot’s Girl Survival Mode kicked into gear, telling her this was a bad time to blurt out that, hey, she’d really like to spend some private, quality sex time with him, and by the way, here’s what her basket would look like tomorrow evening at the auction, because she really, truly thought they could have quite the reunion all by themselves.
One more adventure, right?
But, ever since she’d gotten the news from her publisher, she’d started to wonder if, after college, she had set out to have adventures on her own only because experiences filled a hole that’d been put there by never having a true home. Had she been trying to find one by going from place to place, person to person, just as her parents had before they’d passed on eight years ago?
And...her parents. It’s not like they’d taught her about a whole lot besides “loving life” and “smelling the roses along the primrose path.” Sometimes, she even wondered if they’d loved her half as much as all their pleasure-seeking activities. One time, they had even turned a room in the two-bedroom house they’d been renting into an art studio for their projects, and she’d had to sleep on the couch. She’d been eight.
The thoughts dogged her, even as she started to get the vibe that things weren’t gelling with Brad.
He rested a companionable hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, then