He slid onto a barstool. When the pretty bartender approached and gave him a sly once-over, he grinned. Her short blond hair couldn’t be any further from the luxurious brown hair that, even now, he ached to bury his fingers in. Perfect.
“Ma’am. Think I could get a scotch?”
She studied him for long moments, lingering on his dog tags, before her polite smile softened, warmed, turned inviting. “Sure thing, soldier.” She sauntered away with an enticing little sway of her hips and glanced back at him. Probably to see if he was watching. Minx.
Just a few days ago he’d have found it attractively amusing. He’d have teased her about it, and if she laughed, he’d know he’d found his company for the weekend. But right now, he couldn’t even work up more than a spark of wry amusement. Not even a hint of interest. Damn it. She wouldn’t get out of his head, even if he couldn’t even stand to think her damned name.
The bartender returned with his medication in a cup. She smiled. “Listen, I’m Erica. If you want to meet up for a drink later—”
As soon as she said her name, he tossed his money on the bar and stalked away. Her confused voice followed, but he ignored it. Unbelievable. This vacation couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Jeremy? Is that you?”
Oh, shit. Yes, it could.
And it just did.
Jeremy froze and closed his eyes. Why him? What had he done to deserve this? Was it the time he threw spitballs at the back of Jenny Parkinson’s head in the third grade? Or maybe how, when he was fourteen, he’d told Erica’s crush she hated him and thought he smelled bad? Alex Nelson had smelled bad, but Erica still hadn’t spoken to Jeremy for a week.
And Tommy hadn’t spoken to him for years, but here he was.
Damn it.
Jeremy made himself turn, schooling his face to what he hoped was indifference and not a freakish clown mask of panic.
“Tommy?” Like he hadn’t known that voice immediately. His former best friend, and the man who’d broken his trust and destroyed the last of his faith in humanity. “Is that you?”
Tommy looked the same. A little older, a little wiser, but he still had the same spiked hair and deep brown eyes—eyes that always reminded him of Erica.
“Jesus, Jeremy. How are you?”
Tommy looked Jeremy over with narrowed eyes. Jeremy winced every time his gaze stopped on one of his bruises, and the split in his lip. Tommy’s mouth creased tighter and tighter, just like Erica’s did right when she was about to rip him a new one. Some things never changed. Tommy was always the smooth, calm, collected one, well-dressed and suave. Jeremy was casual. Messy.
A mess.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Jeremy shrugged. How was he supposed to act around Tommy? Last time they’d seen each other, Tommy had used his fists to plow Jeremy’s face into mulch, then tossed him out on the lawn and told him never to show his sorry hide again. The bruises had healed. Jeremy hadn’t.
He opted for a cocky grin. “I pissed someone off. I’m good at that. You know me. Or I thought you did.”
Tommy flinched, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Yeah. I know you. Or I did. What happened?”
So Tommy wanted to play it cool? God, he and Erica really were just alike. Must run in the family. Sweep everything under the rug. Nothing happened, let’s be friends. Fine. Jeremy could play that game.
“Nothing, really. Latest girl got a little rough. She took ‘playing hard to get’ a little too literally, if you know what I mean.”
“Your latest girl?” Tommy’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists. “The girl you were with last night did that to you? A one-night stand?”
“Yep.” Jeremy rocked back on his heels. How the hell was he supposed to end this conversation? He’d had enough awkward reminders of his past in the last twenty-four hours to last him a lifetime. And Tommy wasn’t on his to-do list today. Neither was forgiving him. “Look, I’m gonna head to my room now. I didn’t get much sleep.”
Jeremy made it two steps before Tommy asked, “That girl last night wouldn’t happen to be my sister, would she?”
He tensed. Had Erica called Tommy? Told him Jeremy was in town? Why would she have done that? What had broken between them couldn’t be fixed.
Jeremy swallowed and turned back. “Why would you think that?”
Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “Because you’re wearing my clothes, idiot.”
Son of a whore.
He’d forgotten he’d borrowed Tommy’s clothing. Even worse, he’d need to return it to Erica. Would need to see her one more time. Maybe he’d package everything up nice and neat and ship it through the mail. No human contact required. No reminders of not one, but two rejections he’d been stupid enough to set himself up for.
He’d rather charge unarmed into enemy territory than see her again. He wasn’t right for her. Either she was telling the truth and, no matter what she might want physically, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend and preferred to focus on her career.
Or she’d lied to him, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Didn’t want him, period.
Either way, he wasn’t going back for a third helping of humiliation.
Tommy cleared his throat and stepped closer. Right in Jeremy’s space, and suddenly Jeremy didn’t feel like a war vet who’d kicked more than a little insurgent ass. He outweighed Tommy in muscle mass, but the way the man was eyeing him right now, that might not make a difference.
“You going to answer me,” Tommy growled, “or do I have to beat it out of you?”
“Uh.” Jeremy raised both hands. “I might have run into Erica, but it was just for a night. We didn’t—I didn’t—”
Tommy fisted a handful of his shirt and shoved him back, eyes blazing. “You shithead. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you here and now.” He shoved Jeremy again, snarling. “Or were you too chicken to go through with it? Did you turn tail once you saw her scars, huh? Asshole. I should have killed you the last damned time!”
Jeremy held very, very still. If he didn’t, he’d punch Tommy right in the teeth. Had they still been friends, he might have. Tommy probably deserved a shot at him, since he’d just implied that he’d f**ked his little sister like sex was a bloodsport and they were up for the gold.
Wait. Scars?
“What are you talking about? What scars? And why would I have been chicken?”