Passion this hot can’t be faked…

All revved up for bright lights and steamy nights, writer Veronica Chandler chased her dreams to New York City. When she hit a dead end, reality sent her back home to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Saving her pride and her new gig—writing a relationship advice column!—requires some faking. No one can know the truth about her big-city flop or her nonexistent sex life. But the town’s irresistibly rugged librarian is determined to figure her out…and give her hands-on lessons in every wicked thing she wants to know.

Gabe MacKenzie’s heart might be in Wyoming, but secretly his future’s tied up in his family’s Manhattan legacy. Getting down and dirty with Veronica is supposed to give him a few memorable nights—not complicate his plans. But the thing about heat this scorching is there’s just no going back…and it might be too hot for either of them to take.

Praise for the novels of USA TODAY bestselling author

VICTORIA DAHL

“Dahl…is fearless in creating quirky, touchingly unique characters whose love affairs are anything but predictable.”

—RT Book Reviews on Flirting with Disaster

“Wonderfully unconventional and deliciously sultry…among [Dahl’s] hottest to date.”

—RT Book Reviews on Looking for Trouble

“Dahl brings her signature potent blend of heated eroticism and emotional punch to another Jackson Hole cowboy story, to great success.”

—Kirkus Reviews on So Tough to Tame

“So Tough to Tame was a delicious, funny, warm-hearted read… Obviously I highly recommend this book. It’s like a comfort read with a dose of sass and smarts; it’s just about perfect.”

—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

“Dahl adds her signature hot sex scenes and quirky characters to this lively mix of romance in the high country.”

—Booklist on Too Hot to Handle

“Victoria Dahl never fails to bring the heat.”

—RT Book Reviews on Too Hot to Handle

“Hits the emotional high notes. Rising romance star Dahl delivers with this sizzling contemporary romance.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Close Enough to Touch

“This is one hot romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on Good Girls Don’t

“A hot and funny story about a woman many of us can relate to.”

—Salon.com on Crazy for Love

“[A] hands-down winner, a sensual story filled with memorable characters.”

—Booklist on Start Me Up

“Sassy and smokingly sexy, Talk Me Down is one delicious joyride of a book.”

—New York Times bestselling author Connie Brockway

Taking the Heat

Victoria Dahl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Kate, for the advice, and to Allison, for the ideas. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

OUT OF ALL the mistakes Veronica Chandler had made in her life, this was definitely the worst. Worse than moving to New York City after college, worse than dating that guy who’d dumped her via text after a hand job, worse than crawling back home to Wyoming with her tail between her legs and even worse than becoming a complete fraud of an advice columnist.

What the hell had she been thinking? She should have said no to her boss. She should have told him to take his horrible idea back to whatever hellish place he’d found it. But she’d been too afraid to say no.

Veronica lived every single day afraid that her boss was going to realize the truth about her. Each email she received from him seemed to pulse with menace, and when he’d called and asked her to stop by his office two weeks earlier, she’d known that had been the end of her charade.

But instead of firing her, he’d presented her with an opportunity. In her state of shock and relief, she’d stammered out a yes instead of screaming “Hell, no.” Maybe she’d been in denial since then. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to think about it. But there was no denying the truth anymore. She was supposed to put on a live performance tonight, and now she was racing to the Jackson Town Library as if the stacks of books inside could save her.

She rushed through the glass doors, head already swiveling to scan the main room of the library. Lauren Foster was a great friend, so when she hadn’t answered this morning’s panicked texts, Veronica had known she must be working. If she could just find Lauren, surely she would say it was okay for Veronica to back out of this mess and hide from the world in her apartment for a week or two.

She walked past the circulation desk and looked into the children’s area, but Lauren wasn’t hidden between the stacks of kids’ books. What if she wasn’t really working today? What if she was on a hike deep in the woods and wouldn’t be home until late?

“No,” Veronica said. No, that wasn’t possible. Veronica needed her too much.

She adjusted the sunglasses hiding her bloodshot eyes and took a deep breath. She had to stay calm. She couldn’t let anyone see her panic. Veronica Chandler was a goddamn bastion of good sense and cool remove. She’d handled New York City. She handled other people’s problems every day. She could handle this.

After smoothing a hand over her newly cut hair, she walked to the circulation desk and did not trip over her own high heels. “Is Lauren Foster in today?” she asked the older woman she recognized from one of her previous visits to the library.

“I think she’s over in Periodicals with the new librarian. Wish I could join them.”

Veronica wasn’t sure what the woman’s waggling eyebrows were trying to convey, but she smiled with relief. “Thank you so much.”

The smile fell away as soon as she turned and headed for the opposite side of the library. Logically, she knew her friend couldn’t save her from this awful mistake, but Veronica’s body still strained toward her as if Lauren were a life preserver.

Tucked into the far corner of the building, the periodicals section was arranged around a cozy grouping of armchairs and couches, and in the middle of it all stood Lauren and a stranger. Not a new librarian, though. This stranger had a beard and dark hair and a plaid tie and a hot lean body that immediately dried Veronica’s mouth to ash.

The royal blue heel of Veronica’s leather half boot caught on the weave of the industrial carpet and jerked her to a halt. She lurched forward, catching herself on a shelf of autobiographies before she could hit the floor.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, bent over and staring at the carpet. At least she hadn’t landed flat on her face or jammed her skull into the corner of a shelf. She glanced up, face already hot with color, but miraculously, they’d turned away from her. Lauren was gesturing toward a rack of magazines as she spoke, and the man was nodding. Veronica stood straight so quickly that the blood drained from her brain and left her dizzy.

She was not going to meet this gorgeous man like the spastic mess of a woman she was. In fact... Veronica set her mouth in a straight line. She wasn’t going to meet this man at all. If there was anything that could make her current situation worse, it was introducing a hot guy into the equation. She actually winced at the thought.

Nope. She was going to be cool, ignore the way his wavy black hair flopped onto his forehead when he laughed at Lauren and pretend his trimmed beard didn’t make Veronica want to pet his face.

Hoping to stay half-hidden in the stacks, she waited for Lauren to turn in her direction. When that didn’t happen, she waved a hand, hoping she was at least in Lauren’s peripheral vision. If she could just get her friend’s attention and lure her away from this bearded wonder...

But of course, he was the one who turned toward Veronica. As his gaze rose toward her, she slapped her waving hand to her head and pretended she was only smoothing down her hair as she stepped forward. She kept her eyes off him and locked on Lauren, and her friend finally noticed her. “Oh, my God!” Lauren cried out in the hushed tone she used only at work. “Your hair looks amazing!”

“Do you think so?” Veronica asked, touching the blunt edges at the back.

“I love it. Did you lighten it?”

Veronica nodded. She was naturally blonde, but she’d had her stylist lighten the front to a shade closer to platinum. She’d been worried it had been another big mistake, spending the last of her savings on such a frivolous expense. “I did it for tonight,” she said.

“Good idea. You’re going to blow them away.”

Veronica shook her head and tried to ignore the fact that Hot Guy was watching her with a friendly smile. “Do you have a minute, Lauren?” she asked. “If you’re too busy, I can come back later.”

“Sure, I have a minute. This is Gabe, by the way. Gabe MacKenzie, the latest addition to our little library. Gabe, this is Veronica Chandler.”

He really was a librarian. Wow.

He reached out a hand, so Veronica had no choice but to take it. His hand was warm and strong and rough at the edges, as if he built the shelves he later stocked with books. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice pleasantly rough along the edges, too.

Veronica didn’t want to know any of that about him. She didn’t want to know how he felt or sounded. He was way too tempting. She pulled her hand away as quickly as she could. “You’re the new librarian?” she asked, not able to keep the shock from her voice.

“I am,” he answered as if he was used to people being surprised by this librarian’s hot young maleness.

“Veronica is a bit of a local celebrity,” Lauren offered.

“No, I’m not,” she said as quickly as she could.

Lauren snorted. “In fact, Gabe, you’re standing right by some of her work.” She gestured toward the local newspapers spread out on a table. “She’s Dear Veronica.”

His white teeth flashed in a smile. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar.”

Veronica crossed her arms and shook her head, but Lauren kept talking. “She writes the local advice column. A smart take from a big-city girl, that kind of a thing.”

“Cool,” he said, looking at the papers now instead of Veronica. That was an improvement, at least. She shifted impatiently, jerking her head toward the door of the conference room to try to get Lauren to move along, but Lauren seemed to be on a mission.

“He’s from New York,” Lauren said. “You two probably have a lot in common. Veronica’s a local but she lived in Manhattan for years.”

Oh, God. Not a New York guy. No. No, no, no. She shook her head as if that could ward him off. When Gabe looked up, he was shaking his head, too. “I was born there, but I’ve been away for years. I came here from Cincinnati.”

“Right,” Veronica said. “Sure.” She crossed her arms more tightly and waited until Lauren finally sent Gabe back toward the small office behind the circulation desk to fill out some paperwork. Then she led Veronica to the conference room.

“Good Lord, girl,” Lauren said as soon as the door closed. “What the hell is wrong with you? If I was ten years younger and single... Did you see that boy?”

Veronica waved a frantic hand. “I don’t have time for that right now!”

“Seriously? I think there really are too many hormones in our food these days, because you’re not okay. And here I thought having firefighters right next door was distracting. Now none of us will get any work done.”

Veronica shot a mournful glance toward the door as if she could see through it. “Did he just start today?”

“Yes, Jean-Marie sprung him on me. I knew she’d been interviewing for Sophie’s replacement, but I didn’t know she’d decided to import a little testosterone from Cincinnati. He’s here to drag us into the twenty-first century, I gather. Ebooks. Digital audio. Maybe even a 3D printer. Basically, he’s going to be a giant pain in my ass, but regardless, I’m going to hook you two up if it kills me.”

“What?” Veronica gasped. “No, you are not! I have problems. Big problems!”

Lauren immediately sobered. “What’s wrong?”

Veronica grabbed her arms. “You know what’s wrong!”

Lauren looked so surprised by Veronica’s freak-out that Veronica felt immediately embarrassed. This was who she was on the inside. This wasn’t the Veronica she let other people see. She didn’t want even her friends to know how weak she really was. She managed to lower her voice but she still couldn’t stop the fear from bubbling up. “That stupid show is in eight hours and I can’t do it.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and then carefully extracted her elbows from Veronica’s grip. “Calm down. You’re going to be great. We’re all coming.”

“No. You don’t understand. I...” She stared at Lauren’s face, wanting to tell her the truth. Wishing she could. But this lie was all she had anymore. It felt like all she’d ever had.

She’d spent the first twenty-one years of her life waiting for her real life to start, planning and saving for it. She’d put off making close friends and falling in love and doing crazy things and taking chances, because she’d thought she would do all that once she got to New York. And what if she got so cozy and tied down in Wyoming that she never went? No. Too much of a risk. So she’d waited.

But then she’d finally gotten to the big city, and...none of that had been real, either. And now here she was back home, living the biggest lie of all.

So instead of saying, I’m a complete impostor, and I can’t pull that off in a live show, she went with the almost-true version of it. “It takes me days to write a column and do research and get everything right and still be entertaining. I can’t do all of that in front of people!”

“Then why did you arrange these shows?”

“I didn’t! It wasn’t my idea. My boss told me I was going to do them, and I needed the extra money, so I said yes instead of sobbing and running into the hills!”

Lauren was clearly trying to look patient, but she had to press her lips together to hide a smile. It didn’t work.

“Help me,” Veronica begged. “Laugh if you want to, but tell me I can back out.”

“You can’t back out,” Lauren said immediately. “And you’re going to be great. People like you. You’re nice. You’re funny. And it’s at a martini bar. Everyone will be drunk and ready to laugh at anything.”

Veronica nodded, trying to psych herself up. “Yes. All right. Count on drunkenness.”

“Exactly! And didn’t you say that you get to choose the questions?”

“Yes, but I only have a few minutes. Everyone will put their questions in a bowl, and I get to read them before I start.”

Lauren’s face brightened as if the whole problem were solved. “Perfect. Just pick some questions that are close to ones you’ve dealt with in the paper. Death of a parent, cheating spouse, best-friend drama. You already know those answers.”

Lauren was right. Veronica did know those answers. Maybe she could handle this. “So I shouldn’t back out?”

“Oh, my God,” Lauren groaned. “Get out of here. I’ll see you tonight.”

Veronica didn’t move. She couldn’t actually think of a way to back out of the show, but she’d thought her more experienced, smart-as-a-whip friend would come up with a plan, and all she’d come up with was encouragement. “I have to do this?” Veronica tried one more time.

“Yep. No choice.”

“Okay,” Veronica whispered. “I’ll be fine, right?” When Lauren’s eyebrow rose in impatience, Veronica nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said more firmly.

“You’ll be great,” Lauren insisted.

“Right. Thank you for the good advice. And thanks for trying to fix me up with the new guy. He really is hot, but I can’t deal with that right now. Still...a boy librarian?”

“A supersexy boy librarian. Who just moved to town and probably needs new friends.”

Veronica waved her hand. “I can’t. Really.” For so many reasons. “I’d better go. I’ve got to spend an hour picking out an outfit and then I’ll reread my old columns. You’re a genius.”

“I know. See you tonight.”

Veronica tried not to feel panic at those last words, but she was a failure at that, too. There was no escaping the fear, but at least Lauren had talked her out of an outright breakdown. All Veronica had to do was pick already familiar topics and she could fake her way through this just as she’d faked her way through everything else.

Tonight was going to be fine.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS A BAD start to a new job.

As a male librarian, Gabe knew the drill. He’d be a novelty at first, but that would wear off really quickly, and then his job was to work hard and not be an asshole. The biggest mistake he could make was to walk into an established library and announce that he’d arrived to save the place.

Unfortunately, his new boss had already done that for him. Not only had she sprung Gabe on his new coworkers as a surprise, but she’d announced right away that he’d been hired to shake things up and bring the small library into the twenty-first century.

Not ideal, but Gabe had smiled his way through the first day and done his best not to step on any toes. It had been immediately clear that Lauren Foster was the woman the other librarians looked to for guidance. Jean-Marie might have been the boss, but Lauren was the leader, so Gabe had deferred to her. When she’d asked him about his plans for ebook lending, he’d held his opinions and instead asked about the library’s experience with ebooks so far. He had only a year here, but that didn’t mean he could jump in and start tearing things apart as if nobody else’s work meant anything.

A year. He’d come to Jackson to live his dream life for one year, and he’d planned on spending every possible moment outside, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight. Lauren had invited him to go out with the rest of the library staff, and he damn sure wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that on his first day. It was some sort of special event involving that girl from New York City and a martini bar. The worst possible way to spend an evening, as far as he could tell, but it was a great opportunity to bond with his new coworkers. He’d told Lauren he’d meet them at the bar by eight and he’d clocked out.

Gabe had no idea what the dress code was for a martini bar in Wyoming, but his work clothes would have to do, because he didn’t have time to change. He’d finally found an apartment—not easy in a town the size of Jackson—and he’d headed immediately from work to the leasing office to sign papers and make the deposit. He’d start moving his stuff in tonight after the Dear Veronica performance.

Smiling at the charm of the wooden boardwalks of downtown Jackson, Gabe ditched the tie and rolled up the sleeves of his pale green button-down as he walked. Even at seven-thirty the sun was still hot on his skin in the cool air.

It was only May. Not only did he have a good five months of rock-climbing weather ahead of him, he’d have the climbing areas nearly to himself for a month before the tourists arrived. His smile widened. He’d been one of those tourists, but now he could call himself a local. For a while.

One year of living exactly the life he wanted. He’d have to make it count.

A woman riding by on a muddy trail bike returned Gabe’s smile. He tipped his head in acknowledgment.

He hadn’t dated much in the past couple of years. He’d spent his days off camping and exploring the hills south of Cincinnati. But in Wyoming, the wilderness was right here, and the town was full of women who spent more time outside than Gabe did. His dating pool was wide-open. Maybe he’d make that count, too.

Not that he’d meet anyone at the martini bar tonight, he thought as he eyed the sign ahead with disdain. The Three Martini Ranch. Popular with the ski crowd, no doubt. People from the big city. People like Veronica. She might have been from Wyoming originally, but she was all Manhattan now. Styled hair and big sunglasses and high heels, all for a trip to the library. Wow.

The funny thing was that he liked Lauren a lot. She seemed down-to-earth and smart as hell. Not the kind of woman to put up with bullshit. So why was she friends with a high-maintenance girl like Veronica Chandler?

A mystery he wouldn’t put much time into. He’d keep his head down tonight, try to have a good time with the other librarians and deny any connection to New York if it would keep Lauren from trying to hook him up with a city girl.

He took a deep breath and opened the door of the bar, noticing that the door handle was a metal sculpture of a toothpick with an olive on the end. “Cute,” he muttered.

The noise of the place hit him as soon as he stepped in. Gabe was shocked. He’d been to Jackson often enough in the past few years to know that the high-end places were dead empty during the off-season, and he would’ve expected this to be one of them. But almost every table was full and people were gathered around a small stand at the front, stuffing notes into a blue vase. Free Advice! read the sign in front of the vase. Submit Your Dear Veronica Questions Here!

That part might be entertaining, at least. Gabe spotted the table of his new coworkers but was surprised to also see two people he knew at another table. The man and woman were both rock-climbing guides. He gave them a wave as he passed on his way toward Lauren.

“Gabe!” Lauren called as he drew closer. She seemed happy to see him, at least. He’d been the only male librarian around in most of the positions he’d held since grad school, and it wasn’t always a comfortable fit. At his first job, he’d been tempted to have the word interloper tattooed on his forehead.

“You made it,” Lauren said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up for hanging around a bunch of strange ladies at a bar.”

“What can I say? I’m down with strange ladies.”

“Then you came to the right spot.”

He nodded to the other two women, both of whom he’d met today during his training. The library director wasn’t around, and Gabe felt no surprise at that. He could already tell she was the type of boss who stayed holed up in the office with the door closed as often as possible.

Gabe was a little relieved that, so far, none of his new coworkers were part of his dating pool. He’d fallen head over heels for a coworker a few years ago, and that had ended badly. Not with spectacular fireworks but with a simmering, drawn-out death that had made work a misery for six months until he’d finally taken another job.

After that he’d instituted a no-dating-at-work rule that had felt a little unnatural for a while. As the only single male student in his MLIS class, he’d spent a lot of time dating peers. But he’d also been young and dumb. At thirty-one, he was marginally smarter, but he was relieved that his coworkers were all either in relationships or members of AARP.

“So what did you think of your first day?” Lauren asked.

“The library is great. You’ve made efficient use of the space, but it’s still welcoming. It’s amazing to be working in a small community library again.”

Lauren smiled. “It’s a big change from the main branch of the Cincinnati Public Library, I’m sure.”

“It’ll be a relief not to be in touch with social services for a while. You wouldn’t believe how often we had to try to find help for people using the library as a shelter.”

“Just because this is a small town doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen here.”

“Right,” he corrected himself. “Of course.”

“Not on a daily basis, though.” She watched him for a moment. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Thirty-one.”

“That’s a relief. I was afraid that beard was hiding a baby face. Did you concentrate on digital lending in Cincinnati?”

“I didn’t spearhead it there, but I worked on it from planning through implementation. Have you guys been looking at it long?”

She shrugged. “We’ve talked about it. We checked it out last year, but we really needed to invest in our Spanish-language section. And personally, I think an e-reader is cost prohibitive for the members of the community who need the library most.”

“I know exactly what you mean, but you have to keep in mind that a huge percentage of the community has at least a smartphone, and these—”

“Hold on,” Lauren interrupted, and Gabe worried that he’d misstepped, already talking up his plans on the first day, but then he realized she was pulling a phone from her pocket. “Hey, Jake,” she said, covering her other ear as she stood. “Just a second. I can’t hear anything in here.”

She’d taken only one step away when Gabe heard her name being called. Lauren kept moving toward the door, a hand still pressed to her free ear. Gabe looked toward the sound of a woman calling out “Lauren!” one more time.

It was Veronica Chandler, standing in the opening of a hallway that he assumed led to the bathrooms and the office of the bar. She stood up on tiptoe and waved toward Lauren, then lowered herself again, her face falling from hope to disappointment.

Her blond hair still looked the same, some sort of angled, stylish cut that would look at home in any big city, but her face looked younger without the sunglasses. In fact, Gabe was a little surprised at how young she looked. He’d placed Lauren somewhere around forty, but Veronica looked more like twenty now that he could see her wide blue eyes and round cheeks. She bit her lip and her worried gaze swept the room as if she were lost.

Shit. Gabe glanced toward the door, but Lauren was nowhere to be seen. Veronica crossed her arms and stared at the door as if her only hope had disappeared. Gabe excused himself from the table and wound his way through the crowd.

She was still frowning toward the doorway and didn’t notice him until he stopped in front of her. “Jesus!” she gasped, slapping a hand to her chest.

“Sorry,” Gabe said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Lauren got a phone call. She should be back any second.”

“Oh. Okay.” She crossed her arms again and stepped farther back into the hallway, then raised a thumb to her mouth to chew at the nail. He noticed that despite her smoky eye makeup and glossy lips, her nails were bare and cut short.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

When she finally gave up her vigil and looked right at him, Gabe was a little shocked by the vivid blue of her eyes. But he was the only one who felt that jolt, apparently, because her frown was decidedly suspicious.

“I’m Gabe,” he offered. “We met today at the library.”

“I remember,” she said.

“Is something wrong?” Gabe asked. “Do you want me to grab Lauren for you? She’s probably right outside.”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I just need a drink, and I was hoping not to mingle.” She waved toward the bar, and Gabe winced at the casual gesture. She really was a bit of a diva. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a gentleman.

“I’m happy to grab something for you. What do you drink?”

He expected a complicated order, but she shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a cosmo, I guess?”

It came out as a question, but he nodded. “A cosmo. You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Could you bring it to the office? I have to go through these questions. And I really need a drink.”

He headed toward the bar, deciding he’d need a drink to get through this evening, too. Just as he got the bartender’s attention and ordered a beer and a cosmo, a loud, friendly voice rang out over the PA system.

“Hello, locals!” the warm voice called.

He turned and was shocked to see that it was Veronica, holding a microphone, her arm draped over the big blue vase.

“I’m Dear Veronica, in the flesh!”

The crowd cheered and hooted as she laughed. Her face looked transformed again. Neither cool and haughty nor young and uncertain, her round face now held a friendly, open warmth and a wide smile.

She waved at the whole crowd. “It’s great to finally meet you in person!”

That was a lie. She hadn’t even wanted to step out of the hallway. Gabe shook his head and turned back to pay the bartender.

“I hope everyone has their questions in,” she continued, “because I’m ready to judge all of you.”

A moan swept through the crowd, and she laughed over it. “That was only a joke. I’m here to help, of course. So I’m going to steal all of your secrets...” Gabe glanced over his shoulder to see her scoop up the vase. A young woman darted up and dropped one last piece of paper in.

“Ooooh!” Veronica called. “You look like trouble!”

The whole place clapped as the laughing woman’s face went scarlet.

“Okay,” Veronica continued, “I’ll be back to answer your most burning questions in a few minutes. In the meantime, I’m told the martini of the night is called Your Favorite Mistake, which is about as appropriate as it gets, so drink up!”

A cheer went up as she waved again before disappearing into the hallway. Gabe sighed and collected the drinks to follow her.

By the time he’d picked his way through the crowded room, the hallway was empty. He passed two bathrooms and a door to the kitchen before he came upon a closed door marked Employees Only. Holding the beer between his elbow and his chest, he managed the knob and the door swung open.

He’d expected to find that crowd-pleasing Veronica again, but the woman seated at the desk before a pile of folded notes was pale and chewing on her lip.

“Thank God,” she said when she looked up and saw him. Actually, she wasn’t looking at him but at the drink. Both her hands reached out for the cosmo, and they were trembling.

“Hey,” he said when pink liquid dribbled over the rim and hit the desk. “Are you okay?”

“I saw my boss out there,” she muttered, then sucked in a deep breath. She took a sip of the drink and closed her eyes. “I’m better now, thanks.”

Was she an alcoholic? Had she just been jonesing for a drink? But no...she shuddered slightly as she took another sip. “God, that’s strong.”

“Do you want my beer instead?”

She grimaced at the beer. “No, but thank you.”

After one more sip of her pink drink, she put both hands flat on the desk and blew air through her pursed lips. The notes trembled and shook. She breathed deeply in, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll be fine now. Thank you very much.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll see you out there. Break a leg.”

She laughed, that big smile returning for a brief moment before it went crooked and uncertain. “Right. Break a leg. I’ll try, I guess. Oh, I should pay you back!”

Her hand swung around and hit the martini glass with an alarming chime, but she scrambled and managed to save the glass before it tipped. “Oh, thank God,” she gasped, “That would have been a tragedy.”

“Not an insurmountable one. I promise I’d have gotten you another.”

She laughed again, her round cheeks going pink. “You’re really sweet. Thanks for helping me out.”

Gabe was surprised to feel his own face going slightly warm. “No problem.” He backed out and closed the door, leaving this odd woman to her work. He knew less about her after their second interaction than he had after their first, but one thing was certain. She was high maintenance as hell. A drama queen, maybe. Or just high-strung. Whatever she was, he was staying far away from it.

His phone buzzed as he reached the end of the hall and Gabe took it from his pocket, smiling when he saw his sister’s name pop up in a text box. Another high-maintenance woman, but one he couldn’t bear to keep at a distance: his middle sister, Naomi.

How was your first day? she asked.

Good. I’m out with the other librarians right now.

She texted a big smiley face. Girls’ night???

Something like that, he responded. Are you back home?

Yes, Paris was a blast, but now Mom’s trying to feed me, and Dad’s just...disappointed.

Yeah, Gabe was disappointed, too. But he was hopeful that once his sister got through a few more years of international modeling, she’d be ready to settle down and take over the family business. Then again, he’d been telling himself that for more than ten years. Unfortunately, Naomi had turned out to be one of those rare models who was even more popular in her thirties than she had been in her teens.

And their older sister? Yeah, she was an even bigger disappointment to their father.

It was all up to Gabe now.

Gabe shook his head and texted back.

Just eat one burger and make them both happy.

I tried that last time. It didn’t get them off my back, and I had to run ten extra miles on the treadmill.

Tragedy! he responded, then added a crying face to the text.

Kiss my ass, little brother.

Love you, too, he sent before he tucked the phone back into his pocket. One hour of this Dear Veronica nonsense, and then he could head over to his new place, ignore family and work obligations, and get on with his new life.

* * *

VERONICA COULDN’T FEEL her own hands and she couldn’t quite hear what she was saying. It wasn’t the martini affecting her, unfortunately; it was pure, unadulterated terror.

Despite the numbness, her hands were still holding the letters she’d chosen to read, and the crowd was still clapping and smiling. She couldn’t remember much of the past forty-five minutes, but maybe it was going fine. She might even be doing a good job, but she had a feeling the crowd approval had more to do with the alcohol. Not that she minded.

“And now, our sixth and final Dear Veronica letter,” she said into the microphone, lowering her voice a little to bring down the noise level in the bar. It worked. The roar subsided.

She drank the last of her now-warm cosmo and took a deep breath. “‘Dear Veronica, I feel like I’m a pretty good catch. I’m young, relatively pretty, educated and fun loving. Men ask me out. I wouldn’t say I have any problem getting a date, and my standards are reasonably high. I expect a potential mate to be employed and funny and hot as hell—’”

“That’s you, Steve!” someone yelled out, causing howls to erupt.

Veronica smiled and pointed in the direction of the noise. “Find me later, Steve.” She waited for the laughter to quiet, then continued. “‘So why do I always end up being the booty call? Why am I never the girlfriend? It makes me feel like I’m not good enough. Don’t get me wrong—I love sex, but I’d like more than that, and the last three guys I’ve dated have all ended up being casual.’ It’s signed That Girl.”

Veronica looked out over crowd. “Now...this letter might mean something to a lot of you.”

There were moans of agreement.

“Let me start with this. There’s nothing wrong with a booty call.” Veronica laughed at the ruckus that caused, then shook her head and moved on. “Sex is fun. Sex is good. Booty-call your way through life if that makes you happy. But apparently, it’s not making you happy, That Girl, so you need to figure out why you’re willingly participating in this unfulfilling little dance.

“I notice that you referred to yourself as ‘relatively pretty’ and then referred to your dates as ‘hot as hell,’ which makes me think you could be flattered by their attention. Let’s be really honest here—there is nothing flattering about someone wanting to bone you.”

She paused to let the crowd react, and a server sneaked over to hand her another martini. “Oh, thank you!” Veronica whispered, surprised and relieved. Her mouth was drying out and her hands were sweating. She gratefully took a gulp, then turned back to the audience. “I hear some disagreement, but let me be clear. There are men out there who will put their penises in a tree. There are men out there who will put their penises in sheep. You do not need to feel flattered that a man wants to put his penis inside you.

“And as for women...think of all the slimeballs out there you see taking women home every single night. Those women are happy to sleep with a slimeball, so, men, don’t be honored that they’ll sleep with you, too. Sex is not flattery! It’s one of our basic animal needs and people will do a lot of nasty shit to get it.”

“She’s talking about you again, Steve!” a man shouted.

“Okay, Steve,” Veronica said, “don’t find me later.” She winked in his direction. “But for this letter writer... You describe yourself as ‘fun loving’ and I’m afraid proving that you’re down for casual sex is part of proving just how fun you are.” She paused to let that sink in and registered a couple of women who looked as if they’d just heard the truth.

“If casual sex isn’t fun for you, then don’t do it. It’s not a requirement—it’s an option. Buy a good vibrator and take a break from being the fun girl who’s down for the superhot guy. Because if you think those men can’t tell that you’re flattered by the attention, you’re fooling yourself. If you believe they’re too hot for you, then you can bet your ass that they think so, too. And if you’re smiling your way through a booty call and pretending it’s a great way to spend a weeknight, those men are not going to try to talk you out of it.”

She took a deep breath. Almost done.

“So take a break. Reevaluate your choices. Figure out what you really want. And if what you want is to get serious with someone, then you wait for a person who’s serious about you. You wait for the guy who calls you when he doesn’t want sex.”

A few of the women frowned and Veronica smiled. “Okay, wait for the guy who’s dying to do you and also wants to spend time with you not having sex. Is that better?” All of the women cheered. “All right. Thank you very much, everyone. This has been a blast. I’ll see you in the paper!”

She waved blindly at the clapping crowd, then turned, meaning to grab her drink and retreat to the office to hyperventilate, but the glass was empty. Had she downed that whole thing in five minutes? No wonder she felt dizzy. Before she could retreat, someone rushed up behind her and squeezed her waist.

“You were amazing!” said Lauren.

“Was I? I think I’m going to faint.”

“Everybody loved it! You’re a natural.”

“I’m not,” she murmured, starting to see spots. She managed to smile toward a female voice that called out a quick thank-you, but then Veronica pointed her body toward the hallway and started walking. “I just need a minute,” she said.

She felt Lauren pat her back, and then Veronica was alone in the cool hallway and the noise of the crowd receded. She made it to the office, shut the door and collapsed into a chair.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God, I did it. It’s over.” Her heart began to calm. The spots in her vision faded.

The door opened on a loud whoosh, and Veronica smiled gratefully, ready to fall into Lauren’s arms now that some of the shock had passed, but it wasn’t Lauren. It was Gerald King, the managing editor of the paper.

Oh, God. What if he’d finally seen through her stupid charade? What if he’d hated it?

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, Veronica.”

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“We were hoping to promote the paper and help pump up the locals’ specials advertising with tonight.”

“I know,” she breathed. Unfortunately, the spots were completely gone now and she could see Gerald’s stern face perfectly. He was only forty-five, but there was something in his posture that always reminded Veronica of her dad. Some arrogant, implacable way he held himself. She wished she hadn’t cornered herself in the office. There was no escape from his disappointment now.

“But this is going to work out differently, I think.”

She was already nodding, conceding her awfulness.

Gerald grunted, but she couldn’t decipher the noise. “Anyway, Thursday nights are fairly slow this time of year, and the place was almost full tonight. The owner is damn happy. I think we can make this a great summer tie-in for the paper. Hell, maybe we can even take it to a bigger location during ski season, though I’d much rather increase permanent circulation than just get a temporary bump in advertising rates. But hell, why not go for it all?”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Every Thursday. Locals’ Advice Night with Dear Veronica. One hundred bucks a pop for you, paid as a bonus. Are you in?”

Are you in? He asked the question so casually. Almost as an aside, a formality. Of course she was in, because the paper wanted her to do it and she always said yes.

Veronica stared at him.

“Hey,” Gerald said, snapping his fingers. “Are you in? The manager wants to announce it before everyone leaves.”

She nodded, meaning that she understood what the manager wanted, but Gerald took it as an agreement. “Great. I’ll let him know. Good job out there.” And then he was gone, and Veronica had to come back and do this all over again next week.

The black spots swarmed again, descending on her like flies on a carcass. Could you die of regret and terror and stage fright? Veronica lowered her head to the desk and let the coolness of the fake wood seep into her face.

She’d succeeded and become a disaster in one fell swoop. The same fucking magic trick she’d been pulling off her entire life. But there was no running from it now. Jackson was home. She had nowhere else to go. She’d have to keep this charade going for a long while. And it had only felt as if everyone was watching before. Now they really were.

CHAPTER THREE

GABE STRETCHED OUT on the sun-warmed surface of the rock and let his sore muscles absorb the heat. The sky was a pale, pure blue above him and the breeze dried his sweat. His fingertips ached from bracing himself in a vertical crack after a misstep, but even that was perfect. He closed his eyes and melted into the mountain.

“Water?” his climbing partner asked.

Gabe opened his hand and felt a bottle hit his palm. “Thanks.”

“You’re out of shape, man.”

“Fuck you,” Gabe said, opening one eye just so he could glare at Benton. “You try living in Cincinnati and see how rusty your climbing skills get.”

“We’ll work on it,” Benton said.

“Hell, yeah, we will,” Gabe sighed. “Sunday?”

“You got it. Are you up for climbing Exum?”

Gabe sat up and stretched his left arm. “Jesus Christ, what is that? Eight hundred feet?”

“Sure, but it’s six pitches. And I’ll lower you down if you get too tired.”

“You’re an arrogant ass, you know that?”

Benton grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Gabe muttered. “Hell, I’m not even sure I love you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re just using me as a route leader?”

Gabe shrugged. “You come at the right price. Free.”

“Yet again, I’m just a cheap piece of ass.” Benton adjusted the tie holding back his dreadlocks and slipped on the shades that Gabe’s sister had once said made him look just like Lenny Kravitz. He tipped his head toward the cliff edge. “Ready?” he asked.

“Just give me another minute. I’m enjoying the hell out of this.” He closed his eyes again and let the silence wash over him. It wasn’t completely quiet, of course. Trees below them rustled in the breeze and Benton’s equipment clinked when he moved. But it was more profoundly quiet on the rock than it was when hiking or camping. There was no rustle of chipmunks through brush, no chorus of birds singing, no crackle of dead leaves under boots.

He stretched and pulled himself up. “I’ll see you Saturday morning, too.”

“No shit?” Benton asked. “You’re in?”

“I’m in,” Gabe answered. He’d just gotten word that his application for Technical Search and Rescue had been approved. After a couple months of training, there was a good chance he’d be out there helping with mountain rescues during the summer months.

Benton clapped him on the arm. “I never doubted it for a second.” He gestured toward the edge of the cliff. “After you.”

Gabe hooked back into the line and stood at the edge, but before he leaned out, he took the chance to look around one last time. This was his first solid climb since getting settled in Jackson a week before, and it was the perfect day. Sixty degrees and unlimited visibility. Valleys and peaks stretched out beneath him, the trees looking like stunted bushes from this height.

A hawk glided by, not shifting a feather as it rode an air current down. “Christ, I’m happy to be here,” he said quietly.

“I know. I still remember the day I decided I wasn’t leaving Jackson. It’s a great place to stay forever, even if I do have to live on a bartender’s tips and the occasional guiding gig. I’m guessing librarian doesn’t pay much more, but I guarantee you won’t find a reason to leave.”

Yeah. Unfortunately, Gabe already had a reason to leave. He couldn’t put good views and crisp air over his family, no matter how much he loved living here. He didn’t have the option to stay. Not forever. But he’d be damned if he’d waste his time here dwelling on that.

“Rappelling,” he called out, checking the anchor, the rope and the lock on his carabiner one last time.

“Rappel on, my friend,” Benton said.

Gabe turned around, stepped down and let his weight settle him into the right position. There was nothing but two hundred feet of air behind him and it felt perfect.

“Hey!” Benton called as Gabe began to descend. “You coming out with us tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. We’re heading over to a new locals’ night at Three Martini Ranch. Dear Veronica hosts it. Supposed to be a blast.”

Gabe’s hand tightened reflexively around the rope, slowing his descent. He loosened his grip and shook off his surprise.

Between moving all his belongings into a new apartment and working his ass off at the library, he’d been too busy to think much about Veronica Chandler in the past week. She was a distraction Gabe didn’t need. But she was definitely a distraction.

He had no idea what to think of her. She was pretty, a pain in the ass and absolutely not his type. She was also funny and smart as hell, if last Thursday’s performance was any guide. She’d been transformed into that warm, welcoming version of herself once she’d started speaking, but more than that, she’d been bright as a star.

He’d agreed with every one of the answers she’d had for the letter writers, and he’d been looking forward to discussing them with her after the performance. So much so that he’d realized what a bad idea it was to stay, and he’d said his goodbyes and hauled ass before she could come out to join Lauren.

He’d figured that was the end of it, but apparently, he was going to see her again tonight. Not that he had to go, but...what good was a day off if he couldn’t hang out with old friends?

Gabe slid past an overhang and kept up a steady descent until he was back on flat ground, then shouted the alert back up to Benton.

“Geronimo!” Benton yelled back. He was down in a few minutes.

“What time tonight?” Gabe asked.

“Starts at eight, but we’d better make it closer to seven. I hear it might be packed.”

That would work in Gabe’s favor. He could check out Veronica again, but he wouldn’t draw her attention. He didn’t want to date her. He just wanted one more chance to figure her out before he filed her away.

“Hey,” Benton said, nudging Gabe’s elbow as they began to pack up the gear. “Did you bring that book?”

“Sure.” Gabe dug into his hiking pack and withdrew his worn copy of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Benton’s nephew had been diagnosed with autism and Benton had read through two dozen nonfiction books about the condition. Now he was looking for fiction, too.

“If you want anything else, let me know and I’ll see if I can order it in to the library.”

Benton shot him a narrow look. “I don’t know, man. Will I have to sit in on circle time on the rug?”

“Benton, it’s a library, not a preschool.”

“Same thing, right?”

Gabe was used to this, but he still rolled his eyes. “I don’t run the kids’ section. Come on.”

Benton shrugged. “All right. Since you’re in the adult section, any sexy librarians I should be aware of?”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, slipping on his pack. “Me.”

“Tempting,” Benton countered. “But I’m gonna need you to take the lead next time so I can get a better look at that ass.”

“I’ll wear running shorts,” he promised, prompting Benton to groan.

“Now I’ll never get that image out of my head.”

Gabe grinned. “I like that you pretend it’s awful. That’s cute.”

“Good Christ, man,” Benton muttered. “Your hairy fucking thighs. To change the subject entirely...how’s your sister?”

Gabe shook his head. “Naomi is great. Want me to pass her a note from you?”

“I can pass my own notes,” Benton said. “I’ve still got her number from last time. Is she coming to visit anytime soon?”

“No idea,” Gabe said, throwing Benton a wary look. He didn’t want to know if his sister had hooked up with Benton three years ago when Gabe and Naomi had met up here with a group of friends. He didn’t care who his sister slept with; he just didn’t want to know any details.

“Fine,” Benton said, holding up his hands. “How’s your dad? Still pressuring you to take over the family business back in New York?”

“Always,” Gabe answered, not adding more. Even Benton didn’t know about Gabe’s plans. He wanted to live the next year as if he wasn’t planning to return to the city. He didn’t want to field questions about MacKenzie’s. He didn’t even want to admit the truth out loud.

His dad knew, of course. It had been the only way to get his agreement to retire in a year. And his sisters knew, because Gabe had tried to talk each of them into stepping up and taking over the MacKenzie’s chain of restaurants. His sisters were older, after all, and someone had to do it or their dad would work himself into an early grave.

But they’d refused, and so it had come down to Gabe, the one who liked to keep the peace and make things right.

“Well, if Naomi does come out here, let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Benton shouldered his own pack. “All right, you’re not as pretty as your sister, but you’ll have to do for now. Come on, beautiful.”

Gabe laughed as Benton started down the trail, but Gabe didn’t immediately follow. He was distracted by the echo of his own laughter off the rocks behind him. How long had it been since he’d heard that? His voice bouncing off mountains instead of being swallowed up by a cacophony of cars and air conditioners?

He took a deep breath and felt years of stress fall away. If he’d been in any kind of shape, he’d have turned around and headed right back up the face again, taken a slightly different path, pushed himself a little harder. But his arms already burned and there was no way his hands would hold up. Sunday would be soon enough to push himself. And then every Sunday after that.

Gabe rolled his shoulders, stretched his hands and set off down the trail, suddenly eager to get out, have a beer and watch the Dear Veronica show from the crowd. He’d just be careful not to get too close.

* * *

VERONICA CHEWED HER gnocchi and watched as her father typed out an email on his phone. She didn’t know why she’d accepted his invitation to dinner. It wasn’t as if there’d been any chance that an hour with him would be relaxing. On the other hand, the stress of his disapproval did distract her from the stress of worrying about tonight’s performance, so maybe that was what her subconscious had jumped on.

And he always chose great restaurants. Judge Chandler was used to the best.

He finally looked up, glancing around the restaurant before he looked at her. “Did you say something?”

“Yes, I said that it went so well I’m doing a live Dear Veronica again tonight.”

He frowned. “For free?”

“No, Dad, I’m getting paid.”

“Not much, I’d bet.”

No, not much. Not as much as she’d get paid if she’d followed in his footsteps and gone to law school. “I told you I’d be happy to pay rent.”

He waved a dismissive hand before picking up his Scotch. “At least I don’t have to worry about the unit being vacant during the spring and fall.”

Yes. At least she could do that for him. Fill space in the smallest apartment in the building he owned.

“I only got you that job as temporary work,” he grouched, settling back into his sweet spot of disappointment combined with magnanimous gestures.

“I’m a writer, Dad. It is an actual job.”

“Is it?”

She stuffed more gnocchi into her mouth and stared hard at her water glass. If she’d been making even a few hundred dollars more a month, she’d never have accepted her dad’s offer to live in his building. She’d known exactly what it had meant. But she’d spent her life savings trying to make ends meet in New York. When she’d come home to start over and try again, she’d thought maybe—just maybe—she’d find a soft place to fall.

She’d been wrong. “Just tell me the market rate on the apartment and I’ll pay it,” she said, not for the first time. “Then you won’t have to worry about my job or my decisions.”

He gave the same answer he always did. “You can’t afford it.”

The problem was that he was likely right. As small as the apartment was, it had a nice kitchen and a fireplace and it was in Jackson. It was a place she definitely couldn’t have afforded during ski season, but she told herself that a yearly lease wouldn’t be quite so much. It wouldn’t be like living in New York. Nothing was that expensive.

She set her fork down hard. “I’d better go,” she said. “I need to get ready for the show.”

“Knock ’em dead,” her father said, already looking at his phone again.

He was always like this. She knew it had nothing to do with her, but it was sometimes hard to believe it when he was directing his arrogance at her. “Sure, Dad,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. He patted her hand, then got back to his phone.

Maybe her plan to see her dad tonight had actually worked. She was still nervous about the show, but she had a little anger to energize her now. She stalked toward her apartment, pissed that her dad was such a self-absorbed ass and mad at herself for failing so hard at life that she was relying on him again. She was living one of her Dear Veronica letters.

“Dear Veronica,” she snarled as she jammed the key into her apartment door, “I’m a stereotypical twentysomething who couldn’t quite make it out of the nest and now whines nonstop about it. What should I do?”

She slammed the door behind her and looked around at the furniture that had once filled a Brooklyn apartment she’d shared with two virtual strangers. “Shut your mouth,” she told herself, “stop whining and find something you’re good at.”

Actually...

She stared at the stylish little chair she’d found on the curb in front of a nice brownstone near her subway stop. It had been one of her most triumphant moments in the city, sadly, and she still loved that chair.

Find something you’re good at.

Hadn’t she already done that? She was good at writing. Her editors in New York had rarely offered anything less than praise, and her boss seemed happy with her work here. She was a good copy editor and she was surprisingly good at giving advice, despite having zero qualifications for it. Aside from the normal trolls, commenters on the paper’s website seemed thrilled with the column and eager to contribute their own thoughts. So maybe “Find something you’re good at” wasn’t the right advice.

It wasn’t her work that was the problem; it was...everything else. And everything else was a lot harder to fix than the wrong job.

She needed advice. And she was good at giving it. She just had to dig a little deeper.

Veronica made herself move slowly as she got ready for her show. She couldn’t rush or she’d panic and lose all this hard-won calmness. So she changed from jeans and a sweater to the dress she’d already laid out on the bed. It was a cute little blue A-line number she’d found at a charity store in New York.

She’d found a lot of her clothes there. So many women in New York would wear a dress only one or two times before they moved on.

She added high-heeled ankle boots and a silver necklace that looked expensive but had been on clearance at a department store. Her hair was already styled, so she freshened her makeup, darkened her eye shadow and put on some earrings that swung and sparkled when she moved.

Her transformation was complete.

She’d never thought much about her apple cheeks and blue eyes before she’d moved to New York, but once there, her look had drawn attention. Men had called her Heidi on the street, as if she were fresh off the mountains of Switzerland. They’d called her “baby doll,” yelling out that they’d love to dirty her up a little. Her stupid round cheeks had flamed with mortification every time, which made the men howl with laughter and get even filthier. Catcalling was not something she’d grown up with in Wyoming, and it had taken months for her to school her response.

But she’d done it. Walk taller, tune them out, don’t look at them, don’t respond. She’d learned to put on heavier makeup, a mask to hide behind, along with high heels and a long black jacket anytime it was less than eighty degrees outside. Stare straight ahead. Look impervious.

It had worked moderately well with the catcallers, and the rest of New York, as well. Don’t let them see the real you.

Don’t let them see the real you... Wasn’t that what she was doing in Jackson, too? Hiding behind this costume she’d assembled in the big city?

If she wrote in to her own column, the answer would be easy. If you feel like you’re faking your way through life, then stop faking it. Let people see the real you. Take a chance. If you don’t open yourself up to others, then they won’t be open to you.

It wasn’t even complicated. It wasn’t something she needed to research. But it was still scary as hell. Letting people see the real you.

Veronica stared at the big-city version of herself in the mirror. The smoky-gray shadow made her eyes even bluer. The blush gave her cheekbones. The lip stain made her lips fuller. But she could tone it all down. Be the natural girl she’d been when she’d flown to New York all those years ago. Let people see her.

No.

She picked up her mascara and added another coat, then packed her makeup into its bag and put it away. “Not tonight,” she murmured to herself before she snapped off the light. But before she walked out of the apartment, she found a black marker and wrote a big note and stuck it on the fridge.

#1—Let people see the real you.

She’d start taking her own advice. Tomorrow, maybe. But definitely when she wasn’t standing in front of the whole damn town.

CHAPTER FOUR

VERONICA CHANDLER WAS shining again when she took her place in front of the microphone. The wide smile made her eyes sparkle. Her earrings glittered as she waved to the crowd. “Good Lord, there are a lot of you tonight!”

The place erupted in cheers. Gabe didn’t cheer, but he did clap for Veronica before picking up a beer to wet his suddenly dry mouth. Maybe it was because he was already buzzed or maybe it was because he hadn’t seen her cool, bitchy side right beforehand, but she looked hot tonight. Her legs were bare all the way from ankle to midthigh, and his eyes followed the path up and down several times. Those legs made her look like his kind of girl.

He cleared his throat at the strange thought, but when he tried to look away, his gaze swung right back to those bare legs. They weren’t thin and impossibly long like the legs of some of the fashion models his sister hung out with. Veronica’s legs were tight. Hard. As if she used them to go places and do things. Her calf muscles were cut and the fronts of her thighs tightened when she shifted.

“How have I not seen her before?” Benton asked.

Gabe forced his eyes off her legs and looked at Benton. “She was living in New York for a while.”

“You know her?”

“I met her last week. She’s friends with Lauren at the library.”

“Maybe I should be spending more time at the library.”

“Because bartenders don’t get enough female attention? Please.”

Benton grinned and raised his beer. “Cheers to that.”

Veronica spoke again, drawing their attention. “This first question is R rated. Do you guys think you’re ready for that, or should we ease in with something tamer?”

When the crowd reacted, Veronica covered her mouth and shook her head, her cheeks going pink. “I actually didn’t mean it to sound that way, but I’d say you’re definitely ready.”

“Hell, yeah!” a girl shouted from the left.

“All right,” Veronica said. “This one’s short and not so sweet. ‘My boyfriend won’t go down on me—’”

The place erupted in groans and boos and Gabe found himself laughing until his eyes watered.

Benton booed right along with the crowd. “What a punk ass,” he muttered. Gabe clinked his glass in agreement.

Veronica’s laugh echoed over it all. “Okay. Just listen. ‘My boyfriend won’t go down on me. He says he’s never liked it with anyone, but I can’t help but take it personally. What should I do?’ Signed, I Need Love. Well, I hope your boyfriend is here to listen to this! But, letter writer, it doesn’t really matter if he’s here or not. Because what you need to hear is how many of these guys think he’s a fool. Right, guys?” The place exploded with noise.

Once the cheers died down, she started again. “There are lots of men who genuinely don’t like going down, and there are also lots of women who don’t like performing oral sex. These are not bad people—”

“Are you sure?” someone shouted.

“—and I don’t think anyone should be talked into anything they don’t want to do. I have no idea what your boyfriend’s problem is, and it doesn’t truly matter. If you have to talk him into it, I doubt he’d be very good at it and I doubt you’d have a great time.”

Somebody muttered an “Amen.”

“So, letter writer,” she continued, “the truth is that your boyfriend doesn’t really matter here. You matter. And what you need to ask yourself is ‘Do I want to go my whole life without oral sex?’ Because that’s what we’re talking about if this relationship continues. Since oral sex is the way the vast majority of women orgasm, I’m going to guess the answer to that question is no.”

Gabe noticed her cheeks going pink again.

“So if you don’t want to go your whole life without it, what’s the point of going a year without it? Or five years? Maybe he’s a really great guy, but he can be a great guy with someone he’s sexually compatible with. Believe it or not, there are women out there who don’t want that. They think it’s gross or it makes them uncomfortable. I once even met a woman whose nerves were so sensitive that she found it too intense and didn’t like it. Let him date that woman. Or better yet, he can hook up with one of those girls who hates blow jobs and they can live resentfully together for the rest of their lives.”

Veronica smiled. “But you, letter writer, you can look around at this very large gathering of men who love to go down—” she swept a hand over the crowd, and several guys jumped to their feet with triumphant fists in the air “—and you can decide to choose another path. A path that involves cunnilingus, and lots of it. My hunch is that’s the path for you.”

Gabe thought of the Robert Frost poem about two roads diverging in a wood and shook his head in wonder. Probably not what Frost had had in mind, but who really knew?

Her next question was from a woman who’d received hateful messages online telling her she was fat and slutty and who’d then tracked down the IP address to her sister’s computer.

Gabe half listened to Veronica’s answer, but he was more interested in the way her voice changed from wry humor to serious concern. Was she only acting or did she really feel that deeply for these people? He couldn’t tell, but the whole room went quiet as she talked about betrayal and pain.

“I can’t begin to guess at her reasons. I’m sure she tells herself she has them, but she is consciously hurting you. She’s trying to damage you on the deepest level. Now, people do that all the time. There are people online who spend every day swooping down on strangers just to hurt them and they find that entertaining. But this is your sister. You can’t just ignore that. You’re going to have to talk to her, because you’re both adults and part of being an adult is doing difficult things.

“Tell her you need it to stop. And if you’re open to the answer, ask her why. Find out what’s really going on, because I guarantee that it has nothing to do with your body and what you do with it. It’s all about her. Maybe she’s having issues with your parents. Maybe they’re using your success to shame her. Or maybe she’s just depressed and angry and lashing out. Ask her why. And if you don’t like her answer, you have every right to cut her out of your life, but be honest with your family about why you’ve done it, or she will make you into the bad guy.”

The applause was more subdued this time, but Veronica smiled. “Don’t worry. The next question is about boobs.”

When she started giving advice about living with a small chest, Gabe felt less guilty about checking her breasts out. She gestured to them as she was talking, after all. People were laughing so hard it was difficult to hear everything she said about bra shopping and dress styles, but he had a perfect view of her breasts the whole time. The neckline of her dress swooped only low enough to hint at cleavage, but she made clear that she didn’t have much to show, anyway.

“Personally, I wouldn’t bother much with water bras or miracle padding. What if you attract a guy who’s really, really into C-cups and then your magic show ends with whipping off your bra and making them disappear? You can yell out ‘Ta-da!’ but I promise you won’t get any applause.”

Benton was laughing so hard that Gabe suspected it was a magic show the bartender had seen several times.

Half an hour and four more questions later, the show was over. Once the room started to clear out a little, Gabe took the opportunity to grab a free space at the bar and order another beer.

“We’re heading over to the saloon,” Benton said when Gabe returned to the table. “You coming?”

“I just bought a beer.”

“Finish it and come on.”

“I’d better not. I’ve got work tomorrow, and my shift doesn’t start at 5:00 p.m., unlike yours.”

“All right, man.” Benton slapped his shoulder. “See you this weekend.”

Gabe relaxed into his chair. If Sunday turned out to be anything like today, he might die of happiness. It was all so...simple.

But when he glanced up, it wasn’t simple anymore.

Veronica stood in the opening of the back hall, leaning forward just slightly to look around the room. He realized then that she was part of the reason he’d decided to stay, even if he hadn’t admitted it. Shit.

After a few seconds of peering toward the bar, she retreated and leaned against the wall, then closed her eyes and drained her drink.

Gabe watched her, confused by yet another sudden personality shift. She clearly didn’t want to come out, which was odd considering she’d just spent so much time in front of these people.

She pushed off the wall again and her gaze roamed the room. Her eyes skipped over him, then returned and widened. He smiled and gave her a wave. She waved back but didn’t move. Telling himself he was an idiot even as he did it, Gabe pointed at the empty chair next to him. She hadn’t been looking for him, and he shouldn’t want to spend time with her, anyway.

But Veronica smiled and seemed to wilt a little, the stiffness going out of her shoulders, and he was glad he’d offered. Relief seemed to glow from her face as she stepped out of the hallway and made a beeline for him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she set down her now-empty glass and took a seat.

“Some friends wanted to see your show.”

“But not you?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been following your live show since the beginning. You want another drink?”

“Oh, God, yes. Please.”

He started to raise a hand to catch the server’s eye, then realized the woman was already headed over with a drink. She winked at Veronica. “The manager says thanks for another great show. There’s more where this came from.”

“Keep them coming!” Veronica cried. When she reached for the drink, Gabe noticed her hand was trembling again.

“Do you get nervous?” he asked.

Her big blue eyes peered at him from over the rim of the martini glass as she took a long drink. “Nervous?” she finally rasped when she came up for air. “More like fucking terrified.”

“I’m surprised.” That might explain a lot of her odd behavior. “You seem totally confident up there.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded as she took another drink.

“It’s all an act. I’m scared to death.” She took one more drink, then set the glass down. Her hand was still shaking.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Anyone would be nervous talking to a roomful of strangers about cunnilingus.”

She squeaked and covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks went red behind her fingers, but when her shoulders began to shake, he knew she was laughing.

“Sorry,” he said. “It was kind of the elephant in the room. That and your small breasts.”

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked, her head bowing with laughter.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Gabe!” she scolded, and he grinned at the way she made him feel as if he was getting away with something. He couldn’t deny that it was a turn-on having an excuse to talk to this girl he hardly knew about sex.

He smiled at the top of her head until she finally peeked up, her eyes still crinkled with amusement.

“Feel better?” he asked.

She sat up straight and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I actually feel better.”

“Makes sense. Oral sex is a great icebreaker. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve probably given that advice a hundred times.”

“You’re awful,” she said, still grinning.

“I know. I’m sorry. But your hands were shaking.”

“Oh.” Her smile faded. “I didn’t realize.”

The waitress interrupted with a new cocktail, and Gabe watched Veronica take a deep breath. She touched the new glass but didn’t lunge for it the way she had with the first one. She really had been scared. No wonder she’d been so hesitant to join the crowd.

“You have no idea how good these drinks are. So good.” She took another sip. “And you distracted me from the terror. Thank you.”

He noticed how her dress had ridden up to expose more of her smooth thighs and made himself look away, if only so he wouldn’t get caught. “I honestly had no idea you were nervous. It was a great show. You’re a natural.”

“Really? I can’t tell how it’s going when I’m up there. It feels like my brain shuts down and my mouth is working on its own.”

“No, your brain is definitely working. Everything you say is really damn smart.”

She blushed again, and Gabe liked that. A lot. That she blushed over sex talk and then blushed when he called her smart. She was...intriguing. And nothing like the first impression he’d had of her.

“You look like you got some sun today,” she said.

“It was my day off. I finally got a chance to do some climbing.”

She sat back in her chair. “Rock climbing? That’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” he said, the same answer he’d given to a hundred other people. It was the most typical reaction. “It’s fun. You should try it.”

“Oh, sure. I’ve got the perfect body type.” She flexed her right arm and pointed at it. “Check out these guns.”

“You don’t need much upper-body strength for the beginning climbs. It’s all in the legs.”

“Are you saying you’re not impressed with my guns?” she asked, flexing again.

“I’m saying your legs look strong.”

“Oh.” Cheeks going pink again, she looked down at her legs. Her hands settled on her thighs as if to cover them, but then her fingers spread.

Gabe watched, wondering what her skin felt like. Warm, probably. Soft. Nice.

“Thank you,” she said. “If that’s a compliment.”

“It’s definitely a compliment.”

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked, then immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry. I always ask weird questions like that. It’s a problem.”

“How is it a problem?”

“Well, it’s a little awkward, isn’t it? That’s my flirting technique. Complete awkwardness. Look, it’s happening right now. Are you entranced?”

“I kind of am,” he said, smiling at her until she smiled back. “If awkwardness is your flirting technique, then you’re clearly into me right now.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Clearly. But isn’t everyone into you?”

He was the one who drew back this time. “What?”

She watched him as she sipped from her drink, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. Her gaze dipped down his body when she set her glass on the table. “Come on. Look at you. You’re so damn hot.”

“I am?” he asked, feeling his own cheeks get warm.

“Yes, with your little beard and your shoulders and all this.” She waved her hand up and down, while Gabe touched his beard in confusion. “Never mind,” Veronica said. “I’m drunk. Ignore me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—” But before he could finish his sentence, she downed the rest of the drink.

“No, I hardly ever get drunk. I want to get drunk. I want to have fun for once.”

“You look like you’ve had plenty of fun in your life.”

“Ha! You’re wrong about that.”

“Come on. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself after all the excitement of the big city. But you can have fun here, too.”

“Oh, sure,” she huffed out on a laugh.

He bristled a little, used to hearing this kind of shit from his oldest friends. “It’s not New York, but it’s a good place. Aren’t you having fun right now?”

She nodded and leaned closer. Gabe tried very hard not to glance down her dress to the slight rise of her breasts, if only because her gaze was locked on his face. “Gabe MacKenzie,” she said in a loud whisper, “you’re beautiful.”

He’d been flattered by her attention, but with those words he realized she was just very, very drunk. Her bright smile was gorgeous, but her eyes had gotten a little hazy. “Okay,” he said, “you’re cut off. And I think I’d better walk you home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I lived in Brooklyn. I can handle myself in Wyoming. And walking won’t be a problem. I’ve got the legs of a Russian weight lifter.” She slapped her bare thighs.

“That is not what I said.”

“What did you say?” she teased.

“I said they were strong. Muscled. You look like you run or bike or—”

Her groan cut him off as she dropped her head to her hands. “I was going for cute tonight. Just cute. Why can’t I even pull that off?”

“Are you kidding? You’re just fishing for compliments now. You’re really cute. The definition of cute. But your legs...your legs are sexy.”

She raised her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Making fun? You really aren’t very good at this flirting thing, are you?”

“No. But a guy in New York once called me corn-fed, then acted like it was a compliment.”

“I’m not a guy in New York.”

“You used to be!” she said, poking him in the chest as though she’d caught him in a lie.

“Okay, but I never felt at home there. I’m a country boy at heart. New York is just...where I was born.” Not quite true, but that was what it felt like. A place his family lived. A place he loved from afar and visited occasionally.

Gabe caught sight of the waitress approaching with another drink for Veronica and he shook his head. The woman shrugged and headed back toward the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “You called my legs sexy and I made it weird.” She snagged his beer before he could grab it. “This is why I don’t date. Look at me.”

She got one swig before Gabe took it back and finished it off. “Come on, Dear Veronica, let’s go.”

Even though she collapsed onto the table with laughter, she eventually nodded. “Okay. Let’s go to my place.”

“I didn’t mean...”

“Yeah, believe me, I know.” Veronica pushed to her feet. “See? Steady as a tree.”

In fact, she was swaying a little. If she was a tree, she was more a willow than an oak. “How many of these did you have?” he asked.

“One before the show. One during. Then...two more?”

“In the space of an hour?” Gabe reevaluated his options. “How far away do you live?”

“Only three blocks away. I’m centrally located.” That set off a bout of giggling that had Gabe smiling as he wrapped her arm around his.

“Are you okay in those heels?”

“Sure. I had to learn to walk in them in New York. You know how it is. Spike heels everywhere. I bet you loved that, didn’t you? Men love that.”

He looked down at her as he opened the door of the bar. She was smiling as she stepped into the night.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he finally said.

“Just be honest. I write an advice column. I know what guys like. You can’t scare me.”

“Okay, then. Women’s legs look amazing in heels. Your legs look amazing in heels. But nothing beats the sight of a woman in hiking boots on the trail ahead. I could watch that for hours.”

“And have?”

“Only with permission, of course.”

She bumped him with her shoulder as they walked. “Does that mean you’re an ass man, Gabe MacKenzie?”

“I—” he ran through all the possible responses in his head and decided discretion was the better part of ass valor “—am not going to answer that.”

“You can tell me. Feel free to spill all your kinks. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” He looked around. “Are we even walking in the right direction? Where do you live?”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered, then spun him around. “It’s this way. I’m sorry. I haven’t been this tipsy in a really long time.”

He thought she was way past tipsy, but damned if it wasn’t adorable on her. “So how does one become a professional advice columnist?”

“Overbearing father,” she muttered, then shook her head. “I was a copy editor, but I also helped out with an advice column at the Village Voice. Screening letters, proofing the column, that sort of thing. When I told my dad I was moving back to Jackson, I suppose he wanted to help. He’s friends with the owner of the Jackson paper, and Dad inflated my experience a little. So here I am. A fraud who gives advice.”

“Well, you’re great at it, so how could you be a fraud?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Does someone else write the column for you?”

She laughed, bumping into him again, her thigh rubbing against his and reminding him of how naked her legs were. “No,” she said. “I write it all by myself. That I can do, at least.”

“Which was your favorite column to write?”

“Hmm.” They stepped from the sidewalk to the boardwalk and Veronica seemed to get distracted by the sound of her heels on the wooden boards for a moment. Then she shook her head and looked up again. “Last year a mother wrote in to slut-shame the woman her adult son was dating. She said that this harlot was luring her son with free sex.”

“Oh, God,” Gabe groaned. “Poor guy.”

“I know. We can only guess at how much he was suffering. Anyway, I answered that letter, telling her that if she was disappointed in the behavior, then maybe she hadn’t raised her son very well. I also said there was nothing wrong with sex and to leave the girl alone. Pretty standard stuff. Except that I became friends with the harlot later.”

“Ha! Seriously?”

“It’s a small town. These things happen. I probably know the guy who fell in love with his sex doll, too, but please don’t tell me if it’s you.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, anyway,” Gabe said. “It’s over.”

“Oh, no! Did it fizzle out?”

He shrugged. “We tried to patch it up a couple of times.”

She tugged him to a stop, then leaned against a street lamp, wheezing with laughter.

He grinned as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “You okay?”

She shook her head, still struggling for air past her hysterical laughter.

“Was it that funny, or is it just the alcohol?”

“Both!” she gasped. Then groaned, “God, I must be a mess.”

He looked over her tearstained face and the mascara smudges beneath her eyes. “Nah. You look great.”

“Really?” She swiped at her pink nose.

“Really. Now, where are we going?”

“Right here,” she said, gesturing toward a three-story condo complex.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her off the lamppost to walk her toward the entry. “I only live one block over.”

“I’m not surprised. There are a lot of rentals around here.” She dug her keys from her bag and led the way to one of the ground-floor doors.

“I won’t come in,” he said for clarity’s sake. Even if he might have wanted to, she was way too drunk for him to feel right about it.

She stabbed her keys toward the doorknob several times. “Don’t worry. I didn’t think you wanted to.”

“Okay, because I— What? Why would you think that?”

She waved her free hand and the keys jagged two inches to the right. “I’m not that girl. I get it.”

“What girl?”

“You know.” She finally got the key into the hole, and when the lock turned, she gave a little cheer. She pushed the door open and then lurched in before spinning back to him. “I’m not going to try to jump your gorgeous bones, Gabe. You’re safe with me. I’m sexual kryptonite.”

“What?” he asked again, even more confused.

She reached down to pull one of her high-heeled boots off, but the other ankle wobbled dangerously.

He jumped forward to grab her elbow so she could pull off the boot without falling. She smiled up at him and took off the other boot. He was surprised by how much shorter she was without them. He could now see straight down her dress. The view was lovely and so was her lacy black bra. He stepped back quickly.

She stared up at him. “It’s true,” she whispered.

“What’s true?” he asked.

She watched him for a long moment, then leaned a little closer. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said, not sure what he was hoping to hear her say. Whatever he’d expected, her next words were not it.

“All that advice I give? All of the wise insights on love and sex that I helpfully hand out to strangers?” Her voice was getting softer.

Gabe put his hands on her shoulders. He wanted to lean down and kiss her. Her mouth looked so plump and her eyes so happy. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, using his hands to hold her steady instead of pulling her close.

“That’s the biggest lie of all, Gabe. I’ve never even done it.”

“Done what?” he asked, distracted by the pretty way her neck arched so she could watch him.

She moved even closer, going up on tiptoe to bring her mouth toward his neck. “Fucking,” she whispered.

For a moment, his brain stuttered over the provocative word, guessing that she was trying to turn him on. Not that he’d act on it tonight, but it was a nice problem to have. Then the rest of the conversation caught up and overrode his libido.

He stood straight. His hands gripped her shoulders with more strength. “You what?”

Instead of reacting with the seriousness he thought the moment deserved, Veronica burst into laughter. “You should see your face!” she chortled, pointing at his face in case he’d forgotten where he’d left it. “Oh, my God, you’re so cute!”

“You were kidding,” he sighed, feeling a relief he didn’t understand.

“Oh, I wasn’t kidding. But it’s still funny.”

He blinked several times. “You’re a virgin?”

“Pretty much,” she said, her face suddenly getting serious.

“What does that mean? Can you even be pretty much a virgin?”

“I mean, I’ve done things. On occasion. But I’ve never really done things. Do you get it now? Look at me! I’m a fraud, Gabe. An undesirable, freakish fraud!”

He stared down at one of the most adorable women he’d ever met and wondered if someone had slipped a psychotropic drug into his last beer. “You’re...” He couldn’t think what to say. Oh, my God, you’re a virgin! Or... I don’t know what you’re talking about—you’re totally fuckable! His mind spun. He stayed silent.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have told you. You just have such a nice face. And everything else.”

“Thank you,” he said carefully.

“Maybe you’d like to help with my problem?” He wasn’t sure what she meant until she waggled her eyebrows.

“You mean...with the...?” He pointedly dropped his gaze to a lower point on her body, then realized it was an extremely creepy gesture and snapped his eyes back to her face.

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. With that.” She pointed at the spot he’d just eyed. When he didn’t respond, her nodding slowed, then stopped entirely before she changed it to a negative shake. “No. Right? It’s a no?”

“I don’t... Veronica, I don’t know what to say. You’re really drunk. We shouldn’t even be talking about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to let people see the real me.”

He swallowed hard, wishing he had another beer to wet his dry mouth. Or maybe something with caffeine instead of alcohol so he could navigate this minefield more deftly.

“You’re so cute,” she said mournfully, reaching up to slowly pat his cheek. Her fingers lingered, stroking down his beard. “Huh. It’s soft.”

“Thank you?” he ventured.

She looked so startlingly pretty when she grinned at him that Gabe finally snapped out of his shock and stood straight. “Okay. That’s it. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Yay!” she cheered, pumping her fists in triumph.

“Just you,” he clarified. “Not me. You need to sleep this off. This might be a little more of the real you than you meant to reveal.”

“The real me!” Veronica squealed, giggling as he retrieved the keys she’d left in the lock. “Look at her! She’s horrifying!” He set the keys on the table closest to her and closed the door.

“She’s not horrifying. She’s just being a little more candid than she’d like if she were sober.” Gabe gestured toward the open door of her bedroom.

Her hip hit the table when she turned, but she bounced off it and moved toward her bedroom. Gabe let his hands hover near her shoulders in case she started to lean. Once they reached her bedroom, he grabbed the blankets and pulled them back so she could just fall in. She tipped helpfully onto the mattress, then twisted around to look up at him.

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” she asked with the sweetest smile.

“Something tells me you’re not quite lucid,” he said as he took the purse she’d snuggled up to and put it on her nightstand. He snapped the covers over her before he could let himself notice that her dress had ridden up to expose more of those soft thighs now. Soft, until she shifted and tension added muscle definition. “So...” he said, forcing his thoughts off her legs, “I’m going to get you a big glass of water, and then I’ll leave.”

“That makes me sad.” Her bottom lip curved into a luscious little pout that made him want to taste her. “I want you to stay.”

“We can talk when you’re sober.”

“Promise?”

When he nodded, her pout turned to a smile. But then the smile wavered. Her eyes glistened.

“Are you okay?” he asked in alarm.

“Yes. You’re just so nice, Gabe.” She sniffled and a tear escaped. Then another. “And so hot. Just so, so hot.”

His laugh was half horror and half amusement. He handed her a tissue, then escaped to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Here,” he said when he returned. “I think you’d better drink some of this. Can you sit up?”

She gave him a thumbs-up but didn’t move.

“Come on,” he said, carefully sliding his hand behind her neck to help her raise herself up. She cooperated with another smile that was ruined by her having to sniff back tears several times, but then she dutifully drank a third of the glass while he watched.

He pulled the covers up again when she lay down, then backed away. “Need an alarm?” he asked. It was only ten, but she might sleep for quite a while.

“Nope. I work from home.”

He smiled at her fit of giggles, then raised his hand. “Good night, Dear Veronica. It was a hell of a show.”

She aimed a finger pistol at him and winked as she pulled the trigger. “Thanks, Gabe. Don’t forget your promise.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t forget if you don’t.” He had a very strong feeling that she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. And an even stronger feeling that she’d be sorry if she did.

He turned off her lights and locked the thumb lock on her front door before he stepped outside, grateful that he had time alone to process what she’d said to him. Still, he was smiling as he hit the sidewalk and headed for his own place a block away. No, Veronica Chandler was nothing like he’d thought she’d be. And he was kind of...thrilled.

CHAPTER FIVE

VERONICA KNEW SHE was hungover before she even opened her eyes, but opening her eyes confirmed the state. Even the weak dawn light filtering past her blinds made her groan in pain. She’d had a hangover only twice before, but there was no mistaking the symptoms. Fuzzy tongue, queasy stomach, pounding headache.

Keeping her eyes closed, she sat slowly up and swung her feet over the bed. The room spun a little, but her stomach didn’t protest too much, thank God. In fact, a glass of cold milk sounded like something she’d pay a million dollars for. Promising herself a reward of returning to bed in just a few minutes, she pushed to her feet and shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the lights.

After the bathroom, she headed slowly to the fridge, hissing in pain like a vampire when the fridge light burned her retinas. She squeezed her eyes shut and managed to find the milk and get the door closed without having to brave the light again. She gulped down half a glass of milk, popped some ibuprofen and trudged back to her room.

She sank into her mattress with a sigh. “I should take off this dress,” she muttered to no one, but it seemed like a Herculean task. She pulled the covers over her head and slept.

The next time she woke up, the room was much brighter, but her headache was gone. Her body still ached, and her stomach felt hollow, but that was the worst of it. She was bone-dry, though, and when she saw the water on her bedside table, she sat up and gulped the rest of it down.

“God, I’m an idiot,” she moaned. She couldn’t remember how many martinis she’d had, but there’d been at least two before the show, and two was really her limit. She remembered the nice waitress and she remembered sitting with Gabe, and then... Then she’d obviously stumbled home and fallen into bed without even taking off her dress.

Looking down at herself, she winced. There were deep creases all over the pretty blue knit. She’d have to hand wash it and hope it recovered.

Veronica climbed from bed and struggled out of her dress and bra, then dug out yoga pants and a big T-shirt. This time, when she got to the bathroom, she turned on the light and regretted it immediately. Not because of her hangover, but because of what she saw in the mirror.

“Oh, holy mother of God,” she wheezed, staring wide-eyed at the hot mess that looked back at her. Her hair stood up in crazed tufts, as if she’d twisted her head into her pillow for half the night. Her skin was sallow and sickly looking, as befitted a woman with a hell of a hangover. But worst of all were her eyes, which were bloodshot and ringed with layers of purple and gray and black makeup that looked like a bruised rainbow.

Veronica dove for her bathroom drawer and frantically pulled out her makeup wipes. It took five minutes to get the eye makeup off, but the slight purplish tinge beneath her eyes wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Her skin felt invigorated, at least, though after all the scrubbing, she now looked as if she had pinkeye.

“Never again,” she promised herself. “No martinis next week.”

She was craving a hot breakfast, but no way was she leaving her house to grab anything. Even a hoodie and big sunglasses couldn’t cure her self-consciousness, so she ventured into her kitchen to see what she had. The inside of her fridge didn’t present the best options, but she did find cheese and some egg substitute. A bad omelet, then.

She set her finds on the counter, closed the fridge, then turned to flip the light switch, wincing instinctively at the shock of brightness.

But it was fine. She was fine. Because she’d been smart enough to get up and take ibuprofen hours before. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe she could handle a party lifestyle, after all.

She turned back to face the fridge, paused to feel her heart skip in her chest and then she screamed.

The white notebook paper stood out against the black door. Hand pressed to her mouth in horror, Veronica backed up until her ass hit the other counter. “No,” she whispered against her fingers. “No, no, no, no, no.”

#1—Let people see the real you.

“No!” she yelled at the paper.

Those bold black words were all it took for the whole evening to rush back at her. The way she’d flirted with Gabe, the way she’d told him she was flirting with him, the drunk, stumbling walk back to her apartment and then...

“Noooo,” she moaned, pressing her hand hard to her mouth as if she could somehow stop the words that had passed her lips the night before.

She’d told him her deepest secret. Confessed what no one could ever know. And then she’d asked if he’d help her take care of it.

Her stomach, which had felt merely hollow before, now churned with acid and sickness. It rose up and pushed at her throat. Veronica shook her head. She pressed her whole hand to her mouth, but there was no defeating it. She gave in and rushed to the bathroom.

She didn’t feel any better after she was sick. She only felt more pitiful, more wrung out. She’d told Gabe MacKenzie, the new hot guy in town, that she had no experience with fucking. And then she’d practically begged him to apply his penis to her charitable enterprise.

He’d somehow managed to resist her siren song, even after she’d started crying.

Oh, my God, she’d started crying while she asked him to come to bed with her.

He hadn’t come to bed. Thank God. What if he’d stayed? What if he’d spent the night and then woken up to find her goggling at him with her zombie raccoon eyes just before she vomited all over his naked body?

“Oh, God.” Yes, that was one way to look at the bright side of things. She hadn’t talked him into taking her virginity and then thrown up on his penis.

Veronica rinsed out her mouth, splashed cold water on her face and then tipped her head up to stare herself down in the mirror. Water dripped slowly from the pink tip of her nose. “I’ll have to move,” she said, watching the way her chin trembled. “I’ll have to start over in a new place where no one knows my shame.”

It was really the only solution. It was exactly what she’d tell anyone who wrote in to her. Leave immediately. Take only what you can carry. Slip out of town under cover of night. Start somewhere new and this time try not to be a pitiful disaster.

Except that wasn’t what she would say. She was overreacting. A little.

So what would she tell herself?

She felt dizzy at the thought. Or maybe she was dizzy from having consumed nothing but martinis and milk in the past twelve hours.

Feet dragging, she headed back to the kitchen to make her sad omelet. She might be having the same thing for lunch and dinner. She obviously couldn’t leave the house today.

She accidentally caught sight of the fridge as she poured the egg mixture into a pan. The black letters of the note glared at her. Let people see the real you? What a shitty idea that had been. She snatched the paper off the fridge and threw it into the trash. At least she could say she’d really tried it. The real her had been on full display last night. She’d given it her all. She’d practically shown him her real crotch.

She seasoned the omelet, flipped it over and added cheese. Then extra cheese.

Overreaction or not, she couldn’t leave town. She had nowhere to go. Jackson was the place she’d already retreated to. Her safe zone. Not that it had ever felt safe.

She could flee to her dad’s latest house. Abandon her pretense of independence and go live in one of his professionally decorated guest rooms. That wouldn’t feel exactly safe, either, but she’d still have a lot of privacy. His “cabin” was in the mountains and the closest neighbors were almost a mile away. Granted, that closest neighbor was Isabelle, one of Veronica’s best friends, but she was too much of a hermit to cause problems. And Veronica’s dad wouldn’t bother her. She’d hardly seen him at all the last time she’d stayed there.

Still...maybe she wasn’t as destroyed as she thought she was, because the thought of moving to her dad’s house lit a fire inside her, a burning fire that felt a lot like heartburn. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. Not completely.

She ate her sad omelet and took a shower and put on a slightly less baggy T-shirt that made her small breasts look slightly more visible. She used some Visine and brushed her teeth and styled her hair. That was good, safe advice she could give herself. You’ll feel better if you make an effort, even if it’s just brushing your teeth.

She peeked out her front window, then backed quickly away when she saw people walking past.

Gabe knew where she lived. What if he stopped by? She’d made him promise, after all. But surely he never wanted to be in her presence again. Surely he’d play it safe and assume that a promise made to an insane drunk girl wasn’t meant to be kept.

So she was stuck here. Her apartment was the safest place for her. She could do her work and sneak out only during Gabe’s work hours. Maybe she could somehow get his schedule from Lauren. Yes. Avoidance. That was the best tactic.

Unless he decided to share his story. It was pretty funny, after all. Really funny. Veronica was the only one who wouldn’t be laughing. And maybe Veronica’s boss. He wouldn’t find it funny at all.

“Shit,” she breathed. Gabe didn’t seem the type to gossip. He seemed entirely trustworthy. But she’d met him only twice. Maybe he was a catty, cruel asshole. Maybe he was the kind of guy who would’ve hung out with Veronica’s stepbrother in high school and laughed every time she walked by. Maybe he’d already texted his ten closest friends and then spread the tale around the library.

Veronica checked her phone to see if Lauren had texted or called. But no, there were no messages from Lauren. Or Veronica’s boss. And there weren’t any accusatory emails from readers, either.

But there were quite a few emails asking for help from Dear Veronica. She should really get to work.

Even so, she switched back to her texts and stared at Lauren’s name. Maybe Lauren would have good advice to give. And Isabelle, too. Maybe Veronica could tell her friends at least some of the truth and see what they thought.

But what if they just stared at her in horror and then made excuses never to see her again? They were both a little older and a lot more together. Lauren had already raised a kid and sent him off to college, and her new boyfriend was a silver-fox fire captain. And Isabelle was a successful artist who owned her own land and was dating a studly US marshal. Veronica really had nothing in common with either of them, but they’d still included her, inviting her along for girls’ nights out and treating her as an equal. She didn’t want them to know that she wasn’t an equal. Didn’t want to admit she was a fraud.

But the next girls’ night was on Sunday. And she was getting a little tired of always being on guard. What if she treated them like real friends instead of just women who intimidated her?

She had a few days to work up to it. She could always change her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she took her notebook and marker from the drawer.

#2, she wrote, Ask your friends for help. She stuck it to the fridge and stared at it for a whole minute. It looked wrong up there by itself, so she set her jaw and pulled the first note from the trash to put it back in its place.

Her stomach tensed at the sight of both notes together, but she nodded. Two tiny things. Two basic pieces of advice that she’d give anyone. Surely she could pull this off. She needed help from her friends, and the only way to get it was to reveal a few tiny bits of herself. No big deal. No problem.

She turned off the kitchen light and took her computer to her room. She had a few days. She’d start dealing with her issues on Sunday. But today? Today she’d hide.

She put in her earbuds, cranked up the music and started reading letters. And the letters started to help her feel halfway normal.

CHAPTER SIX

GABE EYED LAUREN as they shut down the library together. He’d been eyeing her all day, hoping that interacting with her would somehow help him understand Veronica better. Did Lauren know the truth? Did it even matter? It wasn’t as if Gabe could ask her about it.

The girl he’d been flirting with last night was a virgin. The thought still stunned him, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was only that he’d assumed since college that any woman he might date was probably as experienced as he was, give or take a couple of partners.

But Veronica had never had sex. Or she’d “pretty much” never had sex.

He frowned at the shelves as he straightened a few books. What the hell had that meant? Had she said it just to drive him insane?

Clearing his throat, he watched Lauren as she shut down the computer monitors. “I saw the Dear Veronica show last night,” he finally ventured as he hit the switch on the entryway lights.

“Oh, I was having dinner with Jake’s family and I couldn’t make it. Was it great?”

“It was pretty amazing,” he answered, wincing a little at how accurate that assessment was. He grabbed some paper towels and helped Lauren wipe down tables in the children’s section. “She’s really good at doing that in front of an audience.”

“She is!” Lauren beamed at him. “You wouldn’t believe how worried she was about it. But I knew she’d be great. She’s good at everything. She just needs a little more confidence.”

Right. He nodded. “How long have you known her?”

Lauren shot him a curious look that he pretended not to see. “About a year. I didn’t meet her until after she moved back to town.”

“Why’d she leave New York?”

“I’m not sure. You should ask her about it.” Her smile wasn’t subtle.

Gabe shook his head. “I’m just curious.” He left off the “because she asked me to have sex last night.”

“Good,” Lauren said. “She’s very interesting.”

That was putting it mildly. Veronica was so damn interesting, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d thought about her all night until he’d fallen asleep. He’d thought about her all day. He’d wondered how she’d feel about their conversation once she was sober. He’d tried to figure out how he felt about it. He’d imagined what it would be like to sleep with her.

That had felt a little wrong since he hardly knew her and she was...kind of innocent? But that kind of wrongness didn’t exactly put a damper on sexual interest. She was pretty. She had great legs. Her smile made him happy. And she thought he was gorgeous.

Shit.

He retreated to the office to shut down the documents he’d been working on, though he hated doing it. He was just getting into the good stuff of figuring out which ebook lending system would work best with the library, but there’d be plenty of time to work on it tomorrow.

“Ready?” Lauren asked, reaching past him to grab her purse.

“Sure. I’ll walk you to your car.”

She laughed over her shoulder as she hit the last of the lights and headed for the back door. “Seriously?”

“Right. I got used to working in downtown Cincinnati.”

“Well, we do have to keep an eye out for bears. And there were rumors of a mountain lion in Jackson Square last year, but I suspect old Mrs. Smith was drunk again. She does love a good whiskey sour.”

She held open the door, then locked it behind her once he was through. “Hey, guys,” she called to the three firemen sitting in folding chairs near their door.

“Jesus, Lauren!” one called. “When I said you should hire a hot new librarian, that wasn’t what I meant!”

“Gabe,” she said drily, “that’s William, and those other two are Henry and Elliott. I’m afraid they’re a little disappointed with you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re probably just jealous because they can’t grow facial hair.”

“Hey!” William yelled back. “We can—we’re just not allowed to.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

The other firefighters razzed William as Gabe walked away.

“We’ll work this out on the court!” William called.

“You got it,” Gabe answered, happy for the excuse to get in a little time on the fire station’s outdoor basketball court. They seemed to pick up games at all hours of the morning and night, and Gabe missed the public courts near his apartment in Cincinnati.

“Night, Lauren,” he said as she headed toward her car and he set out for his apartment on foot. He was keenly aware that Veronica’s building was on his way.

If he took a right at the next street, he’d miss her place by one block. He could walk home, go for a run, relax with a book afterward. And be distracted the whole time that she might be waiting to hear from him.

He’d promised her, after all. He didn’t have to take her up on her...request, but he did have to get in touch. Tonight or tomorrow or at her next performance.

The idea of leaving it until next Thursday tightened his shoulders into such painful knots that Gabe went straight through the intersection and headed toward Veronica’s apartment. Hell, the most likely outcome was that she didn’t remember anything and he could try to forget the whole thing, too.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. Still, at least he wouldn’t have to wonder if she was worrying.

And there was the chance that she remembered every detail and wanted to pick up where they’d left off.

He took off his tie, freed the top button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves as if he were preparing himself for an arduous task. Two more blocks and he was at her condo building. He turned up her walk and then knocked on the door without giving himself time to think about it.

The nearest window was sealed up tight, but he could see light through the peephole in the door. He waited a few moments, listening for the sound of footsteps, then rang the doorbell.

Still nothing. The street was quiet out front. He leaned closer, trying to tell if the faint sound of movement he’d heard was coming from her place. Nothing. He was turning to leave when he saw the light in the peephole flicker to dark for a split second. He squared his shoulders, trying to think what he’d say when she opened the door.

She didn’t open the door.

He frowned. Leaned closer. Lifted his hand to knock again, but he let his knuckles hover just above the wood.

“Veronica?” he called. She didn’t respond. “It’s Gabe. Gabe MacKenzie. From last night.”

There was a soft sound, like a breath or the brush of fabric. He waited for the lock to click open. It didn’t.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Veronica?”

“I’m fine,” she finally said through the wood.

His tight shoulders relaxed. “Good. I thought you might be a little hungover.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice more muffled now. “A little.”

“Are you up for talking?”

The wood stared silently at him.

He winced and lowered his voice. “Listen, Veronica, it’s no big deal.”

The lock finally clicked. The door swung in. He was startled to see her without her heels again, inches shorter than he expected her to be. She looked different in other ways, too. Younger, really, her blue eyes naked of makeup and her face a little paler. She crossed her arms snugly over the plain gray T-shirt she wore.

“We don’t need to talk,” she said.

“Are you sure? I did make you a promise.” He offered a smile, but she only cringed.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “Like, really, really sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Honestly.”

“No, it’s not. But we don’t ever need to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? Because if you did, I could—”

“Hey.” He started to reach toward her, but the tight way she was holding herself made him hesitate. “I’m not going to tell anyone. Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” One of her shoulders rose in a shrug. “Because I’m living a lie. Because it’s funny. Because it’s so fucking weird.”

“Jesus, Veronica. That’s crazy. I don’t think it’s funny or weird.”

“It’s a little funny,” she insisted. “You know it is.”

He thought of her confession and ducked his head to hide a smile. “Okay, I admit I’m intrigued by the ‘pretty much’ part.”

She groaned, but when he glanced up at her, he noticed that her hands had relaxed. She wasn’t gripping her arms nearly as firmly now.

Gabe leaned against the door frame. “I haven’t said a word to anyone and I never will. I swear.”

“Okay,” she said, squeezing herself tight again. She looked tired.

“I just got off work. I’m starving. Have you eaten?”

She shot a look toward her kitchen. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? Is that like ‘pretty much’?”

“Shut up,” she said, pouting a little now. He noticed that her lips were full and pink even without lipstick.

“Come to dinner. We can have a drink and talk.”

“Nope. I never want to have a drink or talk again.”

“Food, though?” he pressed. “Food sounds good?”

Her head dropped. She took a deep breath. “I’m not even dressed.”

“You look dressed to me.”

“I’m wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt.”

“Throw on a hoodie and you’ve got a look. Let’s go.”

She finally cracked a smile, though she tried to hide it. Gabe ducked down and met her eye. “Come on. You’ve got to eat.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t planning on leaving the house today.”

“Why?”

She groaned and rubbed a hand over her face. “Because I didn’t want to take the chance I’d run into you.”

“Well, shit, I really screwed that up. No wonder you didn’t want to see me. I’ve ruined everything.”

“You’re a dork,” she muttered, but this time there was no hiding her smile. Her eyes crinkled at the edges and her gaze rose to his. He suddenly remembered the way she’d leaned close and whispered the word fucking to him the night before.

Gabe stood straighter and cleared his throat. “What sounds good? Mexican?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Mexican is always good after a hangover. Come on. My treat.”

Despite what he thought was an inspiring tone, she still stared doubtfully at him for quite a while. He wasn’t sure why he felt so invested in getting her out for dinner, but he wasn’t going to give up.

“I look like shit,” she finally said.

“You’re beautiful,” he answered.

Her face flickered in a brief frown, but she hid it quickly. “Whatever. I’m starving. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Gabe stopped himself from raising a fist in triumph.

She slipped on flip-flops, took a hoodie from the closet by the door and grabbed her keys. Her toenails were painted bright blue. Gabe knew it was a bad sign that he found that impossibly cute.

They headed toward a place four blocks away that even Gabe already knew was the best Mexican in town. She had her arms crossed tight again, pushing her breasts up in a way that caught Gabe’s eye.

Damn. There was no way to pretend she hadn’t told him what she’d told him. She clearly wanted to forget, but Gabe might need electroshock therapy to shake last night loose. Are you sure you won’t stay? He was afraid she’d never ask that again.

When they reached a busier street, Veronica pulled her fleece jacket on and tugged up the hood as if she was hiding.

“No one else knows,” he said in a stage whisper.

“I know,” she sighed, “but I’m supposed to have my shit together. I’m not supposed to be the depressed, hungover girl who hides in her house in old yoga pants all day. I really can’t believe I’m dressed like this in front of you, of all people.”

“Me? Why? My hobbies are basically sweating in the woods, reading in my underwear and nerding out on my computer. Flannel shirts and workout gear make up about fifty percent of my closet.”

“Fine, but you’re just...” She waved a hand up and down his body just as she had the night before. “Whatever. I told you last night.”

“Sure, but I thought that was the alcohol talking. Are you saying you really think I’m beautiful?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to bring up every word I said last night.”

“Not every word. But that one was pretty good.”

“Like I’m the first girl to call you beautiful,” she muttered.

Gabe laughed. “I swear to God, you’re the first. And probably the last. So let me enjoy it.”

Her face was pink with embarrassment, but she was smiling as Gabe reached for the door of the restaurant and waved her in. “How about a margarita?” he asked with a wink.

“You’re a monster,” she answered, not even looking at him as she breezed past.

“Sorry.”

Service was quick, one of the benefits of living in a tourist town during the off-season. The full-time residents could eat cheap and fast at even the best restaurants because they were dying to get people in.

They both ordered quickly. Gabe got a beer, but Veronica stuck with water. “Lots of water,” she explained to the waiter. She glared at Gabe when he smiled.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he explained. “I’m laughing with you.”

“I don’t think I’ve quite reached the ‘this will be funny someday’ point.”

“Wrong. You already pointed out how funny it was,” he said before he popped a chip into his mouth. “God, they’ve got great salsa.”

She took a bite and closed her eyes. “They really do.”

“This is so much better than anything I could find in Ohio.”

When the waiter brought his beer, Gabe took a long draw before sitting back in his chair. Veronica looked much more relaxed now. And pretty as hell. She’d pushed the hood off when they’d entered the restaurant and her hair was a little...askew. But he liked it. She looked touchable. Flawed. Fuckable.

“Can I ask you something?” he ventured.

“No,” she answered immediately, but then she sighed, her gaze flashing up to him before she looked at the chips again. “Fine, go ahead,” she said, then stuffed a chip into her mouth.

“How did you manage to get through high school and college and New York City without ever having sex?”

Her expression didn’t change. She wasn’t shocked by the question. She must have known that he would ask.

She folded her hands and leaned forward, her voice going quiet. “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone, Gabe. Nobody else knows. I wish you didn’t know. I don’t know why I told you.”

“I swear,” he answered immediately.

“I was so drunk.”

“I get it,” he promised.

“You can’t even tell Lauren,” she said.

He felt his eyes go wide. “I guarantee that I don’t discuss sex with Lauren. Or any other woman in my workplace.”

“Of course. I just...” She waved a hand. “This is just embarrassing. And ridiculous.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of people who’ve never—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Not people who claim some expertise in the area!”

He nodded. “Okay. I get that.”

“And even aside from that, it’s just... It was okay for a while, you know? I wasn’t a popular girl in high school. It was complicated. I didn’t really go out with anyone. Not seriously. I dated in college, but back then I thought I wanted my first time to be special. I wanted to be in love. Now I wish I’d just slept with that cute guy in my philosophy class during sophomore year. I can’t even remember his name now. That would’ve been perfect.”

Gabe smiled. “I’m sure he’d have thought so, too.”

“After college I went to New York, and then... God, then it was like a weird weight I was dragging around with me. I felt like the only adult virgin in the whole damn city. I told one guy. Only one. And then I never told anyone again. Until you.”

The last words could have been meaningful and sweet, but she said them with the rough edge of frustrated regret so that they sounded like “Until you, asshole.” He tried not to take it personally.

“So what happened with that one guy you told?”

“He made a big speech about how he wasn’t ready to settle down. After we’d been on two dates. I mean, he actually stood up to pace back and forth in his living room as he talked about his five-year plan. It was as if I’d presented him with my virginity wrapped in a spell of eternal connection and topped with an engagement ring. Jesus, he was trying to get a BJ—I just thought he should know!”

Gabe tried not to laugh. He really did. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, trying to control his amusement, but when she rolled her eyes and smiled, he burst out laughing. “You’re really good at painting a picture,” he managed to say, but then he had to stop and wipe tears from his eyes. “And you’re really, really funny.”

“Thank you,” she said, still shaking her head at his laughter. “That’s sweet. But I swear it wasn’t funny.”

“But he was just trying to get a BJ!” Gabe gasped, then totally lost it again.

Veronica finally laughed, too. “God, it was like he thought I was going to superglue his penis to me forever. Because that’s what I’d dreamed of my whole life. Getting my hands on a first-year stockbroker’s penis. And never letting go.”

She collapsed onto the table, laughing too hard to stay upright. Once his own laughter had died, Gabe found himself grinning at her, he was that damn happy he’d cheered her up.

“I guess things didn’t work out for you two?”

“No. I never saw him again. I’m sure we were both relieved by that.”

Their food arrived, and they settled into a silence that was surprisingly comfortable considering how little they knew each other. In fact, he didn’t know much about her at all, aside from maybe the most intimate of things.

“You grew up here, right?” he asked, deciding to drop the subject of her virginity for a while.

“Yes. My dad was an attorney here, then a judge. He’s a federal judge now, but this is his district. So I lived here until I went to college in Cheyenne.”

“Do you ski? Bike?”

She shrugged. “I ski, but it’s not really my thing. I like it once I get up on the hill and it’s so quiet. But you have to get through so many crowds and lines to get up to the quiet part. My first love is hiking. I can be alone. Clear my head. It’s peaceful.”

Gabe felt his heart thump dangerously at her words, but mostly it was the faraway expression on her face. “I know you don’t climb. Are you into camping?”

“Not really. My dad isn’t outdoorsy. I never really had anyone to go with.”

“We could go sometime.”

Her cheeks went immediately pink. Her gaze dipped to her plate. “Maybe.”

“It’s a lot like hiking, except you don’t have to go back to the real world within a couple of hours. And we’ve got so many great secluded sites close by. There’s no reason to go to a campground, unless you like a lot of neighbors with generators and RVs. The key is to ask a ranger on your way into a park. They can point you to great flat sites that are near a creek or have a view.”

“It sounds nice,” she said.

“I’ve got a ton of gear. You want to try it? Separate tents, of course.”

Her pink cheeks went red. She set down her fork. “Gabe, I meant it when I said you were sweet. You are. But you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I have great friends. I’m doing okay. You don’t need to take me in. I’ve just never had a real lover, that’s all.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you! Okay, I felt a little sorry for you today, because I knew you’d be hungover and maybe mortified—”

“Maybe,” she scoffed.

“But...can I be honest?” Her flat mouth told him what she thought of that question. “When I met you, I thought you were someone else. Some high-maintenance city girl who’d sneer at a pair of hiking boots unless they were Burberry.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. “I passed as a high-maintenance Manhattan girl?”

“Yes.” He gestured toward her plate. “Until you ordered an enchilada platter bigger than mine.”

She growled, “Shut up. I needed it.”

“I know you did. I’m just saying that you’re nothing like I thought you were. You’re funny and smart and down-to-earth. And I like the way you get shy sometimes.”

“Oh.” She was blushing again.

“And you’re beautiful, of course.”

“You don’t have to say that, Gabe.”

He drew his chin in in shock. “I’m not just saying that.”

“I can pull off cute on a good day. That’s it.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

She nodded, then carefully chewed a bite of enchilada Suiza before setting her fork down again. “I’m not good at graciously accepting compliments. You can add that to your impressions of me.”

“Not like me,” Gabe said. “When you said I was gorgeous, I just accepted that you knew what you were talking about.”

“You’re never going to drop that,” she moaned.

“Never. Will you go out with me?”

She glanced around, her eyes darting from him to the table next to him and then the front door. “Go where?”

“We could go for an evening hike sometime. Or we could go to dinner.” He waited until she met his gaze again. “We could count this.”

She swept another nervous look over the room. “I don’t think we could. I’m wearing flip-flops.”

“I think that still counts. To make it official, we could go do something highbrow afterward. There’s a historical talk at the museum tonight. We might have missed it, though. Still, I bet some of the art galleries are open. We could go nod and murmur at the art.”

She watched him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed with thought. She cocked her head a little. Gabe tried to look sincere and patient, even though he felt like squirming. “Or we could get ice cream,” she finally said.

Hiking, enchiladas, ice cream. Maybe she was the perfect girl. Maybe he was in big trouble.

CHAPTER SEVEN

VERONICA WONDERED IF she could die from blushing. She hadn’t been lying when she’d called him beautiful. Or gorgeous. Or sweet. Gabe MacKenzie was a fucking dreamboat and she was on a date with him. An embarrassingly honest date.

They strolled down the boardwalk with their ice-cream cones and every time her shoulder brushed his arm, she blushed. It was dark now, at least. And probably too cold for ice cream, but she didn’t think that was why her nipples were hard.

God.

Maybe he’d been joking about the camping, but the idea intrigued her. What would that be like? To go camping with a hot guy? To be totally secluded in the pitch-black night, surrounded by wolves and bears and all sorts of terrifying things? Separate tents or not, surely she’d end up in his sleeping bag. She shivered at the idea of him touching her. She hardly knew him, but she liked the thought. It was strange, this awareness. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt like this before.

“I’ve been to sleepaway camp,” she blurted out. “I don’t want you to think I don’t have any experience.”

His cone drifted slowly down from his mouth. “I see. At sex?”

“No! What? I meant camping. Experience at camping!”

“Oh. Because sleepaway camp... I thought... I don’t know.” He grimaced and shook his head.

She thought she would blush again. Or die of embarrassment. But instead she laughed. Hard. “Wow. You’re a pervert.”

“I’m not! I was just thinking of...something else. And you were thinking about camping. And I assumed we were on the same topic. That’s all.”

Did he mean he’d been thinking about having sex with her? That was only fair, really. She’d been thinking about sex with him. After last night, it was the standard she’d set. The giant flashing sign she’d put down between them.

“Fine,” she finally said. “Thinking about sex doesn’t make you a pervert, but you also ordered butter-pecan ice cream. Clearly there’s something wrong with you.”

His face relaxed into a relieved smile. “There’s nothing wrong with butter pecan. Even so, that was only the first scoop. The second is chocolate. Surely that redeems me.”

“Maybe.” She finished her ice-cream cone and crossed her arms against the chill.

“So how did you end up back in Jackson?” he asked.

Veronica thought of all the reasons she’d given other people. That New York was too expensive. That she’d been offered a great opportunity as Dear Veronica. That she’d missed her dad. She sneaked a look at Gabe. He was frowning a little, waiting for her answer. He looked...sincere. And he didn’t love the city, either.

The dark gray mass of the truth was pushing at her chest, squeezing the life out of her. It felt as though she were there again, in the city, in her tiny room in her crappy apartment in her intimidating neighborhood.

“I hated New York,” she said, and it felt good to finally say it out loud.

“Oh,” he said, the word a little dark with shock. “Really? Why? Didn’t you say you’d wanted to live there for your whole life?”

“I did, but that was the New York from movies. The New York my mom and I used to talk about visiting. It was Breakfast at Tiffany’s and You’ve Got Mail and later Sex and the City. That’s not a real place.”

“Sure it is,” he said.

“I thought you weren’t a city boy,” she said, suddenly suspicious.

“I’m not!”

“Well, maybe you don’t remember what it’s like to live there. It felt like...a battle.”

He nodded. “I know it can be a rough place.”

“It wasn’t that, exactly. I knew it would be expensive. I knew it could be dangerous. I thought I had it all planned out, though. I found roommates through an ad on Craigslist. Single women like me. I thought... I don’t know. I’d watched too many movies. I thought we’d be friends, and I’d landed this amazing internship at an iconic paper, and everything I was waiting for was right there in front of me—it was all about to happen, and then...”

She felt very alone for a moment, walking down the street with Gabe. She didn’t know how to explain it. It was as if the city had betrayed her. “My roommates weren’t friends. They kept to themselves. And the quirky neighborhood felt like a gauntlet of yelling men and piles of leaking garbage bags, and there were roaches everywhere. And at my amazing job, I was just a cog in the wheel, and even though I did well, nobody cared if I made it or got spit out. The city was nothing but noise and steam and shadow and millions and millions of strangers.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Of course. It’s too much sometimes even for people who love it.”

He made her feel better. Of course New York wasn’t for everyone. She should have known it wouldn’t be right for her. And of course, there’d been things about it that she’d loved, but they’d been hard to think of at night in her lonely bedroom on her noisy street.

Their steps had slowed as they’d talked, but she and Gabe were still heading toward her place. This morning she’d vowed never to see him again, but now they were on some sort of date, and what did that mean? Did he think she’d invite him to her place? Did she want to?

Tension drew her shoulders tight. She didn’t know what to say. She was going to start babbling again. She could feel it. She was going to start talking about virginity and dating and then tell him he didn’t have to pretend to like her.

Maybe she’d start spouting off statistics. She’d looked them up. That was her job. Even if she felt like a freak, she wasn’t alone. About 4 percent of women were still virgins at her age.

Her lips parted. The words pushed at her throat, wanting out. The awkwardness needed to escape.

Veronica snapped her mouth shut and shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. Her fingers closed around her keys just as she and Gabe turned onto the narrow walk that led to her door.

She dropped the keys immediately, then snatched them off the ground before Gabe could reach down to help.

“Sorry,” she muttered, as if she needed to be sorry for dropping her own keys on her own walkway. Sorry, I was just thinking about sex statistics.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.