Jessica Lemmon - Hard to Handle

Was that night on auto-repeat?

Ignoring the overwhelming sense of déjà vu, he stretched the neck and slipped the shirt over her sprayed hair, feeding first one arm into a sleeve followed by the other. Now the tricky part. Looking up at the ceiling, he palmed her back and pulled her toward him. But as he started to tug the shirt down, Sadie’s arms clamped around his neck, her breasts smashing against his cardboard dress shirt.

A sound emitted from his throat he was pretty sure was a growl.

“I loved you,” Sadie said, her eyes wide and earnest. “And you blew it.” That said, she tugged the shirt to her waist, flopped onto one side, and pulled the covers over her head.

Aiden’s shoulders slumped, heavy from the weight of her admission. She loved him. Or at least she used to. He’d had his suspicions but had never known. Would it have changed how he ended things between them? Would he have confessed the same?

Of course he would’ve.

And you blew it.

He had. Completely effing stepped in it.

And now it was too late. Sadie probably never would have told him what she just had if she hadn’t been marinating in champagne tonight. As much as he’d love to deny hearing her say it, there was part of him glad to know the truth. The masochistic part of him, apparently. He’d earned the pain fair and square, but Sadie…Sadie had come out the other side. She was okay now, or would be after a couple of Advil in the morning. Her journey with him in it had reached an end. Now he was a bystander and couldn’t allow himself to be anything more. Asking her to take another chance on him was wrong. Maybe more wrong than the way he’d ended things with her last year.

After several seconds, he finally stood from the edge of the bed, as heavy as if he’d strapped a pair of anvils onto his back. At the door, he hesitated over the switch, watching her take a few deep breaths. One night, a long, long time ago, he’d been right next to her, feeling as hopeful about their future as he felt devastated now.

If only time were reversible. If only he knew then what he knew now.

If only.

Most useless two words ever.

* * *

Stupid champagne.

Sadie downed the last sip of her coffee and dragged her suitcase to the car. She hauled it ungracefully into her trunk and vowed to call Crickitt and give her what-for for pulling the Aiden-and-Sadie-slumber-party bit.

Only she couldn’t. Because Crickitt and Shane were on their honeymoon having the blissful, married time of their lives. She stalked back into the house, doing a once-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. That’s when she spotted Aiden’s T-shirt.

When she’d woken up wearing it, she’d tossed it aside and run around packing with the one single goal: get the hell out of the cabin before he woke up and offered breakfast. The morning was already beginning to smack of the morning they’d spent together a year ago—a morning she wouldn’t dare repeat.

She held the soft cotton between her fingers, recalling the night he’d tenderly dressed her and curled up next to her to sleep. That morning she’d woken to his shirtless back, traced the length of the scar with her fingers, and come to the terrifying realization that if he’d died in that motorcycle accident before she met him, she’d have missed out on knowing Aiden Downey.

Yeah. Well. He’s fine , she reminded herself. And so are you.

Yippee-skippy. Everyone was fine.

She tromped to the room he’d slept in. Empty. Turned out Aiden was an early riser nowadays. She threw the wadded-up shirt onto the rumpled bedding, shutting out the memory of what the length of his seminude body looked like taking up half a bed.

Time to go.

Outside, she shut the trunk and reached for the driver’s side door handle. Aiden’s motorcycle, Sheila, stood on the driveway, her orange glittery paint job sparkling in the sun. She shook her head. Just seeing it there reminded her that Aiden had wrecked once before. Damn death machine. Why did he ride it all the way down here? Wasn’t there a safer mode of transportation for a six-hour trip?

She reminded herself she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not after what had gone down between them. Not after the phone call that tore her heart out, left her weeping and curled into the fetal position.

But then you got up.

Hell yeah, she did.

Aiden appeared from the woods wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cut off. She could see the entire length of his torso as he jogged to her and a flash of something…a tattoo? Doesn’t matter. His steps slowed, and he palmed his side, puffing and watching her as if he was afraid to come any closer.

That’s when the memory of what she’d said to him last night hit her like a freight train. She’d looked into his ethereal green eyes and confessed she loved him. Wow. Stupid.

By the hurt-slash-reproachful look on his face, it was the moment he was recalling now, too. He started walking toward her, but before he got any closer, Sadie clambered into the car, started it, and drove down the lane. She stopped short of turning onto the steep mountain road and allowed herself a final glance back. In the rearview mirror, she saw Aiden pace over to his bike, run a hand through his long hair, and then, noticing her hesitation, raise a hand and wave good-bye.

Sadie didn’t wave back, turning down the tree-lined road and driving as fast as she dared. Good-bye between she and Aiden had happened a long time ago.

And that was something else she wasn’t willing to repeat.

Sadie stepped out of her car and smiled up at the too-warm August sun. It’d been a month and a half since Shane and Crickitt’s wedding. Since one of the worst hangovers of her life. Since she’d woken the next morning in one of Aiden Downey’s T-shirts.

Her epic dose of melancholy could be laid squarely at Crickitt’s feet. Indirectly, of course. Any woman as happy as Sadie’s best friend hadn’t meant to create a virtual vortex of happiness that sucked everyone in around her. With that kind of joy flooding the air, Sadie had only been able to feel two things: thrilled beyond compare for Crickitt and Shane, and anguished over her own failed relationship with the man she thought she’d loved.

That wiped the smile right off her face.

Sadie pushed the memory back into a drawer and filed it under L for “Leave it Alone.” The same place she’d filed the day Trey called to confess he couldn’t marry her because he was in love with her sister. Funny how memories from that drawer unfiled and spread themselves out for her at the worst possible times.

Not today.

That’s right. NOT today. Aiden could wreak havoc on her subconscious another time. But today, she needed her A game when she walked into Axle’s.

The custom motorcycle shop stood before her, her own personal Mount Doom. One of five stores in Ohio, Axle’s in Osborn was the first store, the highest-grossing store, and the store where the man himself continued to work.

She’d tracked the company’s sales and orders for years, but Axle Zoller’s second-in-command, Harry Truman, insisted on sticking with List for their motorcycle parts and supplies. She often wondered if he did it just to spite her. She’d worked hard to schmooze Harry, but made the mistake of addressing him as “Mr. President.” Turned out the man had no sense of humor. Seemed a silly reason to pay more for lower-quality products, but no matter. Harry Truman had recently been impeached.

With President Harry Truman out of the picture, Sadie knew she had to swoop in before Axle replaced him. She was confident she could charm Axle into signing with Midwest Motorcycle Supplies.