Page 12 of Forbidden Forward

“I’m supposed to be annoying. That’s my role on the team. Always has been. But it’s never directed at my teammates.”

“He says you annoy them too, that you’re carrying a big chip on your shoulder, and you get yourself in trouble and put your team at a disadvantage.” I am blabbing way too much. Can’t be the Woodford loosening my tongue because there isn’t enough in this mug to affect me, and even less has made it into my system.

His eyes lift to the cabin’s ceiling and stay there. “He’s wrong about my teammates. I get along with almost everyone—except him and a few in his posse—but sometimes guys get on each other’s nerves. We spend a lot of time together in a pressure cooker. We’re all human, and it’s normal that we clash from time to time.”

“How about that chip?” I raise my mug and watch him over the rim.

His eyes lower to mine, and God! They’re … hypnotizing. Intelligent, intense, and the same color as the sky outside—storm-cloud gray.

“He’s right about that,” he says softly.

I’m emboldened. “Care to elaborate?”

His entire demeanor shifts as he leans forward and clasps his hands on the table. “No.” He stands, the motion abrupt yet graceful, and those piercing eyes fasten on mine. “Because it’s not about him or anyone on the Surge.” He points at my cup. “More?”

Thrown off balance, I stammer, “Uh, no. I-I’m good.”

What just happened?

His gaze flicks to the windows. “Looks like it’s letting up.”

Okaaay. Is this his way of saying, “You can leave now, Jackie”? He doesn’t look mad exactly, but his mouth has thinned into a firm line, and a tiny jaw muscle flexes as he stares at the raindrops pelting the glass. He’s not really looking at them so much as staring beyond them to somewhere only he can see.

Guess we’ve both hit raw nerves today.

Soon I’m gathering my things and scurrying toward the door. When I look over my shoulder, his expression has shifted again, and it’s bordering on distress.

“You don’t have to leave,” he says, but I think it’s more out of politeness than a genuine desire for me to stay or a concern for my well-being. His vibe says he wants me out of here pronto.

“Actually, I do,” I reply. “I need to find a place to spend the night. But don’t worry, I’ll be careful on the planks.” I struggle with the stupid handle, and he steps toward me.

“How do you open the door?” I growl.

“It’s a hatch,” he corrects. “You have to lift the latch. Like this.” He reaches out, his warm hand brushing mine, and I yank it back—not because his touch is unpleasant. It’s probably a little too pleasant.

Seconds later, he opens the door—hatch—and drizzle wets my face. If he were any other man than the one my brother has warned me about, I might stay and finish my tea and the conversation, but urgency has a tight grip on me, and I feel an acute need to flee. I’m a coward that way.

I step outside the cozy cabin and turn to face him. “Thank you for the, uh, shelter and the drink.”

He wordlessly steps into the rain beside me and hops onto the dock, his movements sure and lithe, and lowers his hand to help me onto solid ground. Time freezes for an instant, and the warmth of his calloused hand seeps beneath my skin. Tiny drops of rain dot his hair, his beard, his long lashes, but he blinks them away.

I’m off the boat, and I cram my feet into my shoes before craning my neck to look up at him—he’s at least a head taller.

“Thanks again,” I repeat like an idiot.

He bobs his head, and I feel his eyes on my back as I pick my way across the slippery boards. When I’m at my car door, I dare one more glance, and I can see him through the thin veil of rain, standing right where I left him. I give him a stilted wave before diving into the driver’s seat, and I don’t look back as I pull out of the lot as fast as I can. Driving off, I search my brain for a plausible excuse to return for reasons that are a complete mystery to me.

Chapter 7

Hero Complex

Colby

After toweling off my hair and changing into dry clothes, I finish my tea and clean up the mugs. The events of the afternoon are tumbling through my head, and I try to make sense of them. Was Jackie Harper really on my boat, sharing a fucking cup of tea with me?

I struggle to keep my mind from wandering to her sparkling green eyes and the way her lips moved as they formed words. She’s an enigma—boldness blended with vulnerability—and I remind myself she’s not one I need to solve. In fact, I have so many emotions colliding inside me at the moment that one truth becomes abundantly clear: I need to stay as far away from Jackie Harper as possible.

My phone rings with a familiar tune, and my body releases a whoosh of … whatever this is roiling inside me. I force my expression and my voice into a pleasant zone as I answer, “Hey, cupcake. What are you up to?”