One Wild Wedding Night_ No Way Out - Leslie Kelly [6]
That had proved prophetic, up until now. Tonight was the first time she’d set eyes on Stan Jackson—in person—since that last night at the lake.
She honestly didn’t think she’d ever forget the sad disappointment in Granny’s eyes. Not because Vanessa had proved herself human…but because she’d lied. And broken so many promises.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, intruding on the tension hanging as thick as a quilt between them.
“What?” Vanessa growled. Then she saw the wide, hopeful eyes of a young boy standing beside his father and felt like a shrew. Normally, she’d question a parent for bringing a kid into a bar, but it was obvious this one had come in here for one reason only: to meet the man she’d just decked. “I’m sorry, I assume you’d like…”
Stan had already squatted down in front of the boy, who was probably about ten, and was engaging him in conversation. The father hovered over them, looking every bit as eager as the son, especially when Stan agreed to pose for a couple of pictures.
Vanessa would have taken the opportunity to make a dash for it, but she had nowhere to go. She didn’t have a room.
Considering heading to the front desk and asking for anything they had available, she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw a bellman walking toward her table. “I was asked to bring this key—”
She didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence. Plucking the small, white envelope from his hands, she muttered, offering him a big smile, “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks so much.” Then she reached into her purse, dug out a twenty and offered him a big tip.
“Wow, thanks!”
It was worth it. Getting out of here with a little of her pride and dignity intact was so worth it.
Fortunately, Stan’s interaction with the father and son, and her own with the bellman, had given her a few minutes to calm down. Why her nerves should still be so frazzled, she didn’t know. It was over, she’d gotten the anger that she didn’t even realize she still felt off her chest. That punch should be the end of it, the punctuation mark as she said goodbye to the lousy memories: the look on her granny’s face—and on his grandmother’s; the pain and humiliation when she’d never even heard from Stan again; the heartbreak when she’d read about the young, hotshot football player being drafted into the NFL right after college, soon becoming a tabloid staple for the women always surrounding him.
All those things had exploded to the surface when she’d seen him and her fist had done her talking for her. Having gotten it off her chest, all the negative thoughts should now dissipate into her history again, where they belonged. She should already have returned to her normal, confident, cocky, slightly jaded self.
But she couldn’t deny it. She was still incredibly wound up, her heart thudding wildly, her breath was jagged and uneven. She felt wild, ready to do something—hit him again or push him down onto the table and kiss his face off.
Not that. No way, girl. Get to your room. She straightened her back, because there was not a chance in the world she would let Stan know she was still attracted to him. She’d sooner break her own dancing legs.
About to walk away, she was forced to stop when Stan stepped directly in her path. The father and son were already walking out the door, she just hadn’t noticed.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from here.”
“Without another word?”
“I would say I’m sorry for hitting you, but it would be a lie,” she admitted.
“And I know you never lie.”
“Not if I can help it.”
His jaw tightened. “Neither do I.”
She snorted. “Right.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” he insisted, his voice husky. “I’m sorry I fell out of touch. I was a kid and, well, my life kind of…went to hell later that summer.”
“Yeah, well, thanks to your grandmother, mine did, too.”
His eyes scrunched