Free Sweat Equity by Liz Crowe Page B

arm tightened around her. "Thanks."
    "Shall we?"he asked then turned her before she could say anything. She felt her face flush. The obvious pissing contest she'd just witnessed might have flattered another girl, but it aggravated her to no end. The last thing she wanted was to be some kind of trophy between these two men. She stepped away from Craig's arm. He smiled and pulled out her chair when they reached their table. She frowned at him, suddenly questioning her motivation for being here.
    "Don't do that." She stared at the menu as they sat.
    "Do what?"
    "You know, poke a stick in a pit of vipers. Egg him on," she jerked her head to the side. Jack was still at the bar, and his stare was burning holes in her psyche. She glanced up and placed her drink order, took a deep breath and focused on the handsome man across from her. If this whole getting beyond Jack thing was going to pick up steam, she knew she had to give it a boot in the ass herself. It was the perfect night to do it.
    But did she really want it? Her tingling scalp and still zinging nerve endings told her that her former fiancé still sat at the bar and those deep blue eyes trained right on her. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and gave Craig a huge smile.
     
     
    It took every ounce of Jack's inner reserve not to crush the glass in his fist as he watched that kid put a hand on Sara's back and guide her to a table. He tried not to watch as the smarmy little shit pulled out her chair, but his eyeballs would not cooperate. His jaw ached already from keeping it clenched nearly twenty-four-seven, ever since she had left and he'd been battling the city. He'd been pouring all his sexual energy into banging Heather's brains out for the last several weeks. He still twitched with a near constant dissatisfaction.
    Shit.
    He made himself ill. He wouldn't let his own sister within a country mile of someone like him. How could he blame Blake for "protecting" her? Christ. He perused his smartphone email inbox on autopilot; ignoring the near-constant stream of dirty texts from the woman he'd swear he'd called Sara at least once the night before. Sighing deeply, he looked up and straight into a pair of eyes as green as the woman in question. Instead of the usual raw hatred, there was pity in Blake Thornton's eyes as he pushed a fresh glass of bourbon across the bar.
    "Thanks." He turned, not wanting anything resembling conversation with Sara's brother right now. He had never, in his entire life felt more torn or confused about what to do or how to act. He kept watching her, sipping his drink, flashes of memory shooting through his brain like daggers. How in the hell he'd messed this up so completely, he still wondered. Yes, it was in his nature. He couldn't be trusted, could he? Certainly, if his behavior recently with the eager Heather was any indication, "pining away" for the woman across the room from him, the one who had so captured his very soul, was obviously not on the agenda. He shot Heather a quick text:
    "Not tonight. Too tired. Talk tomorrow."
    "Jack!" He turned to see his old friend, Rob Frietag, walking his way. Rob had been a serious cohort in the deflowering of campus virgins back in their college days. The guy had swung both ways then too, but it hadn't been an issue for them. Women had fallen for their one-two punch; tall, blonde or dark, and charming, like leaves from a tree, once upon a time. He grinned.
    "Pull up a chair. I could use a hard punch in the nose right now. You game?'
    Rob shot an odd look towards Sara's brother, who stood at the other end of the long bar, staring at them. "Huh, might make two of us. I seem to have done a bit of screwing up a relationship with a member of the Thornton family myself."
    Jack rolled his eyes and laughed as the other man eased himself into a barstool. His heart still pounded and spine tingled at being so close to Sara again, but unable to do anything but watch her laugh and lean into the surfer kid who