Tracking You. Kelly Moran

no better off than his clothes. Maybe she should’ve picked Shooters after all.

      Something felt very, very off as her belly twisted. Not with nerves this time. Confused, Gabby’s mind scrolled through their conversation from earlier in the week when he’d brought his dog into the vet clinic where she worked. As he was checking out, he’d anxiously spun around to face her and asked if she could meet him.

      “Good. Work’s good.” He put his hat back on and glanced outside. “Getting to be warmer out, so the jobs are picking up.”

      Perhaps he was just nervous, too. Her tension drained a degree.

      Mavis returned and asked for a drink order.

      Tom lifted his hand to wave her off. “Nothing for me, thanks. I can’t stay long. Got a poker game with the guys tonight. I need to shower before they show up.”

      The forced smile Gabby had plastered on her face began to wilt like her mom’s petunias in August. What did he mean he couldn’t stay long? And why would he ask her out and schedule a card game on the same night? Plus, he could shower for his friends, but not her?

      Mavis divided her gaze between them, a mix of bewilderment and irritation lifting her brows. She tapped her pen to her pad as the silence hung. “Can I get you something?” She focused on Gabby, her tone indicating she should order something.

      “I’ll have a sweet tea. Thank you.” When the waitress walked away, Gabby looked at Tom. He’d thrown his arm over the back of the booth and had stretched his legs out. The aroma of Eau de Paint Thinner wafted across the table. “So…?”

      “Right, right.” Tom leaned forward and crossed his arms. “I appreciate you letting me do this in person.”

      She stilled. “Do what?” Because she was definitely getting the this-is-not-a-date vibe now.

      A warring shift in contradiction took over her body. Everything inside grew rapidly chilly while her skin heated in what she hoped wasn’t a blush. Her pale complexion always gave away her emotions and she hated that more than she’d hated freshman algebra. Math was evil.

      He let out a tense laugh, which sounded more like a guffaw, and drew several heads from other diners. “Not exactly a conversation you want to have over the phone or somethin’, ya know?”

      No. She didn’t know. “Maybe if you just tell me?”

      He played with the parmesan shaker, not meeting her gaze. “Well, the whole town’s buzzing about Rachel and Jeff’s split.”

      She frowned, not connecting the dots on his crazy pattern. Her older sister had only dated Jeff for a few weeks which, per Rachel standards, might as well have been marriage. Rachel liked to keep her options—and legs—open.

      Guilt immediately consumed her for the crass thought, but it didn’t make it any less true. She and Rachel couldn’t be any more different. Rachel was aloof and sexy. Gabby was the girl next door. Men desired Rachel. The only thing they desired from Gabby was a shoulder to cry on after her sister shot them down.

      She twirled a strand of hair around her finger to keep from fidgeting. “I don’t understand what Rachel and Jeff have to do with…” Unable to finish the sentence—because she had no idea anymore what “this” was—she waved her hand between them.

      “Well,” he said in an aw-shucks kind of way that made her want to grind her teeth, “now that Rachel’s available, I thought maybe you could put in a good word for me?” He blinked up at her hopefully.

      She stared at him for several stunned beats.

      The reality of the situation slowly crept into her head and shoved around her skull. Her stomach dropped somewhere near her ankles. When he’d asked her out at the clinic earlier this week, she supposed he hadn’t actually asked her “out.” The phrasing he’d used had been something more like, Can you meet up with me on Friday?

      And stupid, stupid her had taken that to mean he wanted a date.

      As if. Like anyone would ever be interested in her when her sister had gotten all the good genes and didn’t have the reputation of being everyone’s pal. Good ole Gabby.

      “This wasn’t a date,” she muttered to herself, more to ground herself to the situation than for confirmation.

      “Huh?”

      Closing her eyes, she shook her head to let Tom know her utterance wasn’t important. To him, it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t the one he wanted, and there was no sense in amplifying her mortification. It wasn’t his fault she’d brainlessly gotten excited.

      God, she was an idiot.

      Her heart sank a little as hope withered a painful death. She shouldn’t be surprised, really. It wasn’t like this was the first time someone had tried to use her as a go-between. If not with her sister, then her friends. Still, she’d been looking forward to tonight, had thought it was a blessed break in her dry spell.

      A lump formed in her throat as tears threatened. She looked around the room until she could get the pathetic emotions under control. Many of the tables had filled since she’d arrived. Man, if she started crying now…

      “So what do you say?” Tom set the shaker aside. “Could you help a friend out?”

      Friend. She nearly choked on the word. Instead, she cleared her throat and forced a smile. Who was she to stand in the way of potential true love? “Of course. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

      His nervous grin widened into something more genuine, drawing attention to the slight crookedness of his two front teeth. “You’re the best, Gabby.”

      Yep. That was her. She resisted patting her own back in a sarcastic response.

      Did she really want a relationship with him anyway? Probably not. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he had his charms. His looks didn’t matter to her anyway as long as he had a good heart or sense of humor. It was more the idea of having someone that appealed.

      Which was not going to happen. Not tonight.

      Tom rose from his seat and tipped his ball cap as if it were a Stetson. “Thanks so much. I gotta go.”

      Of course. Alone again. Maybe she should become a poet. It had worked for Hemingway.

      She nodded. Her gaze followed him to the front door, and then over to the bar where she was thinking of doing a little Cuervo therapy.

      Flynn was leaning against the bar, his direct sights on her. Still wearing his dark blue scrubs, his posture telegraphed his typical laid-back demeanor. Now there was an attractive man. Tall enough for the top of her head to reach his chin and ropy muscle on an athletic build. Wide shoulders, narrow waist.

      All three of the O’Grady brothers were sexy in their own unique way. But, they’d grown up together and there had never been any chemistry between her and them. Cade, the youngest brother, was engaged to their office manager as of a couple months ago, and Drake, the eldest brother, was a widower. Gabby couldn’t envision him dating again, at least not anytime soon. Flynn wasn’t seeing anyone.

      Not that it mattered. She worked for Flynn and his brothers at their vet clinic, so that was an automatic hand-slap.

      From across the room, Flynn’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in question toward the door. Where’d your date go?

      Flynn was deaf, and through the years, she’d grown to read him easily. They always had a strong connection, being able to understand one another without words. Part of that was being good friends and part was due to working closely together for many years.

      She shrugged in answer, keeping her disappointed expression open for him. Sucked to be her.

      His brows lowered and he straightened from the bar, poised to head over until the bartender tapped his shoulder. Flynn signed for his takeout and carried it over to her booth, setting the bag down on the table before sitting.