Bungalow Nights. Christie Ridgway

Get it out, then get yourself out.

      The pitcher of beer was making the rounds again and under the cover of that Baxter turned to her, sliding his arm from her shoulder so he could take both of her hands in his. They were small and cool and resisted his grip until he tightened his fingers. “Listen,” he said. “I’m...I, uh...”

      Crap.

      He took a quick breath. “I didn’t mean to insinuate something to your friends.”

      Her eyes narrowing, she gave a careless shrug. “Why are you here, Baxter? It can’t be a coincidence. Shouldn’t you be at the office?”

      “It’s a holiday.” He actually had been at the office, but she didn’t need to know that. “And it’s after five.” Though he often stayed at his desk beyond 8:00 p.m.

      “What do you want?”

      He opened his mouth, then shut it, staring as her face started to flush. Or was that merely from the pinkish cast of the lowering sun’s light? In either case, it distracted him, and he chased the color downward, aware for the first time of what she wore. It was a dark blue sundress of a gauzy fabric that bared her shoulders and cupped her breasts.

      Nothing good could come from allowing his gaze to linger there, so he jerked it upward, noticing the wire-and-beads headband that was half-hidden by her curling hair. The small seeds of glass were colored red, white and blue.

      It was the Fourth of July, he reminded himself, and he was here to claim independence from That Night that had been shadowing him for years, staying tucked behind his shoulder until it was clear no amount of paperwork and meetings and conference calls could keep his brain occupied enough to forget it.

      “Look,” he said quickly. “I’m here because we really need to talk. What happened six years ago, what we did, what I said... It should have been resolved differently.” It hadn’t been resolved at all, that was the problem. The things that had come out of his mouth as he held her in his arms... Sweet Lord.

      His last words had been the assurance that he’d be calling her and yet he’d never dialed her number, sent an email or even posted on her Facebook wall. He didn’t even know if she had an account.

      “Will you accept my apology?” he asked.

      She blinked, those green eyes of hers expressing...what? Christ, he couldn’t read her. Six years ago she’d been an open book.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Addy said.

      “I...uh, what?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated. Her brows came together and she looked perplexed. “Six years ago? We did? You said? It doesn’t ring any bells.”

      Baxter may have been gaping at her. She didn’t recall? She didn’t remember That Night? Okay, she’d had one beer, but he didn’t think she’d been drunk.

      Not drunk enough to forget being with him.

      To forget he’d taken her virginity. And what he’d said after the fact.

      As he tried to wrap his mind around her apparent forgetfulness, she turned away from him to respond to one of her college pals. Banter circled the table as they told old stories, brought up shared classes, dissed clueless professors.

      Rocked by the revelation that what had eaten at him for six years apparently didn’t rate a single memory in her brain’s filing cabinet, Baxter sat frozen. After a few minutes he reached into his pocket for his smartphone, but even calling up his email and checking for voice messages didn’t shore him up.

      Work always shored him up. Routine. Sticking to the BSLS.

      He only tuned back into the conversation when Skinny Neck spoke up again. He leaned around Baxter to address Addy. “As I mentioned,” he said, “I can help you with your research. I have a lot of free time.”

      Baxter didn’t like the guy on sight and even less now that he wanted to “help” Addy with such insistence. But he steeled himself to stay silent. Heck, if she didn’t remember him from That Night six years ago, he shouldn’t stick his nose into her affairs.

      “Well?” Skinny prodded.

      “Steve...” Addy hesitated, looking down, then her lashes swept up and her gaze touched Baxter’s face.

      He could read her well enough now, he thought. And she was clearly saying, Help.

      Before he could even think it through, he had his arm around her again. “She doesn’t need anything from you, Sk—Steve. You see, I’ve already volunteered my services. When Addy needs an extra hand, it’s going to be mine that comes to her aid.”

      Then he shined his smile on her, the foundation firm beneath his feet again. If she’d forgotten what they’d been to each other, he now had a reason to be around her to remind her of it.

      After that he’d apologize and put That Night to bed.

      He winced, not sure if it was because of his mind’s turn of phrase or the sneaking suspicion that his logic held a serious fatal flaw. But her warmth at his side felt too good for him to reason it out now.