The One That Got Away (Kingston Ale House)

“Maybe we should grab a drink, catch up, mingle with the rest of the class,” she suggested.

“I’m all yours,” he said, and she led him past the bar where she swore Jamie was a minute ago. She’d probably find him on the party deck, where she and Spencer were headed now. That’s all she needed, really, was to see him and know he wasn’t alone—not that they were there together. But she wanted this night to be fun for him even if he’d rather be in his office color coding his calendar.

For now, she was on a mission—one that nothing would deter.



“Seriously, Kingston? She’s gone. You can come up now.”

Jamie recognized Annie’s voice, but her assurance of Brynn and Spencer’s departure from the immediate vicinity did not make him want to come out of hiding. Not that he was hiding. That would be ridiculous. He’d watched the whole exchange between Brynn and Mr. California, rinsing their shot glasses in water hot enough to melt away a layer of skin, though he hoped he hadn’t. He couldn’t register something as mundane as water temperature when Brynn’s dream guy was calling her stunning. He’d strained to make out the conversation, and he’d heard every word.

Is that all it took? The right compliment? How many ways had he told Brynn she was stunning in the past six years? Why did it mean something different when Spencer Matthews said it? And, Christ, why did it matter so much?

He sighed, knowing the answer to at least one of his own questions, the one he was willing to admit. Brynn saw him one way and Spencer another. That’s how it was in high school, and that’s how it was now. Save for the brief intermission in her Spencer Matthews crush, Jamie was the friend and Spencer the potential more-than.

“I can see you, you know.”

Jamie looked up from where he squatted to find Annie leaning over the top of the bar, so he stood to meet her snooping gaze.

“I was…uh…drying shot glasses and putting them away,” he said, which wasn’t untrue. There just wasn’t a necessity to dry said glasses at floor level rather than bar level, but he would keep that little tidbit to himself.

“You’re an idiot,” Annie said, and his eyes widened. It wasn’t just what she said but the fact that it was her saying it. Annie was Brynn’s closest friend other than him, but she was his friend, too.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“I said you’re an idiot,” she repeated, as if that was the only thing standing in the way of Jamie’s comprehension, hearing her.

“Yeah.” His brows pulled together. “I heard you the first time. I’m kind of wondering why I’m an idiot.”

He had plenty of ways he could answer this himself, but he was curious about Annie’s opinion at the moment.

“You’re still in love with her.”

Just like that, she said it, point-blank and with no filter. And that word—still. As if it was a constant, had never gone away.

“Annie, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, then sighed. “Come on. I’m not blind. I see you two together almost on a daily basis. And you forget I’ve known you both since high school.”

He wasn’t sure if Brynn had let Annie in on their almost. Once he told Brynn he needed her as his friend, she put the kibosh on ever bringing up their kiss again.

Jamie threw the towel over his shoulder and dropped the clean shot glasses on the bar. He needed both hands, needed to clasp them behind his neck and think.

He let out a long breath before speaking again. There was no hiding from Annie under the bar, and it looked like he couldn’t hide anything else from her, either, though he swore he’d been hiding his feelings just fine from himself all these years.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said, but knew that proved nothing. Not to Annie. Not to himself, though this was the first time he’d admitted it. “It’s this night,” he said as his shoulders sagged. “It’s bringing up—feelings.” He thought about telling her that it was just the environment, being around all these people. He was fine yesterday, and he’d be fine tomorrow. This was temporary. Or it was all bullshit. Maybe it was time to admit that, too.

“Am I that obvious?” he finally asked, and Annie’s eyes softened, an unexpectedly sad smile taking over her features.

“To me and the rest of the world? Yeah. Probably. But you know Brynn. She won’t let herself see. She’s kind of stubborn like that.”

Kind of stubborn. Ha. Brynn was a ten-story brick wall when she felt the need. He understood. She refused to discuss what almost happened ten years ago. Why the hell would she look forward and consider the possibility of a future between them? Shit. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t he? Imagining a future with her after bailing on that possibility ten years ago?

A.J. Pine's books