But Jamie shook his hand and forced a smile. As much as he wanted to blame the guy, Spencer had no idea what was brewing beneath the surface.
“See you in a bit?” he asked Brynn, and her face softened for a moment as her eyes fell on his. She nodded, and Spencer was gone.
“Dammit, James.” The words fell out of her mouth, laced with bitter disappointment.
“Fucking hell, Brynn.”
And that was that. Jamie accepted defeat.
Chapter Five
Holly and Annie ushered Brynn toward the Kingston Ale House entrance. Last night she’d practically strutted through the doors, but in the harsh light of morning, reality was not a pretty picture.
She’d almost kissed Spencer again. In Jamie’s office. Talk about poor judgment. She could have found a more appropriate place, like the corner booth behind the stairs on the first level, or back by the pool tables, or a freaking bathroom stall. If she gave this one to her sister or Annie to analyze, which—duh—she was so not going to do, she knew exactly what they’d say. Holly would laugh and say I told you so while Annie would give her some big speech accusing her of taking Spencer there on purpose, secretly hoping that Jamie would catch them. Self-sabotage, Annie would call it, which was ridiculous, because Brynn wanted Spencer.
Not Jamie. Jamie had Liz and was happy. What happened in the past needed to stay in the past.
“I’m going. I’m going,” she said after Holly gave her a good shove.
“I don’t know why you’re all bent out of shape,” her sister said. “So you and Jamie had a little fight. Don’t all married couples fight from time to time?”
Annie snorted. Brynn looked over her shoulder to give them both the stinkeye, but that only made them laugh more.
She was through the door now. The bar didn’t officially open until 11:30, but the plan had always been for the gang to do brunch after the reunion before Jamie and Jeremy had to work the rest of the day and night and before Annie opened the store at noon. Brynn didn’t work weekends, but the girls weren’t going to let her off the hook for brunch. So here they were, at the ungodly hour of ten o’clock, and the horror that was last night punched her right in the gut.
Her stomach clenched. She and Jamie had fought before but never like that. Even that awful summer ten years ago hadn’t been the result of anger. And as much as Brynn had been hurt by Jamie rejecting her after finally figuring out she had feelings for him, she knew in the back of her mind they’d get through it. They were kids. They had too much ahead of them not to find their way back to each other. But something about last night had a sense of finality to it that scared her.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Jamie had asked as soon as Spencer left the room. “In my fucking office? Did you want me to see? To make sure—in case I had any doubt—that I knew where we stood, where we always stood?”
Brynn had winced at those words, but the alcohol that had made her bold mutated as it coursed through her veins, putting her on the defensive.
“You’re the one who decided where we stood, Jamie. A long time ago, so don’t you dare try throwing that in my face.” She’d been heaving as she spoke, not able to suck in enough air but knowing if she paused for even a second it all might backfire, and she might cry. But Brynn Chandler wasn’t going to cry over Jamie Kingston again. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking that for once it could be my night. I was thinking that you wouldn’t give a shit because you had a party to tend to and a girlfriend to go home to and—ugh! Why does this even matter? We’re not a couple. We never were. It’s time we stop fucking acting like it.”
He’d stumbled backward when she said that, a small but noticeable step, and it tore Brynn’s heart to shreds to hurt the person she cared about most. But that was it—what had been holding her back with Spencer even before Jamie walked in. They’d been each other’s plus-one for years, but they’d never been together. He’d moved on from whatever had been there at one point. It was time for her to do the same.
“I’ll take a cab home later,” she’d told him.
“I know.” Jamie had cleared his throat. “I’ll ride with you.”
“No. You won’t.”
And then, like a pro, she’d swallowed back all the residual hurt that had risen to the surface, strode past him, and returned to the party only to find that Spencer Matthews was minutes from leaving, taking a late flight home to L.A.
“I’d love you to come to the launch in a couple of weeks—if you happen to find yourself in California,” he’d said. “Just wish we didn’t have to cut tonight short.”