his fingers through his hair with a chuckle. "If you're considering hooking up with Ally, yes, you're hard up. She's worked her way through your contact list, man."
Faulting Ally's bedroom manner is the last thing Owen would do—he'd be a hypocrite, hell, we all would be—but his comment serves as a subtle and compelling reminder of our code. No sharing women. To keep peace in the garage, we keep our dicks out of another man's playground. Finn tapped her when he moved to Rossview before he knew our arrangement. Ally was my regular hometown hook-up, but it was only sex. There are no hard feelings or broken hearts between us, but without her in my back pocket, I've lived the life of a priest. Well, that and the whole recuperating from knee surgery bullshit.
Hitting up the club could be what the doctor ordered. "The Vault it is," I agree. "And, where's Finn's girl? I need a drink and some food before my stomach eats itself."
"She's being monopolized by some old men," Finn says with a sigh as I locate the brunette. A few tables separate us and point me to the nearest cold shower because the black shorts she wears as part of the uniform mold to her ass like they're painted on. I have a hard time swallowing, and by hard, I mean, everything is hard. My attention strays to her customers. Damn, those aren't old men monopolizing her; she's talking with my football coaches from Rossview High.
"And she has a name, by the way. "
"Jess." My murmur cuts Finn off as she turns around with a broad smile on her face. Holy shit. Her gorgeous face. No wonder she's talking to my former coaches; she knows them well.
Jess halts mid-step, her smile faltering when her gaze hits our table.
"You know her?" Frey asks from beside me as my ears pick up Finn's jovial voice.
"I returned, lass. Did you miss me?" he asks, his Irish accent extra thick.
Their questions fill my ears, but my mind is preoccupied with the woman frozen a few tables away—Jessica Womick. We went to the same high school. She was a cheerleader; I was a football player. She was in my circle—a friend of my ex before she became best friends with Jules Blacklin—attending the same parties and events. We last spoke at graduation, though I saw her around town when we were home from college two years ago. It was a kind two years for her. She was easy on the eyes before, and full of energy. Polite to people, where my ex, Aubrey, was a Grade-A bitch, but seeing her today…
I'm sandwiched between Owen and Frey, my breath caught, my body motionless, while she saunters toward our table. Her gaze holds Finn's. Is she aware three other guys watch her?
"Two nights in a row? What's the matter? The path home through the stones impossible to find?" she asks, her mouth twisting when she stops by his side at the end of the table.
Owen snorts, and Finn angles his body from the table and toward hers. Her damn fantastic body. I hunch over the tabletop like she's a magnet drawing me near. My mouth opens—I should say hi, that would be the polite thing to do.
"You do know he's Scottish?" Finn asks before my wits gather.
Her pursed lips stretch into a wide grin. "You did some research, did you?"
What the hell are they talking about? Finn's not Scottish. As if I'd asked out loud, Frey nudges my side with his elbow. "Last night, this lovely lass had the gall to accuse us of faking our accents."
Jess's attention flicks to Frey, the humor of it all lighting up her face. Her eyes sparkle with suppressed laughter. "You men seem to think all women require a kilt-wearing savior these days, thanks to Outlander. It wouldn't be the first time a guy pretended to be something he isn't."
Oh. Oh, shit. "The path home through the stones impossible to find?" A choked laugh rises in my throat as the meaning behind their conversation crystallizes. Chase obsesses over the show and all things Scottish.
"We're Irish," Finn says with little amusement.
Jess plops a hand on her hip. "And there's a difference?"
This time my laughter escapes. There's no withholding it, and Owen joins. Jess's gaze moves past the twins—sliding over my face, stopping on Owen's, and returning to mine like the snap of a rubber band.
Two patches of pink stain her cheeks. "Carter?" she says like she's unsure. And, damn,