I shook my head. “I’m a loser. A fucking low-life piece of shit. All I have is my gyms, which I almost lost last year over a girl . . . a woman . . . and now this guy. Yeah, he was another reminder of what I want, what I need. Love. I never had it. Even with Lane, he’d clean up my messes, but he kept himself ice-cold until Bess. She cracked him wide open, and now his heart pours out like hot lava from an angry volcano. It’s annoying as hell. Christ! I’m even talking like a poet.”

“Jake, this is normal. You want love, a life, perhaps a partner and a family. You’re thirty-one. It’s time to stop goofing around and settle down; that’s a natural feeling.”

I glared at her as I paced her office. “Well, no one is gonna want me back.”

“Would you try something for me?” Doc asked.

I stopped to take in her pleading eyes, and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Don’t go running home with the first woman you meet this weekend. Do something on your own—go visit Lane and Bess and the baby in the country, anything to not sleep with just any available woman. If you don’t see your own worth, Jake, no one will.”

My gut churned; I’d been getting laid since I started high school here in Pittsburgh. My grandparents were our guardians back then, and they were dumb as dirt when it came to girls and me. By the time I graduated, I’d fucked half our female classmates in the small bedroom I’d shared with Lane in their little suburban home. After that, my D-1 baseball status and my impressive muscles pretty much guaranteed constant female company—a revolving door of cheerleaders, sorority girls, and fitness instructors.

“I’ll think about it. Looks like our time is up,” I said as I bolted for the door, not leaving any room for discussion on the matter.

When I hopped in my car, I decided to head back to my gym in the suburbs where there was less chance of seeing the guy. Dumb prick with money.

I’d bet he couldn’t make Legs come if he tried.

Aly

Hefting my bag up on my shoulder, I walked out of the county courthouse armed with enough reading for a year. I had all weekend to cram it all in, but I needed to visit my mom in the nursing home too. She suffered from dementia and Parkinson’s disease. I wanted to care for her myself, but it wasn’t possible. Sadly, I had to check her into a full-time care facility two years ago. Some days, she remembered me. Others she didn’t.

It was a toss-up as to what I was least looking forward to over the weekend—visiting my mom or doing the reading for my current case. I was twenty-seven years old and single; neither option seemed like how I should be spending my weekend.

With Hilary now in Cleveland, I was trying to branch out with my social life, but it didn’t come naturally to me. Connecting with other women wasn’t easy. For most of my life, it had only been my mom and me. She’d work, and then I’d help her with the chores at home and do my homework, so I’d never had a big social circle. Recently, I was making more of an effort with the women at work, meeting for coffee or walks.

In fact, it was the fault of the gals from work that I was now rushing to some young-lawyers mixer. I wanted to go and socialize as much as I wanted to have my legs waxed, but even my head boss had been nagging me to get out more. Laura, the woman who ran our department, was somewhat of a mentor to me. She was also one of the women I grabbed coffee with from time to time, and her concern about my lack of a social life was sweet, but annoying. She kept pushing me, claiming she’d met her husband at one of these events.

As I entered the back entrance of the William Penn Hotel, I swept my hair over my shoulder. It was down for a change, and I considered heading to the ladies’ room to put it up, but the department’s administrative assistant had said I needed to look my age. “Don’t look like a brittle, dried-up lawyer,” she’d said with a disapproving frown. “Lighten up, Aly. You’re fun when you want to be, and you’re gorgeous. Stop trying so hard to be a mature adult. You do that all day at work.”

I took a deep breath as her words rattled in my head, then told myself one cocktail and a little conversation, and I’d hop on the first bus home. To no one.

Winding my way to the bar inside the hotel, I broke out in a sweat. I hated these meet-and-greet things because I always felt like the outsider, just like I did when I was growing up. More often than not, I’d end up in the bar sipping on some strange drink while everyone else made small talk. I tried to convince myself to bottle up the confidence I had when it came to work and sprinkle it into my everyday life, but I couldn’t do it. Hiding behind my law degree and fancy attaché case was one thing; trying to be popular and a slave to expensive fashion trends like my colleagues did was another.

“May I help you?” the hostess asked, interrupting my private pep talk.

“I’m here for the young-lawyers event.”

The attractive young woman gave me a fake smile, then tossed her blond hair back dismissively as she recited in a bored voice, “All the way through the bar, in the back, through the brown door.” Then she perked up as she focused on the two young bucks who’d lined up behind me.

Like I said, I hated these events where I felt inadequate. Even my choosing to work as a public defender was inferior in the eyes of those who’d headed to the private sector.

I took off my jacket, tossing it over my bag as I made my way toward the back, then paused when I spotted Jake Wrigley seated at the bar.

Maybe it wasn’t him? This guy was wearing a suit, and his hair, longer than I remembered, was professionally styled. The scruffy shadow covering his cheeks was new too; it was an actual beard when I’d seen him last. Sipping a lowball glass filled with amber liquid, he divided his attention between the television hanging above the bar and the door. When his gaze flitted over me, his eyes didn’t flicker with recognition, but that didn’t mean anything.

Unless I was in a courtroom or a jail’s interrogation room, I was pretty much indistinguishable. I was like Superwoman cloaked in my law degree, but an everyday dweeb in plainclothes. It figured that after Jake saw me out a few weeks ago in my workout clothes, he quickly dismissed me.

Trying not to pout, I made my way to the back room when I heard a familiar voice boom out apologies. “Sorry, bro!” The voice was apologetic, almost remorseful, and right behind me. Instructing myself not to respond, I turned around anyway, catching the back of Jake’s ass rushing over to his clone.

He’s a twin?

As I shook illicit thoughts of gorgeous twins out of my head, I continued to the lawyer mixer, trying to convince myself it was better that Jake didn’t see me. I bellied up to the bar in the back and climbed onto a stool, and was shoving my bag underneath when some jerk approached.

“Hey, I’m Rick. Can I get you a drink? You look like you could relax.”

“Um, I’m not even sure what I want yet, but thanks for the offer.” I picked up the drink menu in front of me and studied it like it was the United States Constitution, hoping he’d take the hint.

“I can wait,” Rick the jerk persisted. He hadn’t even asked my name or anything.

“Listen, I’ll get my own drink, but again, thanks for the offer.” I wasn’t going to be beholden to this schmuck.

“I got you.” He nodded knowingly as he claimed the stool next to me. “You’re an independent woman, women’s lib and all.”

No, he didn’t get it. Turning slightly away from him, I crossed my legs and gave Rick the cold shoulder. Finally, he moved.

“What can I get you?” an adorable, shaggy-haired, well-built bartender asked.

“Vodka and soda, whatever your house vodka is.”

He winked at me and strolled off to the other side of the bar to grab a glass and some ice. After fixing my drink, he set it in front of me with a small bowl of peanuts.