Bidding on the Bachelor Page 3

  “Carissa.” Cam said her name the way one might say cancer or terrorist.

  “Was my high school girlfriend.”

  “She was way more than that and we both know it. And she’s back in town.”

  Jasper ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “We don’t know that.”

  “The Bayside Blogger said—”

  “So what? Just because the Bayside Blogger—”

  This time Cam cut him off. “Hate to admit it but the Bayside Blogger—whoever he or she may be—does tend to be right.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Cam started to say something so Jasper quickly beat him to the punch. “We dated a million years ago. I heard she got married and was living in the Midwest somewhere. I, on the other hand, have a date lined up with a certain hottie from the gym.”

  There was a long pause. “Do you want to come over?” Cam finally asked.

  What he wanted was to forget that he’d seen Carissa Blackwell. He wanted to have a couple beers, be alone with his thoughts, and not hear about the damn Bayside Blogger.

  Luckily, he knew just where to accomplish everything he needed. The Rusty Keg, an old dive bar, sat on the outskirts of town. People would recognize him there but they’d also give him room and leave him alone.

  “No, I’m good. Honestly,” he assured his brother.

  And he would be. So long as he didn’t see Carissa Blackwell again.

  And he stayed away from water.

  * * *

  Carissa was not a suspicious person. She was rooted in the here and now and considered herself rational and practical. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.

  She’d left Chicago yesterday, stayed overnight in Ohio, driven all day, hit some nasty traffic, and drunk about fifteen coffees before finally arriving in Bayside. Needing a moment to stretch—not to mention, take in the town she hadn’t laid eyes on in over a decade—she’d pulled over at the dock before she made her way to her aunt’s cottage.

  It was while she was there, taking a moment to refamiliarize herself with Bayside, stretching and getting the kinks out of her tired muscles, when she started to get that spooky feeling. First, goose bumps broke out on her skin. Then she thought she saw someone out of the corner of her eye, over to her right. Fed up, she’d left the dock and returned to her car. That’s when she’d received full confirmation that she was indeed being watched. About five people stood outside the town’s popular square, staring and pointing at her while they whispered to each other and tapped away on their phones.

  Great. Back in Bayside for five minutes and the welcome committee was already starting with the gossip. She wondered how long it would take for the whole town to know she’d returned. They wouldn’t know she’d come home with her tail between her legs. Not as long as she could help it.

  She hightailed it to her aunt’s cottage in record time.

  She found the key where Aunt Val had instructed her to look, in the flowerpot around back. She peered closer. A flowerpot that appeared to be holding a weed plant if she wasn’t mistaken. Given that, she wasn’t sure if she was excited or nervous about what she might find inside.

  Carissa let herself into the two-bedroom cottage, flicked the light switch and smiled. It was the same cozy and eccentric home she remembered from high school, maybe with a few more knickknacks collected over the years. Every room was painted a different pastel color. The kitchen wasn’t the most updated she’d ever seen but it was definitely workable. And bonus, it overlooked the deck, the small backyard and the bay beyond that. The view was probably worth more than the entire rest of the house.

  The decor was beachy and comfortable, the exact opposite of the modern high-rise she’d shared with Preston in Chicago. Perfect. Two minutes in this place and she already felt more at ease than she had in six years in her condo. This place screamed for you to kick off your shoes, whip up a margarita and blast some Jimmy Buffett from the radio.

  Carissa nodded definitely. “This will do just fine,” she murmured to herself. She saw a long note on the counter and quickly scanned it. Her aunt explained the AC system, which apparently went on the fritz from time to time. Great—since it was the last week of August, the temperature in Virginia was sweltering.

  She also left instructions for watering her eclectic—and hopefully legal—garden out back. There were notes about the proper remote for the television, what days the trash was picked up, and a large warning for her not to enjoy the absinthe in the liquor cabinet. But everything else was hers to use, borrow and enjoy.

  Carissa spent the next hour hauling her boxes from the car and getting settled. Her suitcases went into the guest bedroom she would be using. A bedroom, she noted, that was decorated in an explosion of peach paint and shell tchotchkes. It was kind of like sleeping in The Golden Girls house but Carissa couldn’t complain. The rent was free and she would be able to catch her breath.

  Her parents had never liked this house. They’d claimed her aunt had too much crap and the interior decorating was childlike and outdated. But Carissa had always loved coming over to visit Aunt Val. She didn’t have to worry if she spilled crumbs on the floor or made her bed. Living in her childhood home had been like growing up in a museum. The floors had been hard and the furniture uncomfortable. Forget eating anywhere but the kitchen or dining room. And a cleaning lady came through twice a week.

  How’d that work out for you, Mom and Dad? Carissa shook her head. Her parents had lost all of their money and most of their stuff. Her dad had lost the money, she corrected. Not that it had been his to begin with. Her mother had come from a wealthy family with old money, which her dad had misspent, mismanaged and eventually blown through.

  She didn’t quite feel like unpacking yet so she meandered into the kitchen for a snack. Aunt Val said she would provide some munchies to get her started. Carissa eyed the weed plant out the sliding glass door as she recalled the use of the word munchies. But when she started hunting through the cabinets and fridge, there wasn’t so much as a bag of chips to be found. There was another note attached to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a starfish.

  Didn’t have time to go to store. Sorry, Dollface.

  Well, that explained that. There was a calendar hanging on the wall next to the fridge. She sighed. Just what she needed to see. A visual reminder of what today was.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Happy birthday dear recently divorced, almost completely broke twenty-nine-year-old meeeeeee.

  Happy freaking birthday to me.

  As part of her practical nature, Carissa never needed or wanted a big party, lots of presents or any kind of fuss made over her birthday. But even she hated the fact that she’d spent the first day of the last year of her twenties driving hundreds of miles because she’d just gotten divorced. Twenty-nine years old and already she’d been both married and divorced. Not exactly the path she’d envisioned for her life.

  Snagging her car keys and shaking off the morbid mood, Carissa headed out the door toward the grocery store for a few essentials: coffee, milk, bread, peanut butter and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. But since there was a nice breeze, she decided to forgo the car and walk to the store instead. After the long drive, she could use the exercise.

  Once at the store, she steered her shopping cart down one aisle after another, unsure of what she was in the mood for. She grabbed cereal and some snacks, a couple bags of fruit and the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. A little birthday present to herself. But as she perused the different brands of coffee, she couldn’t help but tune in to someone else’s conversation. In fact, a couple different snippets of conversations. All about her.

  I’m not making this up. It was her. Carissa Blackwell.

  Didn’t you read the Bayside Blogger’s tweets today? She already kno
ws about this.

  ...can’t believe she’s back here! Didn’t she swear off Bayside back in high school?

  Strange that no one ever heard from her parents again. It’s like they disappeared into thin air.

  Carissa checked the time on her phone. Two hours. That was all it had taken for her to become the topic of hot gossip. And who was this Bayside Blogger who seemed to know her every move?

  Didn’t matter. Enough of this. She needed to get outside, stat. She pushed her cart to the side, items completely forgotten, and exited the store.

  All she wanted was to escape the gossips and get some air.

  As she walked along the back streets of the neighborhood back toward the cottage, she remembered something. There was a dive bar that used to sit back this way. She could go for a drink. Or two.

  While she headed in the direction of the bar, one of the gossipers’ words reverberated through her head. Can’t believe she’s back here.

  Carissa kicked at an imaginary stone. “Yeah, that makes two of us,” she muttered.

  Then, like a beacon calling her home, she saw the old bar at the end of the street, surrounded by a small parking lot full of stones and overgrown trees. Score. She definitely wouldn’t be recognized here. Double score. Carissa knew if she filled in the gaps on the half–burned out neon sign hanging above the door, she’d read the name, The Rusty Keg.

  True, she’d come out for a snack. But bars had snacks. Even more importantly, bars had alcohol. And nothing was going to make this nightmare of a day better than some good old-fashioned liquor.

  She pushed open the creaky door and was immediately assaulted by a musky smell of cheap beer, fried food and sweat. The place was dark, dank and completely off the beaten path.

  In other words, it was perfect.

  Carissa strolled up to the bar, noticing the scratched-up wood just waiting to give someone a splinter. She reached under the bar, feeling around for a purse hook, then immediately snatched her hand back. Had she just touched someone’s used wad of gum? Yuck. She shook her head. An establishment with a half-lit, crooked sign above the door outside and a rotting bar with mismatched bar stools that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties was definitely not going to have purse hooks. They probably didn’t even have pinot noir. She slid a glance toward the single-stall bathroom and scrunched her nose. Forget about toilet seat covers. That was probably a mere pipe dream.

  “What can I get you?” a burly man with a full Duck Dynasty–worthy beard bellowed from behind the bar.

  “Shot of tequila and the local beer on tap.”

  He nodded, pulled her beer, poured the shot, but otherwise stayed silent. Carissa didn’t waste any time. “Happy birthday to me,” she said to no one in particular before throwing the shot back. The liquid burned her throat and made her eyes water. She turned her head and let out an exasperated “wowza” just in time to see none other than Jasper Dumont sitting right next to her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “Oh.” It was all she could think to say aloud. On the inside, however, there was a whole vocal party happening. No-freaking-way-it’s-your-ex-boyfriend!

  No, not just an ex-boyfriend. Jasper Dumont was so much more than a simple ex. With some age and perspective, she realized their one-year relationship was such a short period of time in the grand scheme of life. But damn, that one year had been nothing short of amazing. Making out, dances, football games, making out, skipping school occasionally, making out, one epic prom, passing notes in calculus class, wanton looks by the lockers and even more making out. Well, making out that quickly led to much-less-PG versions of mere kissing.

  Now this boy—er, man—whom she hadn’t seen in a decade, but whom, if she was being brutally honest and the tequila was already loosening her up on that score, she’d never stopped thinking about was sitting right next to her. At a dive bar in her hometown.

  “Carissa Blackwell,” he said, his voice smooth and cutting. “Pigs must be flying because here you are. Back in Bayside.”

  Despite the coldness coming off him in waves, he looked amazing. Same blond hair and striking blue eyes. But that lanky boy she used to kiss under the bleachers was now all filled out with broad shoulders and from what she could see, an impressive chest. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her beer. More to give herself a moment and to slow down the pulse that Jasper had sent soaring.

  “Miracles can happen,” she said, raising her mug of beer in a toast.

  “Apparently.” His gaze drank her in from the top of her head over her navy blue tank top and down her capri jeans to the toes that desperately needed a pedicure. Toes that curled as he gave an appreciative nod.

  “It’s, um, nice to see you, Jasper.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t expect to find you in a bar like this.”

  “Likewise,” he quickly said. “Actually I wouldn’t expect to find you anywhere in the city limits.”

  She nodded. She probably should have expected that from him. But what was she supposed to say? The truth? I got divorced. I have no money or career and this was the only place I had to go.

  “Touché,” she said instead. “But I’m back in town.”

  “For how long?” he asked quickly, too quickly. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, anger laced his question. She must have reacted to it because his features softened. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. And I do remember that today is your birthday. So happy birthday, Carissa.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and meant it. She decided to offer an olive branch because the truth was that she’d dumped him and she hadn’t been kind about it. This icy reception she was receiving was well deserved. While she knew the reasons behind her decision, she’d never let Jasper in on it. She’d been a bratty, selfish teenager, not capable of understanding her emotions. Unwilling to admit that Jasper had always reminded her of her father and that summer her dad had dropped a bombshell on her.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. I’m sort of in a transition period right now.” He waited patiently. After another long drink of beer, she finished. “I just got divorced.” Saying the words out loud left an awful taste in her mouth. An acidic aftertaste of yuckiness.

  First, shock flashed on his face. Then true concern shone in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  And that might have been her undoing. Because he had every reason to be stiff and awkward with her. Instead, any kind of compassion from him loosened her lips.

  “Today is my twenty-ninth birthday. I’m having a beer next to my ex-boyfriend, who hates my guts, in a dive bar in the town I swore I would never step foot in again. An ex-boyfriend I should really apologize to because I was an evil witch to him.” The words were flying now. She gripped her hand tightly around her glass. “I’m not even thirty and already I’ve been married and divorced. And I got divorced because he freaking cheated on me.”

  She couldn’t miss the way Jasper’s eyes narrowed, his hands curled into fists, and there was a definite tic in his clenched jaw. “He cheated on you?”

  “Yep. Apparently, the fact that I was homecoming queen, prom queen and head cheerleader did nothing to impress him. Or keep his pants zipped up when anyone wearing a skirt in the Central Time Zone walked by. That probably makes your whole day, doesn’t it?”

  He slammed his hand on the bar and she jumped. But she just as quickly composed herself. “What? You have every right to revel in my misery after the way I broke up with you. I got divorced. You win.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to win at that game. And I certainly don’t want to hear that some idiot cheated on you. I’m sorry you’re getting divorced.”

  “That makes one of us.” With that she chugged the rest of her beer and let her head drop onto the bar. Then she remembered the threat of splinters and lifted her face back up, the tequila and beer rus
hing to her head.

  “Water over here, please,” Jasper called to the bartender. “Two waters, a basket of mozzarella sticks, and...” He looked to her.

  “More alcohol,” she called out weakly.

  He chuckled but also reached for her hand. As he squeezed her fingers a jolt of awareness traveled up her arm. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. In fact, she’d never felt it with her ex-husband. Not once. Only Jasper made her toes curl, sent electric shocks to the system, and caused her stomach to flip over.

  Jasper leaned back. “I don’t want to talk about our past. Not tonight.”

  “But you’re still mad.”

  He nodded. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  He seemed to be considering something. Finally, he said, “I have a better idea. Like I said, I don’t want to talk about our history right now. Instead, let’s call a truce and be friends for the night.”

  Chapter Three

  “Feeling better?”

  She turned to Jasper. The fried cheese sticks and water went a long way to making her feel better. So did the friendship, even if it was only temporary. Jasper listened as she mumbled into her breaded mozzarella.

  “Much. Thank you.”

  He was looking at her with an expression that she couldn’t decipher. “What?” she asked.

  “I’m not gonna lie,” he said with total confidence in his voice. “I’ve thought about seeing you again since that summer. But never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I’d run into you at a hole-in-the-wall bar of all places.”

  “Would it have made it any less awkward if we’d met behind the library? I seem to remember spending a lot of time with you there.” Her traitorous eyes flickered down to his lips.

  “Well, I remember spending a lot of time with you in my car, in my basement...”

  “All those times you sneaked into my room after my parents went to sleep,” she added.

  “And one epic moment in the middle of the football field.”