“My dad and I watched all your games, and when you came to play for the Biters…” He shakes his head and presses his hands to his face again. “Can I get a selfie?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see the group of MinneSolar employees crammed into the entryway behind me.

  “Sure,” I tell the kid, even though he’s already coming around the podium he’s been standing behind. “But then it looks like the rest of my table is here.”

  I didn’t bother inserting myself into the carpool discussion, so I beat everyone here. And now my new employees are all watching as I move into my usual Mad Dog pose — arms crossed, shoulders back, mouth in a flat line — for the photo.

  No one wants to see Mad Dog smiling.

  I hear a few whispers, but the only employee I look at is Hannah.

  And she’s looking right back.

  Except her eyes aren’t on mine, they’re on my chest. Now my arms. And my shoulders.

  And lower.

  The side of my mouth pulls up. She’s checking me out.

  Thankfully, the kid is already done with his picture, so he steps back and slides his phone into his pocket. “Thank you. Seriously. I’m gonna frame that for my dad’s birthday.”

  “Hope he likes it.” I nod toward my group. “Looks like there’s eight of us. That gonna work?”

  From where we are, I can see the restaurant is pretty busy, which makes sense since it’s noon and downtown on a Friday. But the kid is already nodding.

  “Yeah, we got a table ready.” He waves a hand. “It was set up for a group coming in at twelve thirty, but we’ll put them somewhere else.”

  I shrug. Sucks to be those guys. Then I angle my body to let everyone else go ahead of me.

  “Pays to be famous.” One of the guys, whose name I don’t remember, grins at me as he follows the host into the restaurant.

  Hannah rolls her eyes, but then she keeps them forward instead of looking up at me.

  I take up the rear of the group as we make our way to the far side of the dining area.

  Like all good sports bars, there’s a lot of dark wood, hockey memorabilia on every wall, and a whole row of TVs above the bar — all playing hockey games or something sports related.

  The host stops us at a rectangular table with four chairs on either of the long sides, and everyone starts to sit.

  Hannah takes one of the end spots, and I swear Brandon lunges for the chair next to hers.

  Casually, because I’m not a desperate man-child, I pull out the chair directly across from Hannah.

  End spots give me more room for my wide shoulders. It’s just a lucky coincidence that I’ll be looking at my long-lost Hannah for the next hour.

  TWELVE

  HANNAH

  This is a nightmare.

  I’ve fallen asleep. I’m dreaming. And I’m having a nightmare.

  I try to pinch my thigh through my jeans, but the material is too tight and I can’t get a grip on anything.

  Not that it would do me any good. I’m not lucky enough for this to be just a bad dream.

  Right after we all sat down — me surrounded by the two men I want to see the least — the server came around to take our drink orders.

  That gave me a whopping minute to try and compose myself.

  Spoiler: it wasn’t enough time.

  Taking a slow, deep breath, I remind myself this is just lunch with some coworkers and our new boss.

  I glance up at Maddox.

  He’s talking to one of the guys down the table about something football related, giving me a chance to take in his profile.

  I hate it.

  Because it’s so perfect.

  The trimmed facial hair. And the memory of the way it tickled the sensitive skin on my inner thighs.

  The lips that are that perfect shade of pink. And the way they kissed me like I was all he needed.

  Maddox places his elbow on the table, and I follow colorful tattoos down his forearm to his hand.

  It’s curled into a loose fist, but god, it’s so big. If he flattened it out, it would take up the space of a dinner plate.

  His fist loosens a little, and I have to tell myself to keep breathing. Because I’m remembering the way he looked, standing over me, naked in the shadowy library, stroking his length.

  Maddox taps his pointer finger against the table, and my eyes snap up. Locking with his.

  THIRTEEN

  MADDOX

  I move my attention back to the guy talking to me and bite down on my smile.

  Getting under Hannah’s defenses is going to be easier than I thought.

  FOURTEEN

  HANNAH

  Heat crawls up my neck, and I busy myself looking at the menu.

  Just chill, Hannah. Take a breath. And chill.

  I was bound to see Maddox again. He’s the owner of the company, and if today is any indication, he’ll be at the office. Maybe not every day, since he wasn’t in yesterday, but I gotta learn how to be normal around him.

  I take another breath and make my eyes focus on the words in front of me.

  It’s fine.

  This is all fine.

  And if it becomes completely miserable seeing Maddox all the time, I can find a new job.

  “And for you?” The friendly voice pulls my attention up, and I find the server at my side, beverages already set out on the table.

  “Sorry,” I apologize. The server has her little notepad in her hand, so I assume she’s taking meal orders. “I’ll have the…” I look down at the menu and read off the first thing I see. “The chicken Caesar wrap, please.”

  “Good choice. That’s my favorite.”

  Her smile draws out my own, and I hand her my menu.

  “And you?” She turns to Maddox.

  His menu is already closed because, obviously, he’s been paying attention. And while he hands it to the server, I lift my glass of Dr Pepper and take a sip.

  “I’d like the ham and cheese sandwich, please,” Maddox asks politely.

  It takes me a second.

  Just a second for it all to come crashing back.

  And with the understanding comes the emotions.

  Every emotion I’ve been trying to lock down since I heard his name on Wednesday. All the hurt and anger and betrayal that have been festering inside me for fifteen years. All of it snaps back into place like it never left.

  My mouth is still full of Dr Pepper, and when I try to swallow it, my throat seizes.

  I manage to get it down, but some of the bubbles hit wrong, making me cough.

  I cough again, my eyes stinging as I set my cup down.

  At my side, Brandon turns toward me. “Jeez, Hannah.” He half laughs. “First time drinking?”

  He lifts a hand like he’s going to pat my back, but I don’t want him touching me.

  “Fine,” I choke out, even as I fight not to burst into tears.

  Why is Maddox toying with me like this? Is it not enough that he pretended like I didn’t exist when I was at my most vulnerable? Can’t he just keep doing that? Keep pretending our stupid fucking week together never happened?

  “Hannah?” Maddox’s voice is deeper than Brandon’s, and it holds no humor.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat, not making eye contact with either of them.

  I don’t want anyone helping me. I don’t need anyone to help me.

  “Hate when it goes down the wrong pipe.” Brandon chuckles at my side.

  I clear my throat as gently as possible, needing the attention to move away from me. And thankfully Brandon turns back to his previous conversation.

  I touch my fingers to the corners of my eyes.

  Hold it together.

  “Hannah.” Maddox says my name quieter this time.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say as I slip out of my chair.

  I spotted the sign for the restrooms on the walk to the table, so I make a beeline for them now.

  A tear drips from the corner of my eye.

  Then a second follows.

  I press my hand flat against the ladies’ room door and push it open.

  A woman is at the sink, but I keep my face tipped down and walk to the farthest stall so I can have my mental breakdown in private.

  FIFTEEN

  MADDOX

  Guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I watch Hannah brush at her eyes while she hurries toward the bathrooms. Away from me.

  I like ham and cheese sandwiches, but I’d be lying if I said I ordered that for any other reason than to get a rise out of Hannah.

  But I figured I’d get a spark of indignation. Some sort of defiance.

  I expected her to pretend like she didn’t understand the reference. Or maybe for her to not remember at all.

  I didn’t expect to see her face fall the way it did. Didn’t expect to see so much hurt fill her eyes.

  I didn’t mean to make her cry.

  “You like ham and cheese?”

  “Yeah.” She eyes me like it’s a trick question.

  I hold one of the sandwiches out. “Here, I don’t need all three.”

  “How’d you know I’d be on this floor?” Hannah looks around at our little corner of the university library. “And how’d you beat me?”

  Satisfaction blooms in my chest. She’s not running away from me this time. “Lucky guess. And athlete, remember?”

  I see the moment she decides to give me a chance.

  Hannah steps forward. And I smile.

  So long ago, but I can still picture it like it just happened. I can still feel the way she made me feel.

  I look at the empty seat across from me. How did she have such an impact on me?

  “Don’t worry about her. She’s resilient,” Brandon comments. And it makes me want to crush his wrist bones with my fist.

  Because I know she is. She twisted her ankle, injured her nose, and almost fell off a step stool when I first met her. And not once did she ask for help. I had to pluck her from the air myself.

  Brandon lifts a shoulder, like I asked him a question. “We’ve known each other a while now.”

  Known each other.

  He’s trying to make it sound like they’re a couple. But I know they aren’t. I can tell from Hannah’s body language that she doesn’t like him. Not like that.

  Doesn’t mean she didn’t sleep with him in the past.

  “Hmm” is all I respond with, because I’m pretty sure this prick is trying to gaslight me.

  Another few minutes pass, and what started as guilt morphs into worry.

  She’s been gone too long.

  I shift my legs, preparing to push my chair back, when Hannah appears in my line of sight.

  She’s so fucking pretty.

  Her hair is up in a ponytail that sits high on the back of her head, and it allows me to see all of her beautiful face as she gets closer.

  Hannah smiles at one of the servers she passes, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  But fake or not, she keeps the smile in place as she approaches.

  Her cheeks are free of tears, and her makeup doesn’t look smudged.

  I glance at her purse as she hooks it to the back of her chair.

  Did she fix her makeup?

  Lowering herself into her chair, she flicks her eyes to me, and I see it.

  Her mascara is perfect, her eyeliner is intact, but her eyes are bloodshot.

  She’s been crying.

  That guilt expands.

  I made Hannah cry.

  But why the fuck does the mention of a sandwich make her cry?

  I grit my teeth together.

  This speculation is ridiculous. I just need to talk to her.

  SIXTEEN

  HANNAH

  Settled in my chair, I can feel Maddox staring at me.

  I want to ignore him, spend the rest of lunch looking anywhere else, but I force myself to meet his gaze.

  His lips part like he might say something, but I mouth the word don’t.

  There is literally nothing he can say or ask me in this setting that would make my current mental situation better.

  He shuts his jaw, and I have one second to stress over the fact that I just silently snapped at my new boss. But then my favorite server in the world shows up, distracting everyone with food.

  All the side conversations cut off as the plates are set down.

  The heartache half of me isn’t hungry. But the half of me that’s starting to feel more angry than hurt knows that not eating will only draw attention to myself.

  After unrolling my silverware, I set the napkin on my lap and pick up my wrap.

  By my second bite, Brandon starts posturing and asking Maddox questions about the solar industry.

  And by my fifth bite, it’s obvious to everyone, except maybe Brandon, that Maddox shouldn’t be underestimated. He might be an asshole, but he’s no one’s fool.

  Maddox picks up a fry from his plate, and I realize his fancy ham and cheese sandwich is already gone.

  That first time we had food together, I teased him about how fast he ate.

  I let my eyes lift to his, and he shrugs a shoulder, like he’s acknowledging what I’m thinking.

  It’s another reminder of our past, but this one doesn’t spear me in the heart like his food order did. This detail just feels… familiar.

  As I finish my lunch, Brandon spends the next thirty minutes interrupting our coworkers to show off his own knowledge.

  I’m embarrassed on Brandon’s behalf, but the interrogation gives me a chance to put everything that happened earlier out of my brain.

  Maddox’s expression after he placed his order and I started coughing for my life didn’t look fake. I don’t think he meant to send me into a spiral. He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it.

  I’m trying to do us both a favor by pretending there’s no history between us. I can’t think of a single reason why he wouldn’t do the same.

  “Did you know the first solar panel was invented in 1883?”

  Maddox gives Brandon the slowest blink I’ve ever seen before he replies in the driest voice. “You don’t say.”

  A small laugh tries to break free, but I clear my throat to cover it.

  Maddox narrows his eyes at me, but I pretend not to notice.

  It’s clear these two dislike each other, even if I don’t understand why. But Maddox is doing a better job of not looking like a moron.

  SEVENTEEN

  MADDOX

  As a group, we walk out of the restaurant and to the parking lot next door while the melted Gruyère and smoked ham sit like a rock in my stomach.

  I want to tell Hannah to ride back to the office with me. Want to demand it, really. But singling her out now would put a spotlight on her. And even if I’m still a little bitter about her disappearing on me, I’m not looking to out our history in front of our colleagues. This issue between us is only between us.

  I lift my hand in a wave as some of the guys call out their goodbyes.

  I was planning to go back to the office. But maybe I won’t.

  “It’s the BMW,” Brandon says as he points to what must be his car.

  It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes when he looks my way.

  First, I would bet my left lung he made sure everyone knew he drove a BMW on the trip over here. No way this fucking tool didn’t mention it a minimum of six times.

  Second, is he seriously trying to show off to me? Money doesn’t mean shit. Not as far as someone’s character is concerned. But I played pro ball. For a dozen years. A simple search online will tell you how much I made each year.

  Hint: it was a lot. Like a fucking lot. And I was smart with it. Invested, saved, didn’t buy multiple houses or blow money on boats or other dumb shit. So now, I have even more.

  I nod to Brandon. “They make good cars.”

  I don’t buy new cars every year. But I did buy one this year.

  Stopping next to my vehicle, I try really hard not to smirk. Because I drive a BMW too. Or at least I drove mine today; this is hardly the only vehicle I own.

  Brandon’s car is more practical, with four doors versus my two. But costing approximately four times more than his, mine is more fun.

  He does a double take, and I swear his lower lip thins.

  I’d never shame someone for what they drive, but Brandon deserves a little humiliation.

  Maybe we can arrange a company game of dodgeball, and I can chuck something at his face.

  It’d make me feel better. And from the looks he was getting today, I don’t think I’d be the only one aiming for him.

  I imagine Hannah taking her own shot at him, and it almost makes me grin.

  I climb into my car and wait while everyone splits between Brandon’s car and the midsize SUV another guy drove over.

  The SUV goes first, then Brandon, and then I pull out.

  Traffic isn’t too bad, so we stay in a row as we move down the street.

  I decide I might as well head back with everyone else, so I continue to follow along.

  The light ahead of us turns yellow, and the SUV goes through, but Brandon stops just as it turns red.

  I drum my fingers on the wheel, pleasantly surprised he didn’t try to blow through the light. And glad because he has Hannah in there with him. If he put her in danger with reckless driving, I’d do more than embarrass him.

  Leaning forward, I try to see Hannah through the back window. But she’s in the front passenger seat, and she’s short enough that her form is hidden by the seat and headrest.

  The light turns green, and Brandon’s car jerks forward. Clearly, he stomped on the gas.

  “Fuckin —” I lift my foot off the brake as I start to curse the idiot, but then it happens.

  A car crossing from the right is trying to run their red light at the same time Brandon is trying to jump the green. And they collide.

  Hannah.