Drew sighed, clearly unperturbed by Tucker’s exasperation. “Christ, you’ve got it worse than I thought.”

Tucker grimaced. Drew had no idea. He was terminal. And the only antidote had just walked away with another man.

…

Della hadn’t planned on coming back to Jack’s, but she’d been sitting at home stewing all night, and she didn’t have to be a genius to know that Tucker wouldn’t be coming to her place tonight to explain himself or otherwise. That little performance at the bar earlier with Bo had been his swan song. It was over.

She’d known it wasn’t forever, but to hell with that. Things weren’t the same between them now as they had been back then—they’d gotten much closer, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. She sure as hell deserved being told face-to-face that they were done, not by passing her off to some other guy.

She sat in the parking lot, her fingers drumming on Jolene’s steering wheel, waiting for the bar’s lights to extinguish and for Tucker to wander out. It might be one in the morning, but she was far from sleepy.

He finally stepped out, and Della saw in the rearview mirror the exact moment that Tucker clocked the presence of Jolene, the only other car in the lot apart from his pickup. He slowed almost to a halt for a beat or two, then squared his big, broad, stupid shoulders and resolutely headed across the lot, his backpack in hand.

Her temper, which had stewed into quite the rage, propelled her out of her vehicle. She slammed the door shut. The night sky was littered with stars as she rounded Jolene and headed for him.

“Tucker.”

Her voice echoed around the empty lot and down Main Street. He barely looked at her as he walked the half dozen paces to his car. “What are you doing here? It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“What, you want to impose a curfew on me now, as well as set me up with random guys?”

The pickup’s door opened, and Tucker tossed in his backpack. The door thunked shut, and he turned to face her. He didn’t let his eyes wander appreciatively over her body like he’d done so freely these past couple of months, he looked straight into her eyes. He was tired, she could tell, but also grittily determined. “What do you want, Della?”

“I want my panties back,” she snapped.

She didn’t want her panties back. Hell, even now, with her heart in pieces, she wanted to ask him to make their stupid temporary deal a permanent one and come home with her. How had this happened? Everything had been going so well, and in the space of an afternoon it had all flipped on its head.