Page 7 of Second Chance Saloon

Jackie wrinkled her nose and sniffed, the southern drawl of their chemistry professor pulling her from the gloomy what-ifs for a moment. She tilted her head, gazing out of the tall window.

Screw Columbia. It was their loss.

“Psst. Jacks.”

She bowed her head toward Lyla, who happened to be not only her roommate, but also the only girl she had spoken with for longer than five minutes so far.

“That hot cowboy can’t take his eyes off you,” Lyla whispered next to her ear.

Jackie’s cheeks heated. Funny how she didn’t need to look up to know exactly who Lyla meant. Even funnier that Mitch—the clumsy, cute, wannabe cowboy from Portland she’d met last week during freshman orientation—was in most of her classes.

“He’s not a cowboy,” she mouthed back. “He’d just like to be one.”

Lyla covered her face with a freshly manicured hand, chuckling into her palm. “I bet you could show him a thing or two about that.”

Jackie sighed, straightening against the hard back of her chair. She pointedly avoided glancing into the corner where she knew Mitch sat.

Jackie had already been aware of his presence, having spotted him as they filed into the lecture hall. She was in mid-confident stride toward him and two other guys chatting animatedly about something, when he ducked behind a pillar like he wanted to hide from her.

No. Why would he do that? He’d said he wanted to go out with her, that day they met outside the dorms. True, he had since made no effort to contact her to discuss said date, even though he knew where she lived and had her phone number. But surely, he’d been interested, right? She couldn’t have misread the signs that day. His bashful grin, the way he raked his hand through his golden hair, the way his green eyes shimmered when they met hers … No, she definitely hadn’t imagined all that. He was into her, she had no doubt. So, why hadn’t he texted her?

Jackie chewed on her bottom lip, taking a sharp inhale. There was no way she would pine after a boy who had no desire to make a move. She was Jacqueline van Moetlier. Prom queen, state champion barrel racer and valedictorian—not necessarily in that order. She knew her worth and wouldn’t let anyone rain on her parade of great experiences during freshman year.

“Y’all are dismissed. Read chapters one to four from the textbook. See you on Thursday!”

People stood, feet and bags shuffling toward the door.

Jackie squared her shoulders, threw an unopened notebook and a black pen into her leather satchel, and shot up like a bullet. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she told Lyla, not turning to look at her. Her full attention focused on the six feet of walking muscle with a mop of dark blond hair.

You were meant to stop pining after a guy.

Jackie sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Screw it. No one leads me on.

She jogged to catch up with him and tapped his shoulder. “Mitch.”

He whirled round, his green eyes widening. “Jackie. Hi.”

Mitch grinned and a furious layer of hot bubbling annoyance lit up her insides. “Hi? Seriously? I asked you out, you ignored me for a week and now all you’ve got to say is hi?”

He winced, awkwardly shifting his weight between both feet. “I’m sorry.”

Pouting, Jackie folded her arms across her chest. “And?”

“And?”

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“The rest of … ?” Mitch blinked, his brows knitted together in confusion.

She huffed. “Your apology.”

He took a step back, visibly stunned. “That was it. There’s no more to it. I got caught up between starting swimming and settling in. Before I knew it, a week had passed.” He stepped closer to her. “I was going to text you today.”

She bit back a smile. “You were?”

He was as easy on the eyes as he’d been the day they’d met. His Oregon drawl was such a nice contrast to every guy she had ever gone out with back in high school.