“Okay, I give up,” Mollie said with a little shrug. “What is it that I neglected to tell you?”

His gaze flicked over her just briefly. “You look…different.”

Mollie burst out laughing. “Jackson, no offense, but that’s the most constipated non-compliment I’ve ever heard.”

“Shit. I mean you look good. Or something. Or…” He glanced at his half-empty cocktail. “I’m going to need another drink.”

Mollie took pity on him and reached out to pat his arm. “Short version, I lost a bet to my best friend.”

“Kim.”

Mollie nodded. “Yup. We had a bet going over who would get the final rose on The Bachelor, and—”

“Wait, do they show The Bachelor on Animal Planet?”

She made a face, although she did like Animal Planet. “Anyway, I lost, so she got to give me a makeover. Blond highlights, overpriced mascara, new wardrobe, the whole bit.” Mollie shrugged. “Turns out I sort of like the new look.”

Jackson put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, looking adorably nervous. “You looked fine—”

Mollie rolled her eyes and interrupted him. “If you’re about to tell me that I looked fine before, I will punch you.”

“You looked fine before.”

She punched him on the arm, and he grinned, relaxing slightly. “You look great. Seriously. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

Now it was her turn to grin. “I know.”

She couldn’t help the little thrill that gave her. Not that she wanted to be a stranger to him, but it had been fun. Fun to get a mini makeover. To imagine what it would have been like if this had been their first-ever meeting. Two single people meeting in a bar…

Don’t go there, Mollie. You’re done with that.

The bartender approached. “Miss, can I get you something to drink?”

“Champagne, please,” she said with a smile.

When she glanced back at Jackson, his lips were tilted at the corners in amusement.

“What?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

He shook his head. “Just remembering the first time you had champagne. You looked like it was the most magical thing you’d ever tasted. It was—”

“At your wedding,” she said quietly. “I remember. Long time ago.”

His smile disappeared. “Tell me about it.”

They fell silent, and Mollie stifled a sigh at the damage her sister had done to a man who’d once let everything roll off him. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off…

“Okay, enough about me and my discovery of lipstick,” she said, keeping her tone light. “How are you?”

He took a sip of his drink and didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m good. I’m really good.”

Acting on instinct before she could think better of it, Mollie reached out and touched the back of his hand. “Jackson. It’s me.”

His gaze flew back to hers, his greenish eyes searching her face.

She held her breath, hoping he’d find whatever it was that he was looking for. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly, before his eyes moved to where her fingers touched the back of his hand.

Mollie wondered if she was making him uncomfortable, but decided she didn’t care. She was a toucher. A hugger. A feeler. Jackson Burke had best get used to it.

“How are you?” she asked again, her voice softer.

He blew out a long breath. “Honestly, Molls? Fucking miserable.”

Her heart twisted in her chest at the raw honesty of his words, even as she silently celebrated that he was confiding in her.

Mollie’s gaze drifted to his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not so much,” he said, staring straight ahead as he took a sip of his drink. “Not if I don’t move it much.”

Not if I don’t play football was what he wasn’t saying, and Mollie’s heart squeezed again.

A mere eight months ago, Jackson Burke had been the quarterback who not long before had led his team to one of the most-watched Super Bowls of all time. Jackson had been on his way to the first day of training camp when a car accident had changed everything. Mollie had seen pictures of Jackson’s truck. He’d been lucky to walk away.

But she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. News that his right shoulder had taken the worst of the injury would have been an annoyance for most people. Perhaps even a sense of relief that it hadn’t been a neck or leg injury.

But for a right-handed quarterback? A shoulder injury was crushing. Career ending.

And just days after the accident, Madison had filed for divorce.

Which hadn’t been a big surprise, at least to Mollie. The marriage had been in a downward spiral even before the tabloids started speculating about the affairs and the fighting and the separate bedrooms. The divorce had been a long time coming, but her sister’s timing had been cruel. Mollie couldn’t help wondering if Madison had done it on purpose—had waited until Jackson was at his absolute lowest before walking out on him.

Mollie would never forget the stunned, stricken look when she’d gently set those divorce papers on Jackson’s lap as he lay there in the hospital bed, all bandaged and bruised.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m really sorry,” she said now.

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Don’t, Molls. It wasn’t your fault.”

She held his gaze. “I hated that I had to be the one to do it.”