Even though I return Remy’s hug, my attention is held by the other guy, who is scrolling through his phone and doesn’t even look up when Remy stands. He’s slouched in the chair, long legs stretched out, tangled in the legs of the chair opposite him.
He’s got on cargo shorts and a dark blue t-shirt the color of one of those ocean sink holes I’ve seen in the pictures of Belize. That shirt is stretched over his shoulders like someone made it promise on its mother’s grave that it would cling to his shoulders no matter what.
And, yeah, I know t-shirts don’t have mothers. I’m just saying. There’s a kind of desperation required to look that damn good.
I know who the owner of these magnificent shoulders is, of course.
Nick Capsalis.
My brother’s best friend since they went through BUD/S training together. He’s a year or two younger than my brother. Since he has no family left, my parents have practically adopted him. He’s made it to family holidays and visits them when he’s on leave.
He and I have even written back and forth, which felt like the least I could do, since we’ve never met in person due, mostly, to poor timing.
Of course, I expected him to be hot. Most SEALs are. No one stays that fit without looking good. And no one goes through that kind of shit without earning some serious swagger.
Remy guides me over to the table as Nick stands.
Even though I feel like I know Nick, I’m not sure how to greet him. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have that concern. He pulls me into a hug like we’ve known each other for years.
“Hey, Butterscotch,” he murmurs into my hair. “Nice to finally meet you.”
I sock him in the arm. “Enough with that nickname.”
He chuckles. “Hey, I’m going to grab another.”
Remy nods, raising a finger to indicate he wants another. “Did you see the latest in the Saddle Peek?”
Dammit. I just sat down, and he’s already starting with this shit? At least it keeps me from watching Nick walk away like a cartoon with her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
“What latest?” I ask. “The latest about how I’ve driven back into town and stopped at Fuel for Thought so that all the locals could talk about my electric car? Or some different latest?”
“The latest about Trevor.”
Oh. That latest. I wish I had seen it before I left Austin. It would’ve saved me the trip all the way up here. Not to say I wouldn’t have driven up just to see Remy, because I probably would’ve. Unless I could’ve convinced him to come to Austin…
But if wishes were horses and all that.
“Actually, no. I didn’t see the latest about Trevor in the Saddle Peek. He called and told me. But, not until today, when I was already halfway here. The bastard.” I add that last under my breath like a curse.
Nick comes back from the bar with the second round just in time to hear me say the word bastard.
It’s a couple of beers on the table in front of him and Remi, and a glass of wine that I didn’t ask for in front of me.
“Who’s a bastard?” he asks, sliding into his chair across from me. “We talking about Sir Reginald Douche Canoe, Esquire?”
Sir Reginald Douche Canoe, Esquire, is what my brothers and Nick have taken to calling Tripp since the breakup.
I don’t know for sure, but I think Nick came up with it.
“Don’t call him that.” I shoot a glare at Nick.
“I wouldn’t have to call him that if he wouldn’t act like a douche canoe.”
Like the mature adult he is, my brother holds out his bottle in Nick’s direction, and Nick clinks his against it like they’re toasting his clever wordplay.
“But, no. We weren’t talking about Tripp.”
“The bastard in question is Trevor Heisman. He was Cassie’s best friend in high school and he was supposed to go on this vacation to Belize with her.”
