Zach:Not just my plan. Your wife was equally involved. And Madison. Still can’t believe you won’t invite me to the group chat.
Mike:Because somebody has to think logically, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be the guy who tattooed his forearm and chest after the girl broke up with him.
Zach:Just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean we’re broken up.
Mike:Point proven. Liv just got off the phone with her. Despite constantly throwing up, she’s pissed.
Yeah, I know that. I saw the fire burning behind her eyes when she realized it was me handing her a towel. She might be mad now, but I know she’ll come around eventually. No one has ever fought for her the way I’m willing to. If anything, these two weeks will give me a chance to prove to her how much I want her.
Mike:She says to give Honey space tonight, but in a few days she should be okay.
Zach:If this works, I’ll name my firstborn after her.
Mike:Pretty sure Honey would have something to say about naming your kid.
Zach:Fine. Middle name.
Mike:Just don’t fuck this up, Evans. I barely made it through your 3 a.m. “I miss her” tour last year, and I lost the tattoo battle. I’m not doing the sequel.
I grimace at the reminder, the gold ink just peeking through my buttoned-up shirt. I got it in hopes it would convince Honey how serious I was. Yeah, it didn’t help. Still don't regret it, though.
Zach:No promises. But I'm not giving up on her.
Mike:I know. That's why we gave you the damn ticket. You both need to figure your shit out now once and for all.
Zach:I already have. She’s it.
I signal the bartender for another drink just as someone leans on the bar beside me. I don’t bother looking. I know it’s not Honey; therefore I’m not interested.
“Evans?”
Why does that voice sound so familiar—
I turn to look over, surprised to find Drew McCallister from the Santa Monica Rattlesnakes sitting next to me.
“Drew?” I say in confusion.
He smiles widely, signaling to the bartender to bring two of the same drinks as mine. “I knew it was you. That blond hair and square shoulders were a dead giveaway.”
“What are you doing here? The next time I expected to see you was on the field in October.” I certainly didn’t expect to see him here.
I stand and we clasp hands in a half-hug. “I could say the same thing about you.” He grins, settling onto the barstool next to mine. “I’m here to reconnect with the love of my life,” he says casually.
“Love of your—” I pause, remembering the conversation we had over dinner once when I was in sophomore year. “Hold up, are you talking about Coach Summers’s daughter?”
“Yeah.” He eases back a little when the bartender returns with two glasses of whiskey. “I asked her to go on vacation with me, and she said yes.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And you thought coming on a cruise was the best option?”
He shrugs. “My girl has a history of running. I wanted to make sure she had no way of leaving without talking.”
I can relate.
“Why didn't you just take her on a private yacht?”
He narrows his eyes, smirking. “Sounds a little serial killer to me. We haven’t been around each other for longer than a day over the last few years. I wanted to at least give her the option to talk to other people if we get in an argument—which, knowing us, is pretty likely.” He chuckles. “Bella’s feisty.”
“So I’ve heard from Coach.”
