“Shit.” I hold up my phone for Ethan.
“She’s gonna hate that.” Ethan glances at the screen, then takes a snapping bite of pepper as he cleans up the counter. “Izzy doesn’t even like you.”
“I don’t think she likes anything.” Not sure why I say it. I barely know her. “But to be fair, you don’t either, and we put up with your grumpy ass.” I take another gulp of coffee, shoot off a quick text to my PR team for help with this mess, then one to Izzy.
Jack: Thanks for being my pillow.
It’s a dumb thing to say. Judging by how long it takes her to reply, maybe too dumb.
Izzy: How’s your head?
Jack: Still attached.
Izzy: Must be. You’re still annoying.
Jack: Been better.
Izzy: You should rest. Not that you’ll listen.
Jack: If you haven’t seen yet, everyone thinks you’re my girlfriend now.
Izzy: I’ve seen. Had to disable alerts. Phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with mentions.
Jack: Sorry.
Izzy: Really?
Jack: I’ll have my team take care of it.
Jack: Unless you want to be my girlfriend?
Izzy: Hard pass, thanks.
Jack: You didn’t even think about it.
Izzy: Didn’t have to.
“Who are you talking to?” Ethan shuts off the faucet and snaps a towel over his shoulder.
“No one.” I toss my phone down. “When are you going out on the boat?”
“After breakfast. Want to come?”
Since I’m not doing so great on the land, the ocean seems like a bad idea. “Maybe tomorrow.”
It feels different staying with Ethan when I know he shares this place with Sloane. A note he wrote her is on the fridge, tucked under a lighthouse magnet. Her books fill the built-ins. They drove down to New York City to grab the rest of their things a few weeks back. There’s a vase of pink and yellow flowers on the table. So many little reminders that my brother is in love and has a girlfriend. If he had his way, they’d be married by now. He’s only ever loved Sloane.
He’s moving on like a lot of my teammates. They’re getting married and having whole-ass families. And I’m still the good time. The guy you want throwing the bachelor party.
“You need to be careful,” Ethan says suddenly. “You’re only going to be able to take so many hits before that catches up with you. And it sucks when it’s over.”
I know Ethan’s right. So is Coach.
Not that I’ll tell either of them.
“Have you heard from Nolan?”
Ethan slides my plate across the soapstone counter, and I waste no time stabbing my fork through the stack of pillowy potatoes.
