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“Well at least I’ll have someone by my side for all time.” She leaned into Bruno, who sat next to her, stiff as a statue. “Imagine having no one in your life to rely on when your sick or lonely or have a bad day.”

At this, Bruno’s uncomfortable body language slumped. He agreed and when I looked around the table everyone else did too.

It made my hackles raise, but instead of reaching for a comeback or a snarky response, I took my nearly empty drink to the bar without another word.

This bar was a local oyster joint, live music playing in the back, cringey tourists in one corner and rowdy sports guys in the other. But the drinks were strong and they supposedly had the best hush puppies, so I could overlook those little unpleasantries.

It’d be a hell of a lot nicer if I wasn’t here with my coworkers. Maybe I’ll come back further into the fall and enjoy the bar when tourist season was long done.

I looped around the bar at the center of the dining room and sat on the opposite side so I was out of sight of my colleagues. The bartender walked by and took my card and order, then I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes to finally relax. The pub was right on the pier and fresh ocean air blew through the restaurant. Despite living just a few miles from the beach, I rarely went. During the school year, I was too tired to go, and during the summer it was too crowded. But maybe that’s the change I’ll make for this school year. Creating lesson plans on the beach could make it more bearable, right?

“Um, excuse me, ma’am,” some guy to my right said. Annoyed, I turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. It was one of the rowdy sports boys, though boy was not an accurate word for him. This guy was toned as fuck, calves and biceps, so whatever sport his palm tree logo was for, he must take it pretty damn seriously. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to show off his muscles and that’s why he played.

“I’m really sorry, but do you mind if I sit right next to you? I wanna be out of sight from my teammates and this is the only spot that gets me completely out of view.” He gave me an awkward smile, nodding to the stool to my right, blue eyes big like a puppy dog’s.

Well, he’s cute and didn’t immediately hit on me, so where’s the harm?

“Sure.” I shrugged, then nodded to the empty seat, scooting so all his lankiness had space and I wouldn’t accidentally get hit in the face. But he folded himself into the seat like a gentleman, no man-spreading or shifting so his leg touched mine.

Another point to this guy for being, at the very least, a decent human being.

“So why do you need to hide from your …” I hummed as I tried to remember what those sports teams in college were called. “Intramural league?”

I turned to look back at the guy and his lips were twisted into a thin line, cheeks puffed like he was trying not to laugh.

“What? Is that, like, the college version of it and I’ve accidentally offended you?”

“No, no, not at all,” he said, finally laughing and waving a hand in front of him. Then he got a little sheepish, red tinting his cheeks, and said, “I’m not … no, we’re not an intramural league.”

“So you’re …” I prompted. And when he didn’t answer, just kept on with that cute blush and smile, I prodded, “Are you seriously not gonna tell me? ’Cause I will google it.”

“It’s just kind of embarrassing to say it after you called it an intramural league.” He scratched the back of his head, shaking up the scruff of brown hair. I wasn’t buying the coy act at all. So I pulled out my phone and googled the text on his shirt.

Destin Dastards. What kind of guys picked the name Dastard? They’re either incredibly cocky or …

“You’re a professional team?” I nearly shouted as their homepage popped up with this guy's face as the first image result. And the results from their game just hours ago. Three to one. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.”

Not really interested in the sport thing, I set my phone back on the bar. “So why’re you avoiding your teammates? Or do you call them coworkers since you’re a professional?”

“Teammates, mostly. And … they’re worried I’m not adjusting to our new coach well.” He sighed and rested his elbows on the bar, head in his hands.

“Well … are you?” I asked and his head popped up.

“What?”

“Are you having a hard time adjusting? Is a new coach a big deal?”

“It’s the middle of the season,” he huffed with a little laugh. He turned to look at me and the exasperation quickly faded. He must’ve clocked that I had zero clue what he was talking about and softened. “Yeah, it’s a really big deal.”

“Okay, so y’all went through a big change and your coworkers are checking in on you, so what?”

“Well,” he huffed. “I’m the captain.”

“Okay, and?”

His brow furrowed as he looked at his drink, twisting it in his large hands.