My head jerks up. I look around the crowded room—the same room she’s in, and… there. At a table tucked away in the corner, under one of Maverick Miller’s jerseys, is Hannah.
The universe has a sense of fucking humor.
I lock my phone, finishing off my beer.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, and Mikal blinks at me.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Just need to help a friend with something.” I hop off my stool and smile. “I’ll be quick.”
“He has friends?” Parker asks, and, it’s a valid question, because, no. I don’t have a ton of friends, but Hannah has somehow become one of them.
And I don’t like how sad she looks.
I dodge a group of drunk finance bros and round the bar. I run a hand through my hair then push the sleeves of my sweater up my arms, warm and loose from that first drink. Hannah exchanges her phone for a mozzarella stick, enjoying a long pull of the cheese.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask, and she nearly falls out of her chair. “Easy, Tiny Everett. It’s just me.”
“Brody?” she sputters. “What are you doing here?”
“Told you I was out at a bar.”
“And it’s the same bar where I am?”
“What a coincidence.” I sit across from her and swipe a mozzarella stick from the basket. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Your date stood you up?”
“I wouldn’t call it a date. We’ve talked on a dating app a few times, and we were meeting up to see what our connection was like in person.” Hannah dusts off her hands and shrugs. “I guess I wasn’t her type.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“My biggest fear is finding out she walked in, saw what I looked like, and left.”
“If she did walk in, she wouldn’t have left. She would’ve come over and stolen one of your mozzarella sticks. Struck up a conversation. Found a way to keep you talking.” I dunk the appetizer in the cup of marinara sauce. “You’re the best-looking person in this bar.”
“You’re just saying that.” A throaty laugh. A lift of her highball glass and the sip of what smells like whiskey neat. “And buttering me up so I’ll let you eat my food.”
“Hannah.” I lean over the table, tapping her elbow. She freezes. “Do I look like the kind of man who would butter someone up?”
Her lips part. Her eyes move from my hair to my chin. Lower, to my throat and down to my chest. She takes her time, and when she finds whatever she’s searching for, her mouth quirks up with a smile.
“No,” she says slowly. “You look like the kind of man who says exactly what he’s thinking and gets whatever he wants.”
“Not always.” I pull my hand away, knuckles rapping on the table to give them something to do. “It’s her loss.”
“You know what? Yeah, it is her loss.” Hannah snorts. “The first red flag was her name.”
“Uh oh. What’s wrong with her name?”
“People with J names tend to bring on higher disappointment than the other twenty-five letters. I’ve never met a Justin I liked.”
“You know what?” I nod in agreement. “I haven’t either.”
“Cheers to that. Wow. I can’t believe you’re here. I like seeing you—” Hannah waves her hand in my direction with a smile. “Like this.”
