A second later, a picture popped up.
Savannah barely had time to process before her entire soul left her body.
Chase—Standing next to Mallory, looking unfairly, illegally good.
The black button-up stretched just right across his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up, showcasing those strong forearms and tattoos she had once traced with her fingers. Worn jeans that fit too well, just distressed enough to be effortlessly attractive. And the boots—because of course, Chase was still a boots guy.
But it was the hat that did her in.
A simple, old baseball cap, pulled low enough that his ocean-blue eyes glowed beneath the dim bar lighting.
Savannah stared at the picture, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting.
And then, without thinking, she did the dumbest thing possible.
She zoomed in. Why did she zoom in?!
Mallory’s text bubble popped up again.
Mallory:Sav? You still breathing?
No. No, she was not.
She scrambled to type back, her fingers betraying her at every turn.
Savannah:This was a mistake.
Savannah:I cannot physically handle this.
Savannah:Mallory, I will pass away.
Mallory:lol.
Mallory:Listen, babe, if you don’t get your ass in here, I might just keep him for myself.
Savannah gasped.
Savannah:You wouldn’t dare.
Mallory:Try me.
Savannah groaned, letting her head fall back against the headrest.
This was so much worse than she had expected.
The plan was supposed to give her the upper hand. He was supposed to be out of his element, off balance. Instead, Chase was thriving. Gus and Earl loved him, Mallory was too comfortable, and now she was sitting here like a wreck because—
Because damn it, she wasn’t over him.
Not even a little.
Her phone buzzed again.
Mallory:Savannah. Get in here. Now.
Savannah exhaled sharply.
This was it. Time to face him.
