She pulls back, her eyes comically wide. “Oh my God, tell meeverything!”
I deadpan. “Your boyfriend is the world’s biggest d-bag.”
“Jeeze, say it to my face next time,” a low voice says from behind me.
I spin around to find Logan right there, a glass of wine in one hand, a beer in the other.
“Thanks, baby.” Millie takes the beer with a sweet smile, craning up on her toes to press a kiss to his smirking lips.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking the glass of wine from Logan and gulping two big mouthfuls of crisp Savvy b.
“So, what’d I do now?” Logan asks, wrapping an arm around Millie and pulling her in close.
“Oh, not you, babe,” Mille assures him, patting his chest. “Myotherboyfriend. Brookes Devereaux.”
Logan looks from me to Millie and back again, clearly confused, understandably.
“He’s in town, and they’re filming some interviews and stuff with him for his special leading up to the Masters,” I explain.
“TheBrookes Devereaux!” Logan almost shouts, his eyes wider than Millie’s.
I grimace. “Oh God, not you too.”
“The guy is a legend,” Logan guffaws. “He beat Tiger Woods’ longest drive by one fucking yard. One. His back swing has been studied. He’s like… not human.”
Frankly, I’m not sure why he keeps going. Can he not see the disgust written all over my face? I glance at Millie for some help, and thankfully she understands, gently slapping her hand over Logan’s chest again.
“No, babe. We don’tlikeBrookes Devereaux anymore,” she says slowly. “Brookes Devereaux is a—” She looks at me. “What was it you called him?”
“A chauvinistic, misogynist dude-bro with tiny-dick energy,” I say without missing a beat.
Logan blinks at me, and for a moment I think he understands, but then he looks at Millie. “Forbessaid Brookes Devereaux is on track to be the highest earning golfer by next year, and he has at least another five years of pro-level competition left in him. By the time he retires, he’ll be a billionaire. He’s basically the Taylor Swift of golf.”
“Wait… I thought this was Ned’s.” I make a point of looking around the bar before spearing Logan with a droll look. “I didn’t realize I stumbled upon the annual Brookes Devereaux Fan Club convention.”
Millie giggles while Logan at least has the decency to look sheepish. Rolling my eyes, I take my wine and turn, walking straight into Emily, Dallas Shaw’s fiancée, and Millie’s soon-to-be sister-in-law.
“Hey, beautiful.” Emily beams, pulling me in for a hug.
“Hey!” I glance sideways, noticing Happy still hunched over his beer with a cloud looming heavily over his head. And I love Emily—she’s literally the sweetest human ever—but there’s something seriously nagging at me to go over and see that he’s okay. So unlike me. Maybe I’m coming down with something…
“You missed a good game,” Emily says.
Dallas Shaw, Thunder goalie and Millie’s older brother, comes up behind her, snaking a hand around her waist and scoffing. “Yeah, except forsomeonealmost giving away the W in the last thirty fuckin’ seconds. Thank God for the quick OT goal.”
I follow Dallas’ line of sight, looking back at Happy again. As if he knows he’s being talked about, Happy lifts his chin, and that’s when I see the gash that splits the bridge of his nose and the beginning of two black eyes.
I gasp, turning back to Emily and Dallas. “What happened to him? He doesn’t drop gloves.”
Dallas throws his head back on a barking chortle, and Emily spears him with a warning look. Clearing his throat, Dallas tamps his grin. “He fucked up, fell for Jenkins’s deke, let through an easy goal, and then seemingly forgot how to skate and collected the cross bar with his face.”
“Poor guy,” Emily says softly, looking at Happy with a sad smile. “I think he’s really embarrassed.”
“He’s notembarrassed,” Dallas rebuts, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s Happy fuckin’ Slater. Yo, Hap?”
Happy looks up again, quirking a brow.
“C’mon over here, bud, and let me buy you a beer.”
