Rein looks at me, like he's amused that I haven't changed. But if that's the impression he's under, he's in for a rude awakening because I have changed in a lot of ways since our friendship ended. My new number one rule: never let anyone fuck me over…no matter how close we are.
He takes a slow sip of his Coke. "Thanks for agreeing to this."
I shrug. "You did ram into me and almost kill me."
Rein grins. "I barely touched your bumper."
"But have I told you yet that bumper is lined with gold on the inside? It's going to be a very expensive fix. I hope you're on the highest insurance tier."
His grin turns into a smile, and I despise myself for how much I love seeing it. How much just sitting down with the guy feels so damn good. Just like old times.
But we're not in the past, we're in the now, and a Coke and some loaded fries can't gloss over the decade and a half of pain and hurt and confusion he caused. He broke my fucking heart.
"What brings you back home?" he asks, lifting a fry, eyeing the pickled jalapeños like they're aliens with multiple heads.
"Some business."
"Oh."
The muscle in his jaw ticks, another tell, this one foritchingto know what sort of business. Maybe it's petty of me, but I don't feel like getting into the details with him. I don't owe him anything.
"What about you?"
"Visiting family. And some business of my own."
I fork the fries a little more aggressively than needed, topping them off with two pickled jalapeños, mad at myself for wanting to know more while happily depriving him of the same.
It's strange, sitting across from someone who once knew me better than anyone and is now a complete stranger. I'm not bitter about the accident or that it killed my pro career. When I recovered, I moved into coaching. Yeah, it was in the minor league, and people might look down their noses at it, but it makes me happy.
Unlike the memories I have of my former friend and what he did after the accident.
I let out a disgruntled sigh.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
3
Rein
"Kay… Moof—move outta the way. Outta the way. S’my turn now." I nudge/shove Beau aside with my hip and flip through the song selection for something, anything, other than heavy metal or country. I swear, for a gay dude his taste in music issuperbad. "Karaoke was a brilliant idea, BTW. Just sayin'," I tell him before squinting at the song titles. Why are they all so blurry? And why aren't they in English?
"Karaoke was your idea," Beau says, smiling as he flips the song menu the right way up. "Better?"
"Ah. Yeah."
Slightly.
The server shows up with another tray of shots. Our fourth? Seventh? Beau eyes them and lets out a lowyikes.
"Do we need more alcohol?" he asks in a way that suggests he thinks the answer to that ishell no.
Ignoring him, I thumb through the song menu until… "Ooh. I've got it. Spice Girl'sWannabe."
"Yep. More alcohol will definitely be needed." He answers his own question and tips the server a twenty even though I've already told him everything is on the house since my family owns this resort and casino, and my sister runs the entire operation.
I didn't say that last part out loud since he already knows that, and the less we talk about our families, the better. That was a winning formula for our friendship back in the day, so why mess with it now?
We down two shots. Each.
