“Good, good.”Bill held out one hand to me, so I took it and shook.
“Was just talking about the old Friday night lights,” Arthur said.
“It’s different these days.No one wants to play football anymore,” Bill lamented.
“Can you blame ’em?”Arthur launched into another screed about CTE.
Which, by the way, Iwasincredibly grateful to have avoided.Even playing quarterback, I’d bounced my head off the field and other players more than I cared to remember.But this was exactly why I hated going to stuff like this in the first place.
The bartender set my drinks down, and I scooped them up fast.“Nice to meet you, sir.Just gonna take this to Mom.See you over there.”It was as brief as I could get without being impolite.Neither of them seemed to care much, as they went back to their high school football chatter and I darted around the corner into the main event space.
And promptly ran smack into someone.My drink slipped and splattered on his shirt, but I kept the vodka soda upright somehow.“Oh shit.Sorry!”I said, looking for a place to put the drinks down so I could help the guy.How I was gonna do that, no idea, but one problem at a time.
“Ah, it’s fine.Not the first time I’ve come home from a wedding smelling like—” He paused.Cocked his head and stared at me.
I flushed from my toes to the top of my head and blurted, “Diego.”
“Wow.Still remember my name, Kovacs?”A slow smile spread across his angular face.“And here I was sure you’d forgotten all about me.”
Oh damn.Oh holy shit.I hadn’t thought about Diego Marsh in—
Okay, I thought about Diego Marsh regularly.Who was I kidding?
“I’m so sorry,” I tried again.My cocktail was all down the front of his shirt.Of course he wasn’t wearing a tie, just a slightly open pale pink button-down.His shoulders had gotten bigger.So had his arms.Huh.Must’ve started working out after high school.
“Don’t worry about it.I have a spare in the car.”He stepped back and looked me over, hazel-green eyes glittering in the ridiculous mood lighting.
“Can I go get it for you or something?”I didn’t even know what I was saying, I was so spun up now.The last, the absolute last person I would’ve expected at some hometown wedding was Diego I’m-Gonna-Go-To-New-York-And-Get-Famous Marsh, dammit.
“You can come with me, if you want.”He raised both eyebrows, starting to look obnoxiously amused.“Good excuse to get the fuck out of this purple hellscape for a minute.”
I sighed in something like relief.“It’s brutal.”
“I’m gonna get a drink.You look like you need another one.”He fixed his gaze on my half-spilled whiskey.
“Ah, probably.I just gotta get this one to Mom.”I lifted the vodka soda.
“And the bride and groom will arrive shortly.Yay,” he deadpanned.Then smiled, just a little upturn at the corners of his full, pretty mouth.
I’d thought I was pulling up, but the smile sent me back into a tailspin.Remembering the way that mouth had looked in the dark.The way it’d felt against mine.You’d think eight years would give me enough time to forget, but now his mouth was right in front of me, I couldn’t stop remembering.
“Meet me out front after the bridal party is announced,” he said.
And before I could reply, he stepped around me and into the bar.I turned, watching his retreat and trying not to check if he still had that goddamn adorable bubble butt.But I couldn’t, and he did.
Face flaming, I made my way through the increasingly crowded tables and back to Mom.
Slowly, steadily, I got a hold of myself as the usual reception antics began.While the bridesmaids entered to blaring Taylor Swift, I swallowed what little whiskey I’d salvaged.As everyone was cheering for the happy couple, I reminded myself I was a grown-ass adult who was way past all that high school and college insecurity crap.I had a good job and liked my life, as far as everyone here knew.Even if I was a big old football flop.
I’d just about calmed myself down by the time everyone settled in for the Champagne toast.I leaned over to Mom and whispered, “Back in a minute,” then ducked out as fast as I could.
It was either that, or chicken out.And why?Oh, not because of Diego, who’d always been a cool guy.Because of me, because I owed him an apology or twelve.And not about spilling my drink on him.
When I stepped out into the twilight, Diego was already there, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the brick wall.He pushed off it and nodded toward the parking lot.“Just over here.”
“Sorry again,” I said, trying to think of twelve other ways to say it but with more feeling and sincerity.
“Like I said, any excuse.Cigarette?”
