Patrick leans close to my ear. “Are we sure about this?”
I give him a look. “You said you really wanted a burger or fried fish. This looks like the perfect place for that.”
“If you say so.” He laughs and starts guiding us toward the back, where a high-top is open.
And then I see him. My stomach drops so fast it’s almost dizzying. He’s at a booth with three women. They’re laughing, all of them leaning in toward each other like a glossy ad for beautiful women doting on a gorgeous hockey star.
Tully. He was ridiculously hot when we met in college, and in the five years since I last saw him in person, he’s only gotten more devastatingly beautiful. He exudes confidence, cockiness even, but if he’s the same Tully I know, he’s really the most down-to-earth person there is…while also being a sex god.
I can’t believe he’s at the restaurant now too. I’m still not over the fact that Patrick brought me to Windhaven. It took me forever to agree to go out with Patrick, for the single reason that he’s a hockey player. He wore me down with his charm and persistence. But we’ve been dating for five months, and only recently have I realized there’s this thing between him and Tully. Patrick tried to downplay it when I asked if I was imagining his extreme dislike of Tully Whitman.
And from Tully’s expression when he saw Patrick, I’d say the feeling is mutual.
My chest feels cinched tight with a drawstring.
Patrick is still talking, but his voice fades into background static. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
Then the woman across from Tully shifts, turning her face toward me, and my brain stutters.
Oh. Same eyes. Her smile is softer, her posture more relaxed, but they look so similar.
His twin, Goldie.
I’ve seen pictures. On Tully’s Instagram, once, late at night, when I was doing that thing I swore I wouldn’t do anymore. We’ve all done it, right? Cyber-stalked our exes. Tully’s actually the only ex I’ve stalked…but really, he’s so much more than just an ex. It was a birthday post with the captionMy built-in best friend. Side-by-side photos, identical grins.
I remember zooming in, studying both of their faces and all the features they share.
Patrick sees where I’m looking and then freezes. “Should we leave? You just started talking to me again.”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “Why would we leave? I don’t want to be obvious.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“It is not.”
“Lola.”
“I’m fine.” I paste on a smile. “Let’s eat.”
We manage to be seated without alerting Tully and the women to our presence. Our table is at the worst-possible angle—close enough that I can see their table if I turn my head, and far enough that I can almost get away with looking…which of course means I cannot stop looking.
Patrick nudges a menu toward me. “Okay. We order drinks. You get something strong. Mood salvaged.”
I don’t want him saying I need my mood salvaged when he’s the one who put me in this position by bringing me to Windhaven, but I bite my tongue. Again.
A server comes over, and Patrick orders for both of us without even asking me. “Two house margaritas.”
The server nods and walks away before I can say anything.
“I didn’t say I wanted a margarita,” I mutter.
“You always want a margarita.”
“Not here. This is more of a hard cider kind of place.”
He sighs, rubbing his face. “Lola, it’s just a drink.”
“It’s not about the drink. It’s about you making decisions that affect me without discussing them with me.”
