I can see the tiny line between his eyebrows that only shows up when he’s overwhelmed. I can see him trying to figure out what version of me he’s about to meet.
Honestly? Same.
His hair is shorter than when we were together, and he has more tattoos. The same intense eyes, as always. He’s still the hottest man I’ve ever seen. My body betrays me just by being near him.
He stops a few feet away. Close enough that my body remembers how being held by him felt, which is deeply rude of it.
“Lola,” he says.
Soft. Careful.
I remember how he’d whisper my name, his body arching over mine. He’d stare at me, driving into my body. I remember how his body grew taut as he let go, and how beautiful he looked in those moments.
I remember everything.
“Hi, Tully,” I say. “Crazy seeing you here.”
Surprise splits across his face. “It shouldn’t be,” he says, laughing slightly under his breath, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Since this is my family’s resort,” he adds.
I stare at him in shock. “What?”
He scans my face, as if he’s trying to discern whether I’m telling the truth or not, and then his gaze turns to Patrick, and his whole demeanor shifts. He looks like he does when he’s ready to get in the face of the competition on the ice. That’s when I turn to Patrick and see him smirking at Tully.
“Did you know?” I ask.
His lips lift slightly, but he doesn’t look at me; he just keeps watching Tully.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I knew.”
The words land like a slap I can’t react to, not here, not with Tully right in front of us.
My pulse hammers in my throat.
The muscle in Tully’s jaw jumps. He straightens, all six three of him uncoiling like he’s stepping onto the ice for a shift against the Dallas Suns.
Patrick tips his chin toward Tully.
“Long way from the arena, huh, Whitman?” The words are light, almost friendly. The edge underneath could cut glass. “You almost look like a soft lumberjack out here.”
Tully’s nostrils flare. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to close the distance, say something that’ll turn this garden into a highlight reel brawl. But he swallows—visibly, deliberately—and forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Some of us know how to behave in public, Patrick.” His voice is low, controlled. “You should try it sometime.”
The air between them crackles.
I can’t breathe properly.
I keep my face blank, my hands loose at my sides, and the scream locked behind my teeth while they stare each other down. Tully’s gaze cuts back to me. Something flickers there, or maybe it’s just the same stupid muscle memory I’m fighting. Then he nods once, short and sharp, and turns away before walking back to the bench.
I hear him say, “Love you, Grandma Donna. Thanks for the chat.”
His grandma.I feel her eyes on me now, and I give her a quick smile. She’s adorable, and I wish I were meeting her under different circumstances. Tully walks past her, and I turn to walk in the opposite direction, toward the resort.
Patrick exhales through his nose. “Classy as ever.”
I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice yet.
When we reach the resort, Patrick tries to talk to me before we go inside. I lift my hand.
