Page 18 of Break Away
“It’s cardio.”
Ryan leaned one elbow on the bar. “He’s coming here tonight.”
“I know,” I said, reaching for a stack of menus and pretending my pulse hadn’t reacted to the sentence like a weak little bitch. “Apparently The Sin Bin is where emotionally damaged athletes go to celebrate embroidery.”
“Embroidery?” Charm asked.
“The C,” Bliss explained.
Charm’s expression shifted, gentle but careful. “Oh.”
I pointed at all three of them. “Nobody do that.”
“Do what?” Bliss asked.
“Make the oh face.”
Charm pressed her lips together.
Ryan glanced toward the door, then back at me. “He’s been a bastard since…well, you know.”
“Ryan,” Bliss said.
“What?” Ryan shrugged. “He has. He knows he has. This isn’t an unknown secret.”
I hated the small, immediate relief that moved through me. It wasn’t forgiveness or even comfort. It was the pathetic little human reaction of hearing someone else admit the man you were pining for hadn’t been the same without you.
“He is entitled to some bastard,” I said, acknowledging my part in it.
“Some,” Ryan agreed. “Not unlimited.”
Bliss watched me closely. “You hear that?”
“I heard it. I’m choosing to ignore how emotionally healthy it was.”
Charm squeezed my arm once before letting go. “Come on Friday. You can sit with us. Cade’s first game back matters. Easton’s captain night matters too, even if he’s making it impossible for you to say that without wanting to throw something at his face.”
“See?” Bliss said. “Charm said it prettier.”
“Charm always says it prettier,” I said, sliding Ryan’s books away from the drink-spill zone. “That’s her curse.”
The front door opened again, and this time it started with volume. A shout came from near the hostess stand, laughter spilled in from the sidewalk, and somebody chanted something about the Fury that made our manager glance up with the dead-eyed look of a man who had already priced out new barstools.
Briggs entered first because he had never met a doorway he didn’t treat like a stage. His black KFU jacket was half-zipped, his blond hair was a mess, and his grin was wide enough to power several small towns and at least one emotionally unstable fan base.
“Bennett!” he shouted.
Bliss pointed a bar spoon at him. “Inside voice, Lawson.”
“This is my inside voice. My outside voice has legal consequences.”
“Everything about you has legal consequences,” I said.
Briggs spun toward me and pressed a hand to his chest. “Aura. Mean as ever. I missed being verbally accosted while ordering motzzi’s.”
“Motzzi’s?” I asked because with Briggs that could be anything.
“Mozzarella sticks.”
