1. Sutton #2
“Does what?” Easton follows my gaze.
“That.” I jut my chin toward them.
“Talking?”
I burst into a fit of giggles just as he looks my way. I turn quickly, then duck my head and scoot a barstool closer to Easton.
“You think he saw me?” I whisper-yell to Easton.
“You mean Hunter?”
“How do you know Hunter?” I hiss.
“College.”
“But you’re old,” I blurt.
“Forty is not old.” He raises his eyebrow. “I got a late start on the college thing. How do you know Hunter?”
“He’s my brother’s best friend.”
“Wait, you’re Luke’s younger sister? Sutton Bradley?” His voice raises too many decibels. “You’re Hunter’s Sutton?”
“Shhhh!” I slap my hand over his mouth. “Jesus, do you want him to hear us? And I am not Hunter’s anything.”
Easton gives a broad smile under the barrier of my hand as something wet spreads along my palm.
I yank my hand away. “EW! Did you just lick me?!”
This time, there’s no muffling his boisterous laugh. “Oh man, I can’t believe I’m sitting at the bar with the infamous Sutton Bradley.”
“Infamous?”
“Oh yeah. That man back there?” He gestures his thumb over his shoulder toward Hunter. “When we were in college, I don’t think he went more than twenty minutes without mentioning your name.”
“Here you both go.” Joe slides our glasses across the bar to our waiting hands.
Caught off guard, my hand hovers over the glass. My cheeks heat up, and my stomach flips, butterflies shooting up again. I can’t help but glance toward Hunter. Hunter used to talk about me? Even in college? Did he have feelings for me then too?
“So.” Easton holds his glass toward me. “What should we celebrate?”
I try to contain my eye roll. Of course this guy loves to cheers. “You pick.”
“To life and new friends.” He taps his glass to mine.
“Cheers.” I toss the smooth liquid down in one go.
I know I shouldn’t look. I know I’m only going to torture myself. But I do it anyway.
They’re still in the corner booth. Hunter looks handsome as per usual. I vaguely recognize the woman, a coworker of his, from the few times I’ve stopped by the police station, but her name escapes me.
Maybe it’s a work thing.
Maybe it’s a date.
Maybe I should be okay seeing him with other women.
Maybe the bulldozer currently running over my heart could calm down.
Maybe I should just tell him that I’ve been in love with him for most of my life.
“So, what brings you out tonight?” Easton asks.
“Oh, you know.” I shrug. “Life. What about you?”
“We’ll just pretend you answered that question.” He laughs. “I’m here visiting and was supposed to meet someone.”
“Supposed to?”
He waves his phone back and forth. “Yep, but I got stood up.”
“Where’d you meet her?” I lean closer to him, bracing my forearms on the bar’s edge.
“Promise not to judge?” He turns his face toward me, the dejection clear as day.
I nod.
“Find Love.”
“Nothing wrong with a dating app,” I say. “How long have you two been talking?”
“Weeks,” he says. “All day, every day.” Easton goes on to tell me more about the woman, his voice taking on a dreamy sound the more he talks.
I sigh. I remember those days filled with texts and phone calls and voice memos, each one making your heart sing with excitement that maybe they’re the one.
I haven’t gotten to experience that in years.
Unless I count Hunter. But, no—I can’t go there.
He’s my best friend, and we’ve already crossed so many lines that can’t be uncrossed the last few months.
I can’t risk losing him by changing what we are.
“I’m sorry,” I say as Easton quiets. I know as well as anyone how hard it is when something you want desperately never seems to be a possibility.
“It’s all good,” Easton says. “What about you?”
Joe appears and sets a basket of wings between us. Easton places a plate and napkin in front of me. I don’t know the guy at all, but he seems nice. Hard to believe anyone would stand him up. He places a few wings on my plate, then dives into his own.
“What about me?” I pick up my fork and push the wings from side to side on my plate.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Well, you’re alone at a bar on a Friday night taking shots of tequila and staring at your phone like it gravely offended you. I’d wager you got bad news?”
“You’d wager correctly,” I blurt. It must be the tequila that has me spilling my guts to some man I don’t know.
“So, tell me, what’s on that phone of yours that’s got you so blue tonight?”
“How about we order another round, and I’ll tell you all about it?” I place my napkin over my plate to hide my uneaten wings.
Easton looks down at my plate and back up at me, eyebrow tweaked up to his hairline. “Do you not like wings?”
“Umm . . . I . . . not really.”
“Let me guess, lifelong people pleaser?”
I nod. “Something like that.”
“What would you like to eat?” He passes me another menu.
“I don’t actually need the menu,” I say. “I knew what I wanted at two o’clock this afternoon.”
His chest bounces with that quiet kind of laughter some people have. “And what is it you want?”
Hunter lets out a laugh from the corner booth, but I resist the urge to look. Instead, I tap on the bar top, signaling Joe, who saunters over.
“Another round, Joe, and an order of pretzel bites.”
Joe gives me that look again, so I give him my petulant I’m not doin’ nothin’ eyes and cross my arms over my chest. Joe reluctantly refills my glass. I know he’d like to refuse my drink order, but I also know he knows I don’t wallow often.
I turn to Easton. “You really want to know what I want?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he says, clinking our empty glasses together.
The low thrum of tequila coursing through my body now simmers uncontrollably, settling under my skin. Just this once, I tell myself, loosening the binds I keep fastened around all the real parts of me, I’ll let someone know something real about me.
“Do you know what the three worst words in the whole wide world are, Easton?”
“Mmm . . . I’m not sure.” He lifts his scotch to his lips and takes a tentative sip.
“I’m. Sorry. But.” Pure disdain punctuates each word.
“Going to need more details than that.” He nudges me with his elbow.
Steeling myself, I gulp down air. “There are lots of phrases in this world that people love, right? I love you, you got the job, you may now kiss the bride. But when people have something bad to tell you, what do they say first?” I nudge his arm with my elbow this time, and his face lights up at my lame teasing attempt.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this; I’m sorry, but you lost the baby; I’m sorry, but the check bounced; I’m sorry, but .
. . the three worst words ever to be strung together.
Want to know what version of them are in there? ” I nod toward my phone.