Chapter 36
thirty-six
. . .
PRESENT DAY
So yeah, here we are, back in the club. With my team. For my rookie year.
It’s a year and a half or so after Avery and my little “Mexico adventure.”
I’ve done all I can to avoid her since that time. Mostly because, I really just don’t know what to say to her.
Avery was in Spain—she got the Fulbright obviously because she’s fucking awesome, and then she may have continued on another European trip? I don’t know. I had to mute her on socials, and I actively made sure I did not received any updates about her from Cassie.
I still don’t know what I’d say to her if I saw her again.
What the hell do you say to a girl who you’ve been in love with for years, lost your v card to, and whose ghost still prevents you from desiring any of the women around you?
Like I said, I don’t know if I’m insane, delusional, or a romantic.
But luckily, booze usually helps me figure things out in these situations.
I wave down a server. “Another tequila,” I say, brushing her question aside.
The Texas breeze sweeps through the open door behind me, and suddenly—maybe it’s the smell of tequila and lime—but I’m brought back to that last toast with Avery Sinclair.
The bass thumps through the club, vibrating the leather under my arm. Around me, the guys are in full celebration mode—clinking glasses, throwing back shots, and hyping each other up like we’ve already won the Super Bowl.
And me?
I’m not feeling it.
Not the lights.
Not the noise.
Not Brielle—or Brooke—leaning against me, practically begging me to look her way.
Because all I can think about is her.
Avery freaking Sinclair.
The girl I wasn’t supposed to touch.
The girl I haven’t stopped wanting since that damn trip to Mexico.
And then—my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Cassie Calling.
Perfect timing.
I press the phone to my ear, leaning back in my seat. "Two calls in one night? I didn’t know you loved me that much, Cass."
Her laugh comes through the line, loud and unbothered. "Wow, hilarious. Listen—where are you right now?"
I frown, glancing around the club. "Out."
"Helpful." Her sarcasm is almost palpable. "Seriously, where are you? I’m with Avery, and we’re coming to meet you."
"Wait—what?" My stomach drops, my grip tightening on the phone.
"We’re at this cute little tapas place, and I told her you were out. She said she hasn’t seen you in forever, so I figured—why not? Where are you? I’ll put it in the GPS."
My chest tightens, my brain scrambling for an excuse—any excuse—to stop this train wreck before it happens.
"Cass, I don’t think?—"
"Don’t think, little brother," she interrupts, her tone irritatingly cheerful. "Just tell me where you are. We’ll be there in twenty."
I grit my teeth, glancing back at the table. Peyton and the guys are still in full celebration mode, and Brielle—or Brooke—I really need to get that straight—is staring at me like she’s wondering why I’m not paying attention to her.
And now?
Now Avery fucking Sinclair is about to walk into my night like it’s no big deal.
"Cantina Azul," I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue.
"Perfect! See you soon!"
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone like it’s betrayed me.
Brielle—or whoever she is—sidles closer, her hand sliding up my arm, her perfume sharp enough to make my head spin.
"Everything okay?" she asks, her voice dripping with feigned concern, her eyes glinting like she sees an opening.
I shrug her off, brushing past her as I make my way back to the table.
The guys are still in full celebration mode, clinking glasses and throwing back shots like it’s the greatest night of their lives.
I drop into my seat, grabbing my drink, trying to shake off the heat crawling up the back of my neck.
But it’s no use.
Because she’s coming.
Avery Sinclair is coming, and I’m not ready.
"Yo, Knox," Peyton says, nudging me with his elbow. "What’s up with you, man? You look flushed. You ‘aight?”
I take a slow sip of my tequila, narrowing my eyes at him over the rim of my glass. "I’m fine."
"Yeah, sure." Peyton smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Who was that on the phone? Girlfriend trouble?"
I laugh, short and humorless. "Not even close."
"Ohhhh," one of the other rookies, Morris, pipes up, grinning like an idiot. "Was it one of the ladies? You gotta share, man. Don’t hog all the fun. I knew you had someone on the back burner. Spill.”
"Nah," Peyton cuts in, grinning like he’s just pieced it together. "It’s not one of the ladies. It’s someone else. Someone special."
I roll my eyes, but my pulse quickens. "Shut up, Peyton.”
"Oh, it’s special," he presses, his smirk widening. "You’ve got that look, man. That ‘I’m about to do something stupid’ look."
The table bursts into laughter, and I force a smirk, leaning back in my chair.
"You guys are hilarious," I say dryly, swirling the tequila in my glass.
But my stomach’s in knots, my mind racing, and all I can think is:
What the hell am I going to say to her?