15. Chapter 14 #2
Josie: On my way and by the sounds of it, ordering you a double. (heart emoji)
Breakers is bathed in sunshine as we grab a table on the back deck.
The salt air rolls across me in warm gusts, carrying the smell of grilled onions and hot oil and something deeply, aggressively fried that makes my stomach growl loud enough to turn heads.
Three cold drinks arrive before we've even finished sitting down. Josie ordered ahead, because Josie is the kind of friend who treats hydration like an emergency protocol.
My cocktail glass is already dripping with condensation, tiny beads trailing down the side of a bubbly, tropical mystery drink I don't even know the name of.
"I ordered everything," Josie announces, sliding her sunglasses onto her head as Rose drops into the seat beside her. "And I mean everything."
She isn't lying.
When the food arrives, I stop breathing.
The fish and chips alone look amazing. Thick fillets of white fish in a golden, shatteringly crispy batter, nestled beside a mountain of thick-cut fries glistening with sea salt and vinegar. Lemon wedges perch on the edge, a ceramic ramekin of tartar sauce sits in the center.
I'm already reaching for it before the server finishes setting down the burgers.
God, the burgers.
Mack's seaside pub burgers are absolutely loaded with beef patties that are charred at the edges and still slightly pink in the center. He has them layered with thick-sliced tomato and butter lettuce, and a melted cheese so perfectly golden it's dripping onto the plate.
I shove three fries into my mouth at once.
"Jesus, Darcy." Rose watches me with wide eyes. "When did you last eat?"
Around midnight. Off Beck Morrison's stomach.
But that's classified information.
"Skipped breakfast," I manage through the fries.
My body is screaming for salt and grease and bread. Apparently four rounds of Beck Morrison requires carbohydrate replacement therapy on a scale that would concern the Bears nutritionist.
A surfer wanders past our table barefoot, board tucked under one arm, and nods at us like we're locals. Behind him, the ocean stretches flat and grey-blue under gathering clouds, the storm Colin mentioned building on the horizon.
"So Vegas sounds exciting, right?" Josie says, pulling a piece of fish apart with her fingers. "Colin wants all three of us on the road trip. Rose is doing content, I'm handling media, and you're—"
I glance down, because my phone just lit up with a new text message.
"—observing Beck's performance," Josie finishes. "Darcy? You good?"
No.
No I'm not.
Beck Morrison has sent me a photo. Of himself. Shirtless, in what is unmistakably the Bears locker room, one hand braced on the wooden stall behind him, the other hand—
Oh my God.
I flip the phone face down so fast I nearly launch it into the sand.
"Great." My voice comes out approximately two octaves higher than normal. "Totally fine. Vegas. Yeah, cool. Love it. Love a big dick. I mean, road trip."
Rose tilts her head, frowning. "You just turned the color of that ketchup bottle. What's wrong?"
"It's just the sun." I wave vaguely at the overcast sky. "Or the reflection."
My phone buzzes again. Face down, screen glowing through the table like a nuclear warning.
I casually reach over, pick it up, tilt it toward myself.
It's another photo, this time at a… lower angle. Even with the briefest of glances, I can see Beck's abs, his hip bones, his hand… Oh my. His hand is wrapped around himself again, the Bears logo on the wall behind him perfectly, infuriatingly visible.
He's in the locker room.
That is absolutely not going in the report.
I type back one-handed under the table: You are in a PROFESSIONAL FACILITY.
Three dots appear instantly.
Beck: And you're evaluating my performance, right? Consider this supplemental material.
I shove the phone under my thigh and pick up my burger with both hands, taking a bite so large just so I have to think about chewing and not his massive—
"So the team flies out Wednesday morning," Rose says, tucking her auburn braid over one shoulder. They both exchange a glance as I take another bite. "Game Thursday night. Colin booked us rooms at—"
My phone vibrates against my thigh again.
Beck: Miss me yet?
Attached this time, is a fifteen-second video I will not be opening at this table.
"—the Bellagio, which is honestly insane for this franchise's budget, but I think Colin's trying to impress the league reps who'll be at the game, and—Darcy, are you listening?"
"One hundred percent."
"What did I just say?"
"Bellagio. Budget. League reps. Impressive."
Josie narrows her eyes. She sets down her drink with the precision of a woman about to conduct an interrogation.
"Are you sexting?"
"No."
Rose looks at me. "Darcy."
"I'm receiving sexts. Technically that's different."
Josie's jaw drops. Rose lets out a sound that's half gasp, half laugh, and then both of them lean forward with the synchronized intensity of detectives who just found the murder weapon.