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My lips twitch at the pointed question. “I just might.”

Before she can respond, there’s a familiar, “I thought that was you,” coming from behind me before someone grabs my shoulder.

Tristain Badger grins, holding out his hand for me to clasp in greeting. “Hey, Badger.”

“I thought you weren’t coming until before pre-season?” he asks, taking the spot beside me.

I lift a shoulder. “Changed my mind. I’ve only got the weekend. Thought I’d pop in and see some people.”

His eyes light up. “She ain’t here.”

I play dumb. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Judy laughs abruptly from behind the counter before she sets a bottle of Bud Light in front of me and my former teammate.

I spend the rest of the night catching up with Badger and getting hit on by college girls.

But they’re not the ones I came here to see.

Snapping a photo of the bar, I send it to Olive without a caption.

Within minutes, I see bubbles appear at the bottom of the screen.

But she never texts me back.

I grin.

Because now I know she wants to.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Olive

Mom’s version ofa “small” glass of wine would get me fired from Fishtail if I ever served anyone the same amount. Then again, the woman whose image is like a glimpse into the future whenever I look at her also used to give me and Sebastian alcohol underage.

“You’ve got that look,” she accuses, bopping my nose with her finger like I’m a puppy as she walks around me to raid the fridge. I know exactly what she’s grabbing, and smile to myself when she pulls out at least three different kinds of cheeses.

I grab the board she’s going to get next and set it on the counter. “I don’t have a look.”

“Yes, you do,” she argues. “It’s in your eyes.”

Damn. How does she always know when something is on my mind? It isn’t like my eyes change colors. At least, I don’t think they do.

Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about Alex. Because when am I not these days? He makes it hard to forget him when he sends those stupid texts. And his last one makes me wonder why he’s in Lindon. Not only Lindon, but at the bar I work at when he almost never used to go there when he lived there. It makes no sense.

Mom grabs a knife and starts slicing the cheese, making my mouth water. “I was thinking about how you’d let Seb and I drink when we were teenagers,” I lie. Sort of. She did. I’m pretty sure the first time I ever got drunk was at home.

With Mom. From cheap box wine that tasted more like juice than alcohol.

Mom pauses to look at me. “Well, you two were going to do it anyway. At least if I knew about it there could be some ground rules.”

And that’s why I love her. Well, one of the reasons. Going over to the pantry, I dig through the different shelves until I find the crackers. “Do we want Saltines or something fancier?”

“Like those awful wicker-tasting things you love so much?” she questions with disgust heavy in her tone.

Snorting, I bring out a sleeve of Saltines and a box of garden herb Triscuits. “I never make you eat them, do I?”

All she does is sigh as she focuses on the cheese, making sure each slice is precise. She’s mildly OCD like that. “Bad day at the office?” I ask when I stare at her glass of red wine. “Or are we celebrating something?”