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“He’d be stupid not to,” Rico responds.
“I’ll monitor it.” I clap JP on the shoulder, offering assurances. He side-eyes me, his accusatory glare suggesting he’s less than confident in my claims. “What? I challenge you to name one time I’ve ever steered us wrong.”
“Tijuana!” JP exclaims. “Your twenty-first birthday.”
“How the fuck is it my fault that you couldn’t wrap your dick properly before hole-hopping between those two hookers?”
“Oh, no.” He starts to undo his belt. “That three-way was worth every single pill of antibiotics I had to take to clear up the gonorrhea. I am referring to this!” He spins, dropping his drawers to expose the ink on his right ass cheek.
Rico howls with laughter, doubling over to brace himself on his knees. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, fighting back a smirk at the tattooed image of the rubber duck with heart eyes accompanying the words “Duck Love.”
For my twenty-first birthday, the boys dragged me down to Mexico where we proceeded to engage in a week of depraved debauchery. In the midst of our tequila-fueled antics, JP decided it would be a good idea to tattoo the words “Duke Life” on his ass. However, between his drunk-ass chicken scratch handwriting, and the poor English comprehension capabilities of his artist, he instead ended up with the words “Duck Love,” which the artist then took some creative liberties with and added the rubber ducky with heart eyes.
To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard as the morning after when he took the bandage off.
JP shoves at Rico, who’s practically hyperventilating with laughter.
“Dick,” he mutters, doing up his pants.
“Bro, you’re worth millions! Why have you not had that shit lasered off yet?!”
“Have you read the reviews? That shit’s painful!”
“JP, you’ve taken a bullet before.”
“And that shit hurt, too! You think I’d willingly subject myself to pain?”
“Then you’re not allowed to bitch.” Rico waves him off as he heads toward the archway that leads down to the main floor of Savor. I follow, shaking my head as the two of them continue to bicker.
We hit the base of the stairs, emerging through the long thick curtains that separate the main dining hall from the stairway.
“What do you guys got going on for the rest of the day?”
“Firearms training with the new recruits.” JP adjusts his jacket, pulling his sunglasses from the inner pocket.
“I gotta take a run out to Hope Falls. There’s an issue involving some missing product that I gotta go knock some heads over.”
“You need me to come with?”
“Nah.” Rico shakes his head. “I got it, bro. Child’s play.”
“Is that Daph?” JP’s voice has my head snapping to attention.
I zero in on her instantly. Her back’s to me as she heads in the direction of the restrooms, but I’d know that ass anywhere.
Daphne Guinevere Burke. Siren incarnate.
I’ve taken an instinctual step in her direction before I catch myself, fighting against the gravitational pull as I force my feet to anchor to the floor.
Walk away, Nick. I scream the words internally, cursing myself for each and every second my gaze lingers on the swoosh of her flowing red locks as she sashays between the tables.
It’s been weeks since I’ve caught a glimpse of her. Not since the last time we spoke. Even then, it was no more than some bullshit passing greeting. I caught the tail end of her visit with my parents when she was dropping off Christmas presents before she all but up and ran to escape me.
As my sister’s best friend, there was a time I couldn’t take more than three steps in any direction without tripping over Daphne. Now, she does such a good job of avoiding me, it’s almost hard to believe we still live in the same town.
“Nick.” Rico nudges me in an attempt to guide me toward the exit.
My name comes out no more than a whisper, yet clear across the room, she stops.
