Page 87 of Made Better Together

Although once the beers arrive, five flights just for me, I realize this may be our last stop. So much for Connor’s tour. I’m already a little tipsy from the wine, and these are going to put me over the top.

He seems to read my mind, brows raised by the impressive collection in front of us. “You want to order food to soak all this up?”

I’m not super hungry, but I’ll last longer if I eat. “Definitely. I’m going to guess there’s no quinoa and veggies on the menu?”

Snickering, he picks up the placard with the list of food items. “What do you know, they actually do have Cheetos.”

“No offense to the owner’s son, but not that.”

He smirks. “Sliders and fries, then?”

“Sounds good.”

After he puts the order in, I glance down at the line of beers, and grab the palest one. “This looks like it’ll be the lightest.”

“Don’t feel like you need to finish them all.”

“I’m going to try to pace myself.” I take a sip, and it’s smooth. Easy to enjoy. I take a second sip to confirm. “Okay, I like it.”

“Cool.” He picks up one of the darker ones. “So how are you feeling about the season, now that you’re almost halfway through?”

As he drinks, I answer. “You know how it goes. You can’t expect to win every game. No losses and one draw is huge for this point. If we drop a couple games in the rest of the regular season, we still should have the best record in the conference.”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

I take another sip myself. “The Waves are looking good so far. Dad’s excited.”

“They are. Four and one is a solid start.” He huffs a breath. “Though I don’t think my brothers will be satisfied unless they go all the way this year.”

“I know the feeling.” Sip.

“Everything’s okay with SLP? Are you getting what you need? Not that we have to talk business, but just to make sure...”

I grin at him. “I’d rather have a real conversation.” Mirroring his words on Bree’s deck from that Fourth of July night.

I’m rewarded with a smile. “Me too. Always.”

I answer his original question honestly, about how the support from SLP is keeping me sane with all the assistance in organizing my life.

He nods. “I’m glad that it’s helping. And all joking aside, I agree—no apologizing for saying what’s on our minds, whatever it is.”

“Deal.”

It takes a moment, but then I realize—from what I know about Connor, that vow is not one easily earned. He’s been forthright about how much he holds back from people, in general.

Knowing he trusts me like that, it’s even easier to trust him in return.

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of our food. A good thing, because I’ve somehow finished that first flight, and the buzz running through my body says the drinks are catching up with me.

“Dig in,” Connor says, handing me a small plate.

After one slider, though, I’m full, so I reach for the second palest flight. An IPA, maybe?

He clocks my motion. “We totally forgot to ask for water. Do you still want some?”

With food in me, I’m back to feeling a pleasant haze, but nothing more. “No, I’ll stick with this.”

It turns out to be an unwise assessment, because once I finish the second flight ten minutes later, distracted as we chat away, my mind is a little blurry.