“The only shot I’ll make. If you want something fancy, join everyone else.” She points at the long line building in front of Paisley before leaning across the bar and crooking her finger. “Hey! Before I forget to ask, how was Vonnie when she was driving you home? Something has been off with her lately. She thinks she’s good at covering it up, but she’s not and I’m getting worried.”

“She seemed okay? Even though . . .” I think about the tears I saw her shed before the game. I don’t know if I should tell Brynn or not. It seemed like a deeply personal moment for her and I’m not sure if it’s my place to say anything. Even to a well-meaning friend. “She did seem a little upset before the game.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “I noticed that too. Just do me a favor and keep an eye on her if you’re around her again.”

I doubt that will happen as yesterday was a one-time thing, but I agree anyways. “Yeah, of course.”

“Now that that’s out of the way”—she points a finger across the room—“who’s that with Q? She must be coming out of pocket a lot for that level of attention.”

I follow her line of sight and see that Quinton is now sitting beside Mrs. Rafter, throwing his head back in laughter at something she said. Probably the story about the time I stole her bra and tried to wear it to the playground or some other mortifying childhood tale.

“Oh no,” I tell her. “That’s just Mrs. Rafter.”

Instead of her curiosity diminishing like I assumed it would knowing that Mrs. Rafter isn’t some eccentric millionaire with a hoard of cats, she somehow looks more curious.

She plops both elbows on the bar top. “Who’s Mrs. Rafter?”

I start to think Brynn might possess some secret, superhero-level ability to sniff out gossip.

“She’s my neighbor,” I say before realizing that she isn’t my neighbor anymore. “Was—she was my neighbor before I moved,” I correct myself and still, with every word out of my mouth, Brynn’s interest seems to grow and grow some more.

“How random,” she says in a way that says she doesn’t think it’s actually random at all. “How does he know your ex-neighbor?”

“Umm . . .” How the eff am I supposed to navigate this landmine? “We ran into her while we were having a business lunch.”

I scoot to the side when someone comes behind me and try not to snort-laugh at the face Brynn makes when they order a vodka tonic.

She squeezes lime wedges into the cocktail and slides it over to them with a grimace on her face that I think is supposed to be a smile before turning her attention back on me.