The music lowers. Ivy must have grabbed the remote. I start walking back across the bar, careful not to scuff the wood. The long-neck dangles between my fingers, cool against my fingertips.

“You get out early?”

The door closes.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I barely hear myself as I finally get my first real look at the guy behind him. “Too hot.”

My steps slow, and I cock my head curiously.

It’s the hair I notice first. Dirty blond, so dark in this lighting it’s almost brown. He runs his hand through it, slicking it back.

Mason goes on undeterred, “So, look who I ran into...”

I hardly register Mason’s words as he continues to talk.

Seconds.

Seconds.

That’s all it takes for life as I know it to implode.

Distressed jeans tucked into worn black boots.

A faded gray Lynyrd Skynyrd tee partially tucked in.

A brown leather bracelet adorning his right wrist.

No tattoos from what I can see. No piercings either.

I quickly and distantly catalog all of this, but it’s his face—his face—that I can’t look away from.

Time does this weird stretchy thing as my eyes finally, finally collide with a pair of dark blue eyes I haven’t seen in over ten years.

Eyes that have haunted me for far too fucking long, and all I can think is...No.

Nonononono—

“...remember Will?”

My heart grinds to a stop. Lungs constricting.

Will Foster.

Will fucking Foster.

What.

The.

Fuck.

His brow furrows, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Imagine what he sees when he looks at me. Does he remember?

Do I care?

I give myself a mental shakedown and look away, lifting my beer to my mouth. Memories I’ve managed to shelve away for years suddenly try to shoot forth all at once, and it takes everything in me to smack them away and stay in the present.

To not lose my shit.

Clearing my throat, I make my way toward the end of the bar and hop off, landing in a crouch. I straighten and lift my gaze, giving Will a quick once-over as I keep my face carefully blank.

He’s yet to take his eyes off me. The intent, unreadable way he watches me...I can’t help but try to compare it to how he looked at me when we were kids. He looks different. Older, obviously, but also...sad. Weighed down by something I can’t pinpoint.

He also looks completely unaffected by this little reunion.

And that...

Well, that pisses me off.

“Will, huh?”

There. Much better. Cool. Calm. Collected. I mean, so what if his name alone sits on my tongue like a punch to the throat? I am a goddamn cucumber, that’s how much chill I have.

I arch a brow. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”