“For you, miss?”

I jump in my chair, turning to see the waiter refilling Anna’s glass before holding the bottle out for me.

I shake my head, covering my glass with my hand. “Oh, um, no thanks,” I stammer, suddenly far too concerned with Harley to bother about the wine.

“Harley?” Anna looks up, hiccupping after a mouthful of red. “Are you okay?” she asks with an unnecessary giggle.

Nash looks up from his dinner, brows knitting together when he catches sight of his best friend across from him, shifting uncomfortably beside me. “You okay, man?”

“Is it hot out here?” Harley asks, pulling a little at his shirt and looking around for what, I’m not sure.

“No,” I whisper, leaning in closer. The cool night air is beautiful.

“I’m cold.” Anna pulls her silk kimono together for effect before finishing the rest of glass number four.

“You don’t look so well.” Nash notes from across the table.

It’s at that moment an alien-like gurgle erupts from Harley’s gut. He shifts again as if he’s in an immense amount of pain, taking a few deep breaths. The look in his eye is one of pure panic. “Um—” He glances around, his eyes darting furtively. “W-where’s the bathroom?”

“I think it’s inside, past the kitchen.” Nash cranes his neck, looking in through the windows, his eyes flitting once again to his best friend. “You good?”

Shaking his head quickly, Harley tosses his napkin onto his half-finished plate of crispy pork belly, clearing his throat. He wipes at his damp brow with the sleeve of his shirt, flashing me an imploring look as if he desperately needs my help. But all I can do is gape at him, at a total loss of what I can possibly do for him. Normally the whole situation would be hilarious, but not tonight. We’re at Pane E Vino, for Christ’s sake. The fanciest restaurant in the whole damn town. Everybody who’s anyone comes to this place just to be seen, and here’s Harley Shaw—the Football God of Graceville—about to crap his pants. I feel terrible. This is all my fault.

“E-excuse me,” Harley hisses, his voice strained as he stands, clutching at his belly and turning so fast, he almost trips over his own two feet.

“I hope he’s okay. He barely touched his dinner.” Nash points his fork at Harley’s plate of food.

“It must have been something he ate.” I shrug casually as I watch Harley hurry through the maze of tables inside the restaurant.

“I hope it wasn’t the wedding cake samples you made.” Anna laughs between hiccups.

My eyes bulge at her remark, my cheeks heating. I know she’s only joking, but I try to keep an impassive face, sinking a little lower in my seat. And I realize at that very moment that there’s no maybe about it; I’m going straight to hell.

Chapter 13

“Shit,” Harley hisses from the passenger seat, groaning quietly to himself as he shifts from side to side.