Chapter 26Last night, Split was jam packed.
Every table was full, and at the bar, people—young and handsome—were piled up against the counter. I recognize the young man behind it. Andy. Pretty Andy had won Flair competitions and Nick swore he was the best. I watched Andy throwing bottles around. Mr. Cocktail himself.
Boone pulled his cap off and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Wow. This place is jumping.” We’d decided to have dinner together. Catch up on old times. It was Saturday night. “Let’s get a drink,” he said.
I followed him and watched as he elbowed through the crowd at the bar. With his built, we had a nice, comfortable space in no time.
“Oui,” Andy said, his dark eyes moving over Boone’s shoulders and face. Was Mr. Cocktail wearing a tank top or red body paint?
