When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(3)

A young blond leans back in his chair to check out my ass. “Can we get a few pitchers?” he asks.

“I’m gonna need some I.D.” I hold my hand out to them.

They take their wallets out and hand them over. Even the blond, although I expect him to be younger, is of drinking age. Damn, I was hoping for some excitement. Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than putting a youngster in his place and breaking his dreams of getting drunk off cheap beer. It’s a weekly occurrence here. Around the city, there’s always been a rumor we’re lackadaisical about carding. Unfortunately for those looking for an easy score of underage drinking, it’s not true.

“You’ve got interesting eyes,” another one of them says.

Rolling said eyes, I hand back his I.D. “If you think that’s original, it’s not. I’ve heard it before.” His friends hoot and holler at his expense, ragging on him for his ill effort in earning my attention. “I’ll get your beer.” I place the menus at the end of the table. “Our fish-n-chips are the best in town.”

I walk to the end of the bar where Bea stands, staring off into the distance over my shoulder.

With a nod at David, I gesture at the pitchers. “I need two for table fifty-six.” I twist around. Bea’s eyes widen. “What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder before looking back at her. There’s a tiny gleam in her eye I can’t ignore. She looks like a starving man waiting for his steak.

“He’s here,” she whispers. “He’s here, and I don’t want Alex to see him, so I’m mapping out my assault.”

“Probably not the best idea to call it an assault.” I laugh, elbowing her in the side. “Where is he?” I scan the room for any indication but come up empty.

“He ducked into the bathroom.” She sighs. “Wait till you see him, Kennedy. He’s unbearably beautiful.”

One of the runners drops off the pitchers at my table. When I turn to take their orders, my feet cement to the ground. A familiar back tightens underneath a long sleeve t-shirt. His hands rest on the tabletop as he talks to my rowdy ball players. A lump appears in my throat, and I try but fail to swallow it back.

A tug on my shirt breaks me from the time warp in my mind.

“That’s him,” Bea whispers in my ear. Her eagerness makes me twirl to face her. I’m greeted by her usual wide, contagious smile.

I blink frantically to clear my mind. “Who’s him?” I shift to face the ghost from my past.

When I look to my friend, she points over my shoulder. “Low jeans, tight shirt. He’s the guy.”

I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands, twisting to make sure it is, in fact, not some imposter. When I come face to face with him, his too-familiar blue eyes burn into mine. Shock and surprise splashes across his face, and all I can seem to do is giggle. A full blown, schoolgirl giggle. Before I can stop myself, I cross the crowded room and jump into the arms of someone who is now almost a stranger, but was once my confidant.

“Mark!” I squeal as he sweeps me into his arms. “What are you doing here?”

He sets me down on my feet and holds me at arm’s length. “We’re on our way back to campus, and stopped to grab some food.”

I slap him on the chest. “I thought you decided to stay in Tennessee.”

“I was going to, but when an opportunity arises, sometimes all you can do is roll with the punches.”

I duck around him to find four sets of eyes staring at us with slack jaws. “So, you’re playing ball at UConn then?” I pull him in for another hug. “You’re in my backyard, and you didn’t even bother calling me?”

Mark hunches his shoulders. “I was going to call, but I know you have a whole new life here. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re never an interruption.” I smack his chest in playful anger. “Seems the old gangs back together.”

“You have no idea,” Mark mutters under his breath.

I lean forward to hear him better. “Excuse me?”

“It’s nothing, Kennedy.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I ran into you here, of all places.” Mark’s stare shifts around the room. He takes in everything, from the sticky floor to the dark atmosphere.

I shrug at his silent judgment. “You can’t beat the tips.”

“Oh, I’m sure, when you’re prancing around in jean shorts.” Mark pulls up a chair to sit with his teammates.

I flutter my eyelashes for good measure. “I also dance on the bar every Saturday.”

“We can come back on Saturday, right?” The young blond asks, reaching his hand out to shake mine. “I’m Beckett, and you are?”

Mark pushes his hand away. “Out of your league.”

“Still protective after all this time, huh?” I joke. Mark and I know he can’t help himself when it comes to me. “You wouldn’t recognize me, Mark. I can handle myself now.”

He offers a gentle smile. “Even so, I like to think you can still use my protecting.”

I’m not surprised when Mark glares at his teammate, silently daring him to make another move on me. Mark and I managed to find common ground after everything that had happened our Senior year and the weeks following graduation. We’ve never spoken about our short relationship, but he’s always made himself clear; he’d protect me, no matter what, no questions asked.