We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,9

My feet are moving before I can stop them, heading for her like a magnet. To hell with the consequences.

I’m halfway across the kitchen when a hand clamps down on my shoulder and stops me in my tracks.

“Yooooo, Reyes!” Chris Tomlinson pounds my back hard enough to spill my beer, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “The champ returns!”

Apparently, news of my conquest has spread through this party faster than mono. Annoying, if not entirely unexpected.

“So…” Tomlinson leans in, waggling his eyebrows. “How was she? Everything you imagined?”

“Lay off, Chris.”

“You scored, right?”

I don’t answer. I’m busy trying to see around him, to the other side of the kitchen where Jo is standing.

“Second? Third? Home run?” Chris pesters. “Don’t tell me you choked at the plate?”

Annoyance flickers through me. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Why so coy, Reyes?” He shoves me playfully. “I’m not getting any tonight, the least you can do is help a brother out with some details…”

Shouldering past him, I finally have a clear view of the refrigerator. Jo is no longer propped against it. She’s nowhere to be seen. Ryan, either.

Panic burns through me, a hot rush in my veins. My head swivels, searching the blur of faces in the kitchen. I think I catch a glimpse of her heading out the patio doors, but they swing back closed before I can be certain.

Dammit.

“Where are you going, Reyes?” Chris calls as I walk away.

I don’t even break stride. When it comes to my teammates, I’m far more interested in Ryan right now — specifically, what he’s doing with my best friend.

I’m reaching for the handle when the patio doors fly open in my face. Andy Hilton — certified idiot, but hell of an outfielder with a throwing arm like a young Babe Ruth — stumbles inside, marijuana smoke billowing around him in a cloud. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s grinning like a madman.

“Where’s Tomlinson?” he barks.

I jerk my head toward the kitchen. My impatience spikes higher with each second that slips by. I can’t stand not knowing where Jo is. Whether she’s all right.

Is seventeen too young for a heart attack?

“Come on, Reyes,” Andy says. Belatedly, I notice the net in his hand — the kind used for pond maintenance — and the flash of orange scales within. “You don’t want to miss this, I promise. Got a special delivery here, just for Chris…”

Jesus Christ.

Andy plows into the kitchen, leaving a wet trail from the doors to the island. Against my better judgment, I follow.

“Catch of the day!” he screams, upending the net onto the counter. The fish plops out, its eyes round as marbles, its mouth opening and closing in useless pursuit of air. It thrashes around like a seizure victim. Everyone leans in, mesmerized by the sight.

My eyes jerk toward Andy. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Tomlinson bet me you couldn’t close the deal with Sienna,” he says gleefully, his eyes on Chris — who’s looking a little pale as he watches the fish squirm. “Since she already confirmed otherwise… it’s time for him to honor his wager.”

“It was a joke,” Chris says weakly, eyes still on the fish.

Andy snorts. “You’re only saying that because you lost.”

“What was the bet?” I ask, though I’m not entirely certain I want to know the answer.

Andy is all to happy to inform me. “Loser swallows a fish from the Park family pond.”

Chris shakes his head. “No. No way I’m doing this. I can’t.”

“Deal’s a deal, bro. ”

“Piss off, Andy!” His voice is slightly slurred. He’s had so many beers, I’m surprised he’s still cognizant enough to argue. “I’m not doing it.”

“Don’t be chickenshit.”

“Lee will kill me, man. Those koi are his Mom’s…”

“Lee’s passed out on the sectional. He’ll never know.” Red-faced and panting in excitement, Andy reaches out and grasps the wriggling fish in one of his beefy hands. It escapes several times before he manages to maneuver it into an empty beer cup. He stares gleefully at Chris as he slides the cup slowly across the countertop.

“You want me to add some water, or do you prefer it sashimi-style?”

Chris makes no move to take the cup. No one else does, either. Most of the guys just stand there watching, waiting to see how it all unfolds. A few of them start laughing. Pounding Chris on the back in encouragement. Egging him on.

All the while, the fish is drowning on dry land.

My eyes are locked on the cup. I’m not sure why the sight of it bothers me so much,