Page 42 of Life After You

“Van Diesel? Van Diesel is your name? And you put professional lookalike as the fucking description?”

“Yeah, man. You’re popular. Keep reading.”

Trey starts inching toward the door, but Chace and I move at the same time, cutting off his escape. We know that look. He’s hiding something.

Sam clears his throat and reads aloud, voice dripping with disbelief.

"I ALWAYS CUM FIRST. IT DOESN’T MATTER BY AN INCH OR A MILE—WINNING IS WINNING."

And there it is.

Fucking Trey.

It was already becoming a thing. A ritual. Just a few trips in, and I’d memorized the route to Patty’s like it was stitched into my bones.

We bundled into the van, the guys crammed in like a pack of overgrown kids, elbows jabbing, music blasting, Trey arguing with Chace over something dumb. The usual. Mac sat shotgun, twisting in her seat to shoot us a look.

“Best behavior, guys. Patty is a sweetheart,” she warns.

They all nod like obedient schoolboys, but I know better. Dragging these idiots into a quiet diner feels more like leading a pack of wolves into a henhouse. Only, after meeting Patty, I’m starting to think we might be the ones at risk.

The second we step through the door, the energy in the room shifts. Conversations die. Heads turn. Forks clatter against plates. The usual hum of chatter and clinking dishes takes a sharp inhale.

Mac snorts under her breath. “Subtle, guys.”

Trey, ever the showman, spreads his arms wide, grinning like we just stepped onto a stage. “What? We can’t help that we’re devastatingly handsome, Mac Attack.”

“Please.” Chace flips his golden hair over his shoulder like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “You’re just riding my coattails.”

Sam shoves him toward the nearest booth. “Shut up and sit down, Goldilocks.”

I chuckle, sliding in next to Mac before one of these idiots tries to steal my spot.

Patty emerges from the kitchen, hands on her hips, her sharp eyes scanning the lot of us. Then her gaze lands on me.

“Mr. Dale,” she says with a knowing smirk. “Back so soon?”

I press a hand to my chest. “What can I say? I can’t imagine eating anywhere else.”

Patty smirks, about to respond when Trey leans forward, draping his tattooed arms over the table. “You know, I’ve got a thing for older women, right?”

Mac not-so-subtly kicks him under the table. He grunts.

Patty winks. “Honey, I’d just eat you up. But I’m spoken for. Right, Si?”

A shadow looms over us. Si, the mountain of a mechanic working on Braden’s car, stands to one side, grease-smudged arms crossed over his chest. He lets out a single grunt.

Trey visibly pales. “I must apologize. I had no idea Portland had grizzly bears.”

Chace stage-whispers, “Should’ve googled it like with the soybeans, man.”

Trey takes a steadying breath, then flashes Patty his best heartbreaker smile. “Mac here talks about you like you walk on water.”

Patty grins. “Only on Tuesdays,” she quips. “The rest of the week, I stick to broomsticks. Right, Logan?”

Her arched brow pins me in place, and suddenly all eyes are on me.

I hold up my hands. “No offense, Patty.”

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