Page 67 of Drop Three

Her flawless complexion is a testimony to that.

“You bet your ass we are. Where you been, man?” Gus asks.

I locate a patio chair by the side of the hot tub and pull it closer to take a seat. This puts me up close and personal with Navy on my left and Mack on my right. “Where do you think?”

I shoot Gus a look because he knows exactly where I’ve been. He’s trying to get me to talk about it. The other day, I finally confessed to the guys about my therapy sessions, and they took it surprisingly well. The only one who still doesn’t know is Cal.

The new husband has been busy.

“Banks make you cry today?” Gus teases, and King lets out a loud laugh.

Motherfuckers.

“Not today, but the jury is still out for next time. Hey, if you want to come and be lectured on wrapping it up, be my guest,” I retort, shooting him a smirk.

Anyone else would likely take offense to my comment, but Gus knows me better than that. We both fuck with each other because we’re exactly the same—but in a different way. I’m the only one doing something about it, though. He knows I see right through his mindless charades and the pain he covers up with a revolving door of women.

He shoots me a wild grin. “Tempting. I’ll be in touch.”

I chuckle under my breath. Despite it technically being winter in Atlanta, sitting directly under the heat is scorching. The air is dry, and the sun beats down on the concrete pavement.

A moment of silence stretches between all of us, and I take this as my chance to turn toward Navy. Her bright green eyes focus on the small tattoo that lines the arch of her foot, ghosting the water. I follow her sight and lock in on the white ink that holds her fascination.

The white color makes the tattoo look translucent and subtle, likely the opposite of what it symbolizes for her.

Embrace your mess.

She must have intentionally made it so that it’s only visible if you look hard enough, which I always do.

It’s a symbolic reminder for her.

There are many layers to Navy that I’m nowhere close to unraveling yet, and I likely never will, but I find the possibility of it captivating.

I’m enchanted by her—by the beauty and grace that saturates the fullness of her heart.

How tragically fucked up is it to long for someone so deeply and never be able to share the gravity of that adoration with them? With someone who deserves to hear every second of every day how perfect they are.

I get to live with that.

Reminding myself why I came out here initially, I steer my attention to meet her eyes. “The flowers look perfect.”

Only then does Navy direct her attention to me. A look of uncertainty comes across her face, and I take meticulous note of the smile lines I can number by hand that only exemplify her beauty. Her skin is porcelain, like a meticulously constructed and cared for vase, without so much as a blemish or imperfection.

Navy meets my gaze, and I can’t look away.

A small smile sneaks out of her solid composure. “It was fun. The guys helped too.”

I don’t give a shit what any of them did. They live here. All that matters to me is that Navy did this, and I appreciate it.

I turn my attention to the three idiots beside me. “How much did she pay you?”

King and Gus laugh hysterically while Mack does the predictable and shoots me an exaggerated look. I guarantee he and Navy did all the work while King and Gus fucked around.

“A lap dance and a night in the sheets,” King jokes.

He fucking wishes.

Over my dead body. I’ll riot until the feds show up.

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