Page 25 of Off Court Fix

“Alright, that’s it.” Alyssa types furiously on her phone. “I’m canceling on all the brides I’ve booked for the rest of the month. We’re having a very Hamptons summer. Right here in this club.”

“You are not.” I glance around the terrace, looking up at the large, shingled clubhouse behind us.

“Relax,” Alyssa tells me, grabbing her drink. “I just realized I forgot to tell the super the shower keeps dripping. Had this guy over who wassix fiveand things got a little rowdy in there, and I think he hit his head on it and knocked it loose.”

I look at the two older women staring at us and smile apologetically on behalf of my friend, who speaks too loudly.

“Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

I look out at the water, nodding, and jump when Alyssa reaches for my hand. “You okay?”

I nod again.

“Really?”

Sighing, I squeeze her hand back before letting go. “I will be.”

I hope.

Alyssa’s face twists into a frown. “Maybe it’s too soon, Max—”

“It’s been almost four years, Alyssa.”

She shrugs softly. “You could’ve sold the house.”

I could’ve, and maybe I should’ve. Maybe this plan is childish and idiotic. But I’ve just shelled out a shit ton of money to be able to have a very expensive lunch on this terrace. “Are you ready?”

Alyssa downs the rest of her drink. “I have a feeling it’s looked down upon here to walk around with a roadie,” she tells me, putting her drained glass back on the table.

“Ms. Draper?”

I know it’s not Crosby by the voice, so I turn to find a taller, middle-aged man holding a hand out to me.

“Dave Smith. We spoke yesterday.”

“Of course.” I shake his hand. “How are you, Dave? I really appreciate you letting me get in so early tomorrow.”

“It’s an honor to have you,” Dave says, looking between me and Alyssa. “Your hitting partner?”

Alyssa looks horrified.

“No, no, my friend. We just stopped by for lunch. Still taking a few rest days after Europe.”

Alyssa shakes Dave’s hand. “We were about to take a stroll on the beach.”

Dave nods. “If you don’t mind a quick detour, I’d love to show you around, introduce you to some of my staff.”

I look to Alyssa. “Do you want to come?”

“I think the Atlantic is calling my name,” she says.

Dave ticks his head to the clubhouse. “I just have to drop these off in the office,” he says, holding up the files he carries. “Can you wait a moment?”

“Sure. No problem.”

Dave walks away, and I turn back to Alyssa, who purses her mouth together tightly, like she’s fighting the words from vomiting out.

I sigh. “What?”

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