Page 143 of Resurrection
A hand extends to me. "Tyler. What a surprise to see you here."
I look at the small, round, rosy-cheeked man with a balding head in front of me, trying to remember his name.
"It’s Martin. Martin Bates," he says.
Even though I can't place the guy's face, I give him a solid handshake. No way I'm going down as the town jerk after this reunion—Lachlan has always locked down that role. And there he is, in all his glory, holding court across the room with his old crew. Most of them are sporting beer guts and thinning hair, living proof that some high school legends hit their prime before throwing their caps in the air.
"I let you copy my geometry homework during freshman year once," Martin says like it explains why he approached me.
"That’s right," I lie. "I sucked at geometry. Thanks, man. Saved my life."
Martin seems happy with my acknowledging him finally.
The crowd shift and I finally see where Naomi's gone. She's on the opposite side of the room, talking to Brittney and a few other women whose faces resurface in my mind.
Naomi’s hard to miss in that dress and with that hair.
As if sensing me watching her, she glances in my direction. There’s a playful spark in her eye when she mouths, “You okay?”
I nod, trying not to be that boyfriend, the clingy one who can’t let her havea moment to herself. But the truth is, I’m worried. The truth is, I’m still scared this will go up in flames. Adri’s here somewhere, and we’ve never been a fireproof combination.
I’m chatting with a few guys when one of them grins and asks for an autograph and a selfie. I chuckle, agreeing—might as well embrace the chaos.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m mid-conversation in an awkward hello with some women who aren’t shy about asking me to hook them up with Justice.
"Um, I don’t think that’s doable," I explain, sounding probably more apologetic than necessary.
The blonde named Lindsey looks scandalized enough for her eyes to nearly pop out. "Oh? You guys aren’t staying in touch?" she presses, curiosity mixed with a hint of gossip-hungry enthusiasm.
"Well, he’s busy. I’m busy?—"
"You don’t look too busy to me," the redhead cuts me off.
This is when I use the incoming message as excuse to get out of this strange conversation.
I step away from the foot traffic and into a shadowy corner and glance at the text preview on my screen. It’s from Lennox.
Thanks for taking my call again. Just wanted to throw it out there one last time—the gig is yours if you want it.
This guy is persistent in a polite, nice kind of way. Working with him would probably be easy and fun. I’ve only heard good things about Vortex.
But I'm not biting. I've got Naomi lined up for an epic night, and that's where my head's at.
I put the phone away and search the room for her. She’s by the bar now with Brittney.
I cross the gym, steering past the people glaring at me, not stopping for anyone, just tossing out quick greetings.
"Look who’s here!" Brittney, who’s pretty buzzed, shouts. "It’s Sageview Ridge’s own success story."
I get a drink and stick close to Naomi. I’m a ghost at her side, aware of every glance that lands on us, of every whispered word as the news spreads with the speed of a wildfire. Tonight, it’s just local gossip, but tomorrow, we might be in the tabloids and on social media.
The night continues to pass in a blend of faces and greetings. And it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. While some of my classmates are weird, most are nice and genuine.
Then comes a voice I recognize, the kind that finds a spot under your skin and stays there.
"Well, well, well," Lachlan says, smug and sticky, appearing out of nowhere, a glass of liquor in hand. "Interesting turn of events."
He’s dressed like a walking payday—Armani and cologne and too much hair gel. He eyes Naomi like she’s dessert, and I’m not sure which of us it pisses off more.
