Page 95 of The Unfinished Line

“You mishear me, Imi?” Sam snapped, tipping back her glass before swiping up Dillon’s. “It’s my bloody birthday—and I’ll be damned if we don’t all get along.”

The goalkeeper scowled but was wise enough to keep silent as the bartender returned with Dillon’s water.

“Say,” he paused, his gaze falling on me as he passed Dillon her glass. “I know you.”

Oh, goodie.

Knowandrecognizewere such vastly different words.

I forced myself to smile. “Sorry, I don’t think—”

“I saw your photo inDaily Mail.” He dropped his elbows on the bar top. “Yeah, I’m certain of it—you’re that American girl inSand Seekers. Whole article about how you just finished shooting up in Aberdeen.” Standing upright, he gave me a sweeping once-over. “Those photos made you look so much taller.”

Um, thanks?

I started to pick up my drink but he fished out his phone, leaning the upper half of his body across the bar.

“Can I get a photo? My old lady’s never going to believe this!”

“Um, sure.”

He draped his perspiring arm around me, forcing our heads together. “Ace!” His phone flashed.

I resisted the urge to wipe at my cheek with the back of my hand.

“Gawkers look like stalkers,” Sam cut in when he continued to stare. “The drink, man.” She pointed to my glass, drawing him back to his job.

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” He slid it toward me. “On the house.”

“It’s my bloody bottle, knob,” Sam leaned over and snagged the remainder of the scotch, clinking her glass to mine. “Drink up, marras!”

We toasted to Sam and she returned the salute for me and my upcoming film, confessing that she’d been in love with Addison Riley since she first learned how to read.

“Not long ago, then, huh?” Dillon teased, earning a flick to the forehead.

I loved the easy friendship between them. The way they communicated through an unspoken language, with looks and gestures built from years of attention to detail. It was obvious how much respect they had for each other, even as it was demonstrated through banter and horse play. It was something, I’d grown certain, Dani and I would never share.

Lost in these thoughts as I sipped my whisky, I was startled by Imogen, who let out an ear-piercing squeal. She’d grown sullenly silent since her rebuke from Sam, but now her whole body brightened as she lunged across the terrace floor.

A moment later, she returned arm-in-arm with a strikingly attractive blonde whose plunging neckline on her silver-sequined mini-dress left little to the imagination. As the woman glided over on the towering stilettos of her knee high leather boots, she offered a brilliant smile toward Sam, which faltered immediately when her gaze fell on Dillon. Imogen tugged at her elbow, continuing to drag her along.

I didn’t have to guess who she was. All of Europe knew who she was. Even if her face hadn’t appeared on everything from train station posters to Gatorade commercials, it would still be impossible not to recognize the cobalt blue eyes and poster girl figure of England’s pride and joy.

It was no wonder Kelsey Evans had turned Dillon’s head. Hell, she’d have made Mother Teresa do a double take if she’d been strolling down the convent halls.

I mean, really—those legs…

Without further hesitation, she extracted herself from Imogen’s grip, kissed Sam’s cheek, cast a quick glance at me, and then turned to face Dillon head on.

“Hello, Sinc. It’s been a spell.”

Sinc. Everyone called her that. I’d heard it from at least a dozen mouths tonight alone. But somehow, from her, it struck me differently. It made me realize there was this whole part of her world I didn’t share. I would never call her Sinc. It was like a club I couldn’t join. A clique to which I’d never belong.

“Kelsey.”

“Time for another round!” Imogen blurted, turning for the bar.

A beat of silence passed before Kelsey took a step forward, offering Dillon a side-arm hug—a clear peace offering amidst the awkward atmosphere.

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