Page 77 of The One I Love
Simon waves him off. “Anything for Magnolia.”
We laugh as Simon looks at the dirt under his nails—there isn’t any—as Porter brings us over our drinks. I’m a big believerthat there are tiers of beers. Not necessarily quality, but based on when you drink them. The number one is a shower beer. A close second is a cold beer at the end of a day of hard work, like today. Because while Simon got away with doing the bare minimum to help set up Magnolia’s birthday party Saturday, Wes and I took care of the lawn and landscaping, strung lights around his patio and did any other thing Betsy, and Magnolia, told us to. I swear that girl is the most outspoken seven-year-old on the planet.
“I do have a question,” Simon asks. “You aren’t poor. I know you’re not playing professional football anymore, and you paid your ex-wife a likely stupid amount of money to leave you alone, but why were you doing your landscaping today? You know you can pay people for that.”
“Because why would I pay people to do something that I, along with my friends, can do ourselves?”
Simon shakes his head. “That, my friend, is the difference between you and me.”
“It ain’t the only one.”
Some people would take that as insult. Not Simon. He just tips his glass to Wes. Because you can’t argue with the truth. Those two are as different as night and day, but they just work. That’s actually the crux of our friend group. We’re polar opposites on many things, but at the end of the day, we’re brothers. Amelia says our differences keep us balanced. I think we’ve just been friends for so long we don’t know how to not be, differences or not. Either way, it works.
“Anyone heard from Oliver?”
“Yeah, he texted me yesterday,” I say. “They’re traveling back today and were probably going to lay low for a bit. Apparently some shit went down. But he’ll be at Magnolia’s party.”
Before we can talk about Oliver, or anything else, my attention is drawn to the front door. That’s what happens when it’s adark bar and the bright light of the afternoon hits your eyes. When I get them refocused, I have to shake my head to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am.
Because walking into the bar, for who knows what reason, is Paul fucking Sanders.
Wes and Simon notice the anger growing on my face and turn to see what I’m looking at.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Wes asks.
“Apparently wanting an ass beating,” Simon growls.
The three of us stare at him as he saunters into the bar. Even if he wasn’t Amelia’s ex-husband, I’d hate this guy. He was a pompous asshole in high school because he could throw a football and his dad owned the car dealership in town. He and Wes went rounds in the locker room, mostly because Paul was jealous that Wes was going to play college ball and he was going to be staying in Rolling Hills and selling people used sedans. Simon hated him because Simon hates everyone. And, well, I think it’s self-explanatory of why we didn’t get along. He always accused me of having feelings for Amelia, which I always denied. But feelings or not, he’s still an asshole.
“Well, well, well…shocking to see you three together. Where’s your fourth musketeer? Off getting turned down by a woman, I’m guessing?”
“What brings you into town, Paul? Is it already time for the yearly meeting of the ‘I Peaked in High School’ club?”
“Always a pleasure, Simon,” Paul says, ignoring his question. Seriously, what the fuck is he doing here? “Porter, how about a drink? And get one for my friends.”
“We’ll pass,” Wes says.
“Apologies. I figured you could use a round. You know, now that you don’t have that big football money coming in. Speaking of, how is your ex-wife? I heard that alimony you paid her had a good number of zeros in it.”
“Worth every penny,” he says. “You know, I should introduce you two. I feel like you’d be a great pair.”
Porter comes over and hands Paul his drink, but he doesn’t make his way back to the bar. There’s no one here, so he doesn’t have anyone to serve. But even if he did, I have a feeling he’d be here monitoring the situation.
“I appreciate that, Wes, but I’m off the market.”
“That so?” Simon says. “Let me guess, barely legal so she doesn’t know better?”
“Jessica finally snag her hook into you?” Wes guesses.
“Oh! You met someone on a dating app that you catfished, but she stayed with you after you paid her off.”
Wes and Simon laugh as I stare Paul down. They’re the ones better to go verbal rounds with him. I’m going to do what I do best: sit back and picture all the ways I could pummel him.
“You guys are always such a riot.” Paul laughs off everything just thrown at him. “If you must know, her name is Staci. She works for me at the dealership.”
Wes looks to Simon. “Secretary. We didn’t guess secretary.”
“Damnit!” Simon says, holding his fists in the air in mock anger. “It was right there, and we missed it. We’re better than that.”
