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reason. But the air around the two of them was constantly charged and uneasy like a storm waiting to break.
    Taylor glared at me. “Don’t deflect. If we hadn’t walked in, you were a scant good minutes from a horizontal mambo with your ex-fiancé. Talk about two people circling each other.”
    I might as well own up to it. “Clearly there’s unfinished business there. Maybe it’s physical, maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s more. But I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t have to give into it; I’ve been down that road and nothing has really changed. You two, however . . .”
    â€œHey Rissa.” Jordan came over from the other table and squatted down next to me. “I haven’t had a second to talk to you since this whole thing started.”
    Jordan Little had been the first person to greet me at Tulane registration. He was a North Carolina guy, a Southern gent with a sharp sense of humor and steel-trap mind. He’d been in a master’s program for behavioral psychology, so some of our classes overlapped. We became fast friends and study buddies. Soon after graduation, we lost touch with the exception of Facebook updates and holiday cards. Last I heard he had a practice in child psychology and was married and living in Atlanta.
    I scooted down and patted the spot beside me, inviting him to sit. I teased, “Hey there, Jordy, how did they get you to agree to this nonsense?”
    â€œGirl, someone’s paying me to spend the summer losing weight—something I was going to do for free—and I get to hang around my fave person from grad school in her hometown? I was all in.” His eyes twinkled as he flashed a wide grin.
    â€œJordy, this is Mac Bisset and Taylor Rhone. My two best friends in the world, whether they like it or not. This is Niecy, my girl from undergrad, and this is my cousin Sharon. We all call her Sugar. I couldn’t tell you why.”
    â€œBecause I’m so damn sweet,” Sugar snarled with a smirk.
    â€œRight. Everyone, this is Jordan Little. Jordy got me through many a late-night study session. He was a saint to put up with me.”
    He snorted with a mischievous smile. “Is that what you thought? That I was saintly?” He laughed. “I was trying to figure out how to talk you into bed.”
    I was stunned. “What?! You never said anything or made a move.”
    â€œApparently my moves were too subtle.” He met my eyes and grinned in a charming way I hadn’t noticed before.
    â€œApparently.” I’d had no clue, never thought of him in anything but a platonic way.
    â€œYeah, well, you were pretty messed up over”—he hitched his chin down the table toward Malachi—“you know. I was biding my time. But now I’m here; you’re here. Everyone’s grown. Am I being less subtle?”
    I goggled at him in amazement. “Um. What happened to your wife?”
    â€œAw, well . . . Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’s gone with the wind. Met some exotic brother from Haiti and took off for parts unknown.” He fluttered his hands in a flying gesture.
    I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Jordy. I didn’t know.”
    He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Water. Bridges. Spilt milk. All of that. Thankfully, I’m over it. Life goes on. What about you? You still waiting for the Bayou Blue Streak to catch a clue and do right?”
    Taylor and Mac burst into laughter. Mac slapped Jordy on the back. “I like this guy.”
    I nodded in agreement. “Me too. And no, I’m not waiting for Malachi to turn into someone different. Me and this town are still just a speed bump on his way to bigger and better things.”
    Taylor shook her head. “Is he going back to the NFL?”
    â€œHe’s got a tryout in three months.”
    Ruby walked over at that moment. “Who has a tryout? Mal?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSome