Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

“Nah, I met Waller at a dinner like this, actually. Friend of a friend sorta thing.” He gestures at the table.

“And since Waller and Maddox are such fucking bosom buddies, they became a throuple,” Max snarks from my other side.

I lunge for him, trying to shove my finger in his ear, but the fucker darts his head out of the way.

“That training must be working.” I sit back. “You’re getting quicker.”

Max rolls his neck. “That’s true, but you’re also old and out of shape.”

I scoff and push my chest out. “Who you callin’ out of shape?”

At just that time, the server returns with our drinks, setting the beer down in front of me first.

Max lifts a brow, like me drinking a beer proves his point.

I lift my glass with one hand and flip him off with the other. “Enjoy your water, loser.”

I’m pretty sure Max is already twenty-one, but he’s gearing up for his senior season down in Arizona with hopes of getting drafted next spring, so good on him for abstaining.

Tony gets some type of dark liquor in a glass with one giant ice cube, and then the server presents a bottle of white wine to Maddox before pouring a glass each for him and Hannah, leaving the bottle on the table.

Another server shows up with a plate of homemade crackers and butter while Tony tells some story, but I’m too distracted watching Maddox and Hannah to listen.

NINETY-SIX

HANNAH

We all shift our drinks around to make room, and the server sets down the final dish.

This restaurant serves food family style, and with any other group, I’d say we ordered too much. But I’ve seen Maddox eat, and I have a feeling the rest of these guys are the same.

Maddox scoops some of everything onto my plate first, then everyone digs in.

The first bites are delicious.

I’ve been meaning to try this place out, and I’m happy it’s living up to its reputation.

Another forkful, and I have to stop myself from exclaiming how good everything is.

And while Max tells Waller about his summer workouts, I take another sip of wine. It’s just as wonderful as everything else, but… I take another sip. It’s familiar.

Reaching out, I turn the wine bottle so it’s facing me.

My brows furrow.

The design is simple. A thin line borders the square sticker, but along the bottom, that single line leaps up into an outline drawing of a rabbit.

A bunny.

It’s clean, almost plain, but I think it’s the same one from the office party. The wine I drank a few glasses of but was never close enough to read the label.

I’m close enough now.

And I read the brand.

I read it again.

Mon Petite Lapin.