I sighed. “If he comes in, tell him I’m looking for him?” We were supposed to start practice two hours ago. The off season turned Marty from a rigidly disciplined partner into a frequent slacker. If I didn’t find him soon, he’d pass the point of being reasoned with and would stay out all night drinking and telling stories about the old carnival glory days.

Raquel smiled, revealing pretty white teeth in stark contrast to her dark, bristly beard. “Sure thing.”

I started to walk away, but Dean tapped his beer with his fork, directing my attention back to him with the sound. “Want me to call the Tropicana and ask if Marty’s there?”

He had correctly guessed the next place I was headed to, but then again, Dean had known Marty longer than I had.

“It’s only a mile and I need to keep my legs in shape.”

“They look fine to me,” Dean said huskily, his gaze lingering on the limbs in question before moving over the rest of my body. Due to the heat, I only wore shorts and a tank top, so his view was pretty unrestricted. Then Dean shook his head as if to remind himself why checking me out was a bad idea. “See you around, Frankie,” he finished in a brisker tone.

My chest tightened with an ache that was as familiar as it was useless. Yeah, Dean knew why fantasizing about my legs—or any other part of me—was pointless, and I’d long ago accepted that there were some things I’d never have. Yet in a flash of weakness, I found myself looking at a couple who were seated at a nearby table. Their fingers were interlaced as they whispered to each other. That simple touch was something they hardly seemed aware of, but it caught my attention like a spotlight beamed onto it, turning that ache in my chest into something closer to a burn.

The couple glanced at me, perhaps sensing my stare, but then their gaze quickly passed me by.