Tumble Page 7

  I await it too. It was on the tip of my tongue, an inquiry as to what he’s been up to. Not building houses or fishing with Matt or playing poker with Penn, but all the other things—the little things—that make up who a person is. The hours from one a.m. to four. The way you fill an early Saturday morning or a late Friday night. What you do on a rainy Wednesday evening.

  I consider his responses and pair them to what I know about him to be true, and how some of those answers will be impossible to shake. I realize I don’t want to know.

  “You go first,” I say, nodding to the opening in the fence.

  He pulls his brows together. He starts to speak but stops himself short. A realization settles over his eyes, muddling the green that was cloudless only a few moments ago.

  With a shrug, he brushes the shrubs out of the way and disappears on the other side.

  The little pendant hanging around my neck, a heart my grandmother gave me, vibrates with each breath I take. My shirt clings to my skin. My shorts are suddenly too tight. As I hear a chorus of laughter float through the greenery, I almost wish I hadn’t come.

  Taking a deep breath, I grip the metal fencing. “Why are you so nervous?” I whisper to myself. “You’re going to say hi. Trade some stories. And you’ll be on a plane back to the city in a couple of days. Nothing to be nervous about.”

  The metal is warm to the touch as I slide between the poles. The brick paver patio is strewn with pieces of leaves and an occasional beer tab as I step through. Instantly, my nostrils are filled with scents of spilled beer and garlic from Mucker’s famous pizza. Adjusting my shirt, getting my bearings, I watch as Dane slips into a seat beside Claire at the long table in the middle of the area.

  Standing on the pavers, looking at a table of faces I love so much, all I can do is smile.

  “Look who it is.” Matt’s voice rings out above the music playing in the little overhead speakers. His face splits with a wide, handsome grin. “It’s a good thing you showed up.”

  “Or what?” I tease. “What were you going to do about it?”

  He scoots his chair back and heads my way. Claire, Penn, Dane, and a couple of our other friends are watching us from the table.

  “I was giving you until tomorrow, and then I was coming to find you.” Matt’s arms spread and I fall into them with no hesitation. “How are ya, Nee?”

  “Good,” I say. My entire body relaxes against him. “How are you?”

  “As handsome as ever.” He winks as he pulls back.

  “That’s the truth. I’ve been all over this country and have failed to find a guy as handsome as you,” I joke.

  “That’s about right.” His chest rumbles as he chuckles. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

  He takes his thumb and rubs it on my forehead, right between my eyes. It’s something he started in fifth grade when Penn hit me in the face with a spitball. As I screamed on the playground and threatened Penn within an inch of his life, Matt came to my rescue. Or so I thought. He wiped the area with his thumb to quiet me down, and then, as I stopped yelling and almost felt better, he whispered in my ear he was really rubbing it in.

  I kicked him in the shin.

  I also opened the door that afternoon to find Matt and his older brother, Dane, on my doorstep so he could apologize. Matt muttered through his apology while I wondered why my stomach felt like it was full of butterflies as I stared at the taller, slightly lighter version of the boy who tormented me. I may have forgotten about the spitball and what Matt’s “sorry speech” entailed, but I never lost the butterflies.

  “Okay, okay,” Penn says, gripping my shoulder. “My turn.” He spins me to face him, and then, before I know it, I’m lifted off the ground.

  “Penn!” I laugh as he turns a circle with me in his arms. “You’re a brat. Put me down.”

  “I’m a brat? What’s that make you? The girl who jets off to the big city and forgets all about us.” He sets me back on my feet. “I’ll be a little pissed at you about that for the rest of my life. Just so we’re clear.”

  “Forget about you?” I tilt my head and bat my lashes. “How could I forget about the Penn Etling?”

  The corner of his lip lifts, a dimple settling deep in his cheek. “Well, that’s what I was thinking. Forget these other fuckers, fine. But me? Kinda hard to believe.”

  Matt shoves his shoulder, knocking Penn off-balance. They both laugh, their carefree lilts caressing me and warming me in a way that starts on the inside—somewhere deep in my chest. The spot amps up a few degrees when I catch Dane’s gaze. Before either of us can absorb it, our attention is drawn to the commotion beside me.

  “Damn you!” Matt groans as Penn grabs him around the head. They start a friendly skirmish, bumping a table as they wrestle for control.

  “Those two never grew up,” Claire says, coming up beside me.

  “What would be the fun in that? Ow!” Matt grimaces, his face turning red. Penn’s hefty forearm is clenched just below Matt’s chin. “Stop. It. You. Ow!”

  Penn lets go. Matt staggers a few steps, his hands on his knees and his face beet red. Penn brushes his hands off.

  “Made quick work of that.” He laughs. “Now I need a beer.”

  “You’re buying me one now,” Matt tells him. He and Penn head to the table, waving for me to follow. Claire and I watch them go.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” she admits once the boys are out of earshot.

  “I almost didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Well . . .” Quickly scanning the area, I shoot my gaze right over Dane. My heart strums in my chest. Standing near him is like a shot of adrenaline right to my veins. “A lot of reasons, I guess.”

  “Although I can’t fathom what better things you had to do on a Friday night besides coming to Mucker’s and hanging out with us, I’m glad you made the right choice.”

  The patio floods with our friends’ laughter, and I can’t help my grin. “Me too. What can it hurt, right?”

  “Nothing, as long as you can manage not to combust. The way Dane is looking at you . . .” A sculpted brow shoots to the sky. “I’m just saying.” She holds her hands between us in defense before giggling and turning toward the table.

  “Don’t make me regret this, Claire!”

  My request is met with a full-bellied laugh.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NEELY

  Sit by me.” Penn pulls out a chair. There are three open seats at the table, but this one just happens to be across from Dane. “I insist.”

  I lower myself into the blue plastic seat. Across the table, between Dane and Claire, is Brittney Blevins. She was a year older than Matt, Penn, and me in school and is stunning. Time has been kind to her. Her long blonde hair shines in the hazy light. Seeing her beside Dane loops a knot in the back of my neck.

  “Hi, Brittney,” I say as I get comfortable.

  “How are you, Neely?”

  “Good. Thanks. You?”

  She brushes a lock of hair off her shoulder. “I’d be better if Patrick actually showed up tonight.”

  “You need to forget him,” Claire tells her. “I know you like him, but he’s no good.”

  “You can say that again,” Matt grumbles.

  Brittney sighs. “I like him, all right? I know he’s unpredictable and won’t commit and gets jealous, but I do like him. I can’t help it.”

  I hold up a hand. “Wait. Who is Patrick? Why doesn’t that ring a bell?”

  “He’s that fool who ran his truck off the bluff and into Dogwood Lake,” Matt says, flipping a beer tab toward Dane.

  “Oh.” I look at Matt. “Didn’t someone die in that accident?”

  “That’s what they say,” he tells me.

  Brittney rolls her eyes. “No one died. That was a stupid rumor.”

  Dane leans forward, flicking the beer tab back toward Matt. The bracelet around his wrist looks bright against his tanned skin. “It wasn’t a stupid rumor. Bobby Jones went missing right ar
ound that time, and the last person who saw him was said to be Patrick.”

  “That’s not what he says,” Brittney retorts.

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Penn chimes in. “That’s gonna make him look even more suspicious.”

  I drag my gaze away from Penn to the other side of the table. Claire is taking a sip of her drink, hiding a smile as she watches me. I don’t have to look at Dane to know he’s watching me too. The feel of his gaze has me shifting in my seat.

  Clearing my throat, I sit back in my chair. “You know how it goes. Small towns are always full of silly stories and conspiracy theories. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  “I agree with that,” Penn says. “When Claire told me you and Dane were practically screwing in the middle of Dogwood Café—”

  “Penn, I’m warning ya,” Dane says through clenched teeth.

  My cheeks heat as Matt and Brittney laugh, and I punch Penn on the shoulder.

  “What?” Penn asks. He stretches an arm over the back of my chair in a clear joust aimed at Dane. “Don’t lie to me, bud. I saw you right after that.”

  “Stop it,” I tell him. “You’re such a pesterer.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying it.” Dane’s words are crisp. “He has nothing better to do with his time than needle me.”

  “Yes, I do. You just tell me my stories all sound the same.” He leans closer to me, the smirk on his face clearly for Dane’s benefit. “Maybe I’ll work on a new story for ya, Dane.”

  “Penn, you’re pushing it.” I laugh, shoving him away.

  The waitress stops by the table and drops off a few fresh beers for the crew. Claire orders the Rocket Razzle, a new Mucker’s invention, for me and a plate of fried pickles for the table.

  As the group chatters back and forth, Dane and I exchange a soft smile.

  “Are you dating anyone?” Brittney asks, pulling my attention away from Dane.

  “Who? Me?” I ask.

  She grins. “Yes, you. I actually . . . This is a little embarrassing, but I follow your articles.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she says, looking briefly at the table. “I think it’s totally awesome you got out of here and did something big with your life. Every time I see your name on the website or in print, it just makes me really proud of you in a weird way.”

  My cheeks ache at the compliment. “I don’t know what to say. That’s a really nice thing to tell me, Brittney.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Her voice trails off into a laugh. “Anyway, I figured you had some big-shot boyfriend in the city. That’s how you roll in my head.”

  Dane’s movement beside her catches my attention, but I don’t look at him. I force my eyes to stay trained on Brittney. I happily accept a large frosted cup with a mixture of bright-yellow and red liquids from the waitress. “I don’t have a lot of time for a private life, actually. No big-shot boyfriend for me.”

  “That’s good news,” Penn says.

  “Why?” I turn to him, my drink in hand, and take a long sip. The spiciness of the rum mixed with the sweetness of the pineapple and the sugar-rimmed glass lets me take in a little more than I intend on the first gulp.

  “I don’t know.” He grins. “I don’t have a lot to do tonight. What do you have going on?”

  “I am not sleeping with you, Penn,” I say, shaking my head before taking another drink.

  His gaze skims over the top of my head, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Got something you wanna say, Dane?”

  “Oh, I got a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’m not about to give you the satisfaction of saying them.”

  I glance over my shoulder. Dane is leaning back in his chair, one arm draped over the armrest. He appears completely cool. Relaxed, even, but the vein in his temple gives away his irritation.

  Turning back to Penn, I shrug. “Sounds like he has your number.”

  Matt groans. “Everyone has his number.”

  “Back to the topic at hand,” Brittney says. “I need you to have a super romantic life, Neely. Do it for me. Let me live vicariously through you.”

  “I just don’t have time,” I reiterate. “I work ten-hour days. Try to get my money out of my gym membership. Travel for work once a month or so and spend time with my friend Grace. Where do I fit in a private life?”

  Mentally patting myself on the back at how believable that sounds, I take another drink. It’s all true, anyway. I don’t really have time for a boyfriend. Even if I found one, where would I fit him in, in the midst of my responsibilities?

  My bed.

  “You have to make time for a private life,” Claire chimes in, ripping me away from my vision of a male form with a green-and-yellow bracelet tangled up in my sheets. “I learned that the hard way.”

  “How do you mean?” I avert my gaze from Dane’s and hold up my glass to see it’s empty.

  “I work at the café to help pay my tuition at school. I’m going to be a dental hygienist,” she tells me. She presses the slice of lime through the neck of her beer bottle. “I had a great boyfriend and thought life was good. Apparently, he didn’t. I was too focused, according to him.” She rolls her eyes. “So now I make sure I take time for myself.”

  Penn leans my way again. “She really just means she fucks me at least twice a week.”

  Claire throws a napkin at Penn, making him chuckle.

  The waitress interrupts us, clearing off empty bottles and replacing them with fresh ones. As my friends give Penn hell, she comes back with another colorful Razzle for me. I waste no time diving in. The rum warms my blood and knocks off the edge of my anxiety. I can feel it rushing through my body and delivering a much-needed dose of comfort.

  “Who did you get to replace me in New York?” Penn asks.

  “Excuse me?” I laugh.

  “Who is the devilishly handsome stud whom you secretly want?”

  My snort is unavoidable. “I didn’t realize that’s what you are to me, but good to know.”

  “And?” he prods. “He’s a musician, isn’t he? I always felt I could’ve been a drummer.”

  Claire throws her head back and mutters something to the sky. All I can do is laugh.

  “Well,” I say, “you’ll be happy to know you were irreplaceable. I spend all of my free time with my friend Grace.”

  “Is she hot?” Penn asks.

  I turn to look at him. “She’d eat you alive, bud.”

  Why I’m surprised at the sparkle in his eye is beyond me, but it’s there. Coupled with his little grin, the one that would tempt Grace in two seconds flat if she were here, I can only imagine the two of them together.

  “When can I meet her?” he asks.

  “So no boyfriend at all?” Dane asks, bringing my attention back to him. The sound of his voice sends a ripple of energy across my skin, and I glance up to see him looking at me.

  “He really just means he wants to—” Penn starts, but is cut off by everyone’s laughter.

  “Stop,” I say. Pointing my finger at him, I shoot him my best glare. It’s not a great one with the rum in play. “Don’t.”

  “I’m just trying to help things along. Help the inevitable.”

  “What’s inevitable is that I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t shut up,” Dane warns.

  Penn extends his arm and shifts in his seat so he’s sitting even closer to me. It’s comical, watching his antics stir up a storm behind Dane’s eyes. It’s also gratifying.

  “Can I get you all anything else?” The waitress places an oversize plate of fried pickles in the middle of the table.

  “Ranch,” Dane and I say at the same time.

  “And I’m full of shit?” Penn laughs. “Please.”

  “It’s salad dressing,” I point out. “Everyone likes it. Claire likes ranch. Don’t you?” Silently pleading with her, I watch the amusement roll across her features.

  “Not with fried pickles,” she says. “Just with salad.”

  “It’s good
on a baked potato too,” Matt adds. “But these two,” he says, motioning toward Dane and me, “are the only ones I know who eat it on everything.”

  Peering around Penn, I look at Matt. “It’s Dane’s fault. I was normal before he had me dipping chicken nuggets in it.”

  “That’s gross.” Brittney wrinkles her nose.

  “It’s really not.” I bite my lip and pull my gaze to Dane. “Do you remember when we tried it on smoked sausage?”

  “And macaroni and cheese,” he adds. “I still do that, actually.”

  I cringe. “Me too.”

  We laugh as our friends call us disgusting and Matt orders another round of beers.

  Despite the table full of people and the headlights shining through the shrubbery as people come and go, as Dane looks at me, it really feels like it’s only him and me.

  My heartbeat ricochets in my chest, my blood as hot as the late summer air. I take another sip of my drink and hope it cools me off. That, somehow, it negates the air simmering between Dane and me.

  I’m struck by how handsome he is. How the lines around his eyes and the sharpness of his chin create a look of masculinity and experience. Yet when I allow myself to look deep enough, I see him. The little boy who lost his mother when he was ten. The teenager who had a hard time understanding his father’s hard-nosed love. The young man who worried he’d never amount to anything. It’s this Dane who has always pulled at me.

  “I think you’re being paged, Dane,” Matt says, popping a fried pickle in his mouth.

  Dane pulls his gaze away from mine, but mine follows. The woman from Dogwood Café is standing inside Mucker’s and is waving at Dane. His face breaks into a wide smile.

  I can feel my friends’ eyes on me as I watch him react to the pretty brunette. His hand comes up as he signals to her.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says.

  He glances at me before putting his cap back on the right way. Shoving away from the table, he heads to the building. I watch him join her inside, next to a table. Her hands go flying through the air in animation. He shakes his head, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear smile.

  Jealousy. I haven’t felt it for years, at least not over a man. The occasional guys I’ve dated since Dane haven’t been serious enough to really get torn up over. Yet here I am, watching him interact with that woman, and my stomach is smooshing together in the undeniable pit of envy.