Dark hair cascades over slender shoulders in the glow of the overhead lights, and even from this distance, I can make out her familiar silhouette. The way she walks with those quick, purposeful steps, hips swaying, arms swinging. She’s wearing dark jeans and a thick sweater, and just the sight of her makes my chest constrict.
“There she is,” Chris whispers unnecessarily, as if we’re on some covert mission.
I try to swallow but my mouth is bone dry. “Yeah, I see her.”
She climbs into the back seat, and I catch a flash of her profile as she turns to greet the other girls, feeling a punch of pride that she’s put herself out there?that she’s finding friendship with these women.
The car pulls away, and I force myself to breathe normally despite the erratic pounding in my chest.
“Let’s roll,” Chris says, putting the car in drive. “And remember, we’re just a group of guys who happened to choose the same place as our women to hang out tonight.”
We follow at a distance, keeping Liz’s taillights in view as we wind through town. The SUV takes a right onto a county road I’ve never traveled before, heading away from the usual college haunts.
“Where the hell are they going?” Jace asks, peering through the windshield.
“Maybe they’re heading to that new restaurant near the lake,” Damon suggests.
“Nah. They already ate Chinese with us,” Chris says.
“Well, they’re definitely not going to Bradd’s,” Jace mutters.
I say nothing, my stomach knotting with each mile that passes. The anticipation of finally talking to Tatum after weeks of silence is slowly killing me.
After fifteen minutes of driving, they turn onto a gravel driveway marked by a faded wooden sign I can’t read in the dark.
Chris pulls into the lot, careful to stay far enough away from their vehicle so they won’t notice, waiting as all five of them pile out of the SUV. Laughter drifts to us through the windows, and I swear to God, I can pick out the tenor of Tatum’s among them as they head toward the entrance of the rustic barn-like structure.
“Wait until they’re inside,” I mutter, my eyes glued to her every step of the way.
“Okay, they’re in,” Chris says, once they doors close behind them. “Now we wait a couple minutes so it’s not obvious we followed them.”
We sit in silence, the engine ticking as it cools. Jace drums his fingers against his knee while Damon checks his phone. West stares out the window, seemingly lost in thought, all while I contemplate how this conversation with Tate will go.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask. Everything I wanted to say to Tate vanishes with my mounting nerves.
“Just be cool, okay?” Chris meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t come on too strong.”
I nod, though my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Ready?” he asks, and suddenly I’m not so sure.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the possibility my presence here will only piss Tate off more when Damon shoves at my arm, grumbling at me to move. I climb out of the back seat on rubbery limbs and head toward the entrance where a wooden sign marks the door.
“Riverbank Vineyard,” I read out loud.
“Okay, so not our usual haunt,” Jace says.
“But guys like wine, right? We could totally go to a vineyard,” Chris says as I shoot him a dirty look.
With a deep breath for courage, I swing the door open, and we step inside to the sound of laughter and raised voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Scanning the room, it only takes me seconds to realize we’re the only dudes here. At least twenty-five women are scattered around tables, decked out with easels and paintbrushes. There’s not a man in sight. Not even at the bar strung with twinkle lights.
“Um . . . guys?” Jace points to the large wooden sign, propped up on an easel. The one that readsPaint & Sip Ladies’ Night!in big, bold letters.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“What the hell’s a paint and sip?” Chris asks, frowning.
“It’s where women get together to paint pictures while drinking wine,” West explains, and when all five of us turn to him, he shrugs. “What?”
