“Come on. They’re playing ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”
“I’m coming.”
She walks past me, and I stay rooted to the spot. She’s almost inside when I finally find my voice and turn.
“Stormy?”
She glances back. “Yeah?”
“I might not remember our first kiss,” I say, my heart pounding, “but I’m damn sure gonna remember our next one.”
Her brows lift. “Next one?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say quietly. “There will be a next one.”
She doesn’t answer. Just slips inside. Harleigh’s eyes meet mine, and she grins before following. The door shuts behind them.
I stand there in the cold long after the music swallows her up, Allen’s keys heavy in my hand, one thought racing through my addled mind.
I’m not running this time.
Ipull the bodysuit over my head and toss it into the chair in the corner.
My hair smells like smoke and a faint hint of jasmine left from my shampoo. I wrinkle my nose as I sit on the edge of my bed, unzip my boots, and tug them off, placing them by my closet door.
My feet ache.
So does my head.
I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the heaviness of the night. But it does little to help.
I slide into bed, the sheets cool against my legs, and I sigh as I pull the comforter up to my chin. Willing my mind to shut down.
That’s when my bedroom door swings open.
“Shelby,” Harleigh sings, bouncing into the room.
I groan, sit up, and flop back against my headboard. “How are you still so bubbly this late?”
Her hair is damp, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, like she’s plugged into some secret energy reservoir the rest of us don’t have access to. “It’s not late. It’s not even midnight.”
I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand.
“It’s eleven fifty-three.”
“Exactly. This is considered early back on campus.”
I snort. “Yeah, well, the day doesn’t start at four a.m. on campus either.”
She grins, completely unapologetic, and launches herself onto the bed beside me. The mattress dips under her weight.
I roll onto my side to face her, propping my head on my hand.
She stretches out, hands laced behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. The silence curls around us.
“It’s weird,” she says after a moment. “The house feels … too quiet with Matty and Charli gone.”
My chest tightens, just a little. “Yeah,” I murmur, “it is.”
