Miles looks back down at his screen, his eyes lighting up at the mere sight of a text from Miranda. “She always has such funny stories about the girls. Starting a new team is always an adventure—trying to weave the different girls’ personalities into a successful team. Today, she had two girls wanting the same position on the court, and?—”
Finn cuts him off. “Listen, dude. I’m sure Miranda’s basketball team with her eight-year-old girls is very entertaining, and I appreciate that you’re in love, but—” He splays his hands on the table, leans in, and talks slowly. “This is a guys’ weekend. No girlfriend talk allowed.”
“Well, I never agreed to that,” Miles returns his attention to his phone.
“Yeah, well, maybe I forgot to tell you those rules,” Finn replies, “but those are the rules. So put your phone down and hang out with the guys.”
“All right,” Miles says. “I hear you. Give me a second.”
He types, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. Then he looks back up at Finn. “Miranda says she’s sorry for ruining our romantic guy dinner.”
Finn can’t help but smile. “Tell her she’s forgiven.”
Miles continues typing. “She wants to know what we’re all eating.” He looks at our plates.
“Put your phone away,” Finn warns, huffing out a chuckle. “Seriously, Miles, cut the cord.”
“All right, all right.” Miles types again. “Okay, she says bye, and she’ll see you later.”
“Great,” Finn deadpans.
I’d normally be more amused at this exchange, but I’m only half listening. Finn would be disappointed to know that my mind is on a girl, too. I can’t help it. I need to figure out what my next step should be when it comes to Tessa.
I feel like we’re wading into dangerous waters. I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to the door every time a new customer walks in, the fear flashing across her face as she hopes it’s not a certain someone. I know she’s in trouble.
Then there’s that bruise—or at least what I thought was a bruise—on her arm yesterday. I could have been seeing things. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought. But I don’t know. I just feel uneasy about the whole thing. Most of her body is covered in clothing—long sleeves, high necklines, and jeans, even in the summer heat. That has to be a sign.
I promised Finn I’d go on this guys’ weekend with him, but I’m on edge. I don’t feel good being so far away from Tessa—mybarista. Even as I think this over, I know it sounds ridiculous. I’m completely hung up on this girl I barely know. Yes, I’m insanely attracted to her, and something about her has me completely intrigued. I realize that’s part of the draw, but the other part—the bigger part—is that I want to help her because I truly feel she needs it.
But she’s not the kind of person who would accept help unless she’s comfortable. She’s like a wounded animal that way. I have to earn her trust, or I risk pushing her into deeper danger. And unless she trusts me, I won’t be able to help her at all.
I don’t know how friendly we need to get. How many questions do I need to ask before she feels comfortable accepting my offer to help her out of what I assume is a very bad situation? She’s still a mystery to me. I feel like she wants to open up, but in the same breath, I feel like she’d do anything to hide.
“Yo, Logan.” Finn’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Did you hear me?”
I snap my attention up to him. “I’m sorry—what?”
Miles studies me from across the table, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “What has you thinking so hard?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “What were you saying?” I ask Finn.
“Are you done eating?” Finn gestures at my barely touched plate. “You ready to head to the beach?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m done.”
The inhabitants of the beach mirror the ones in the restaurant—one couple after the next sprawled across plush white loungers, toes buried in powdery sand. Thatched umbrellas provide pockets of shade while the turquoise water stretches out before us, so clear you can see schools of tropical fish darting through the shallows.
I will say, where this place lacks in cuisine, it more than makes up for in drinks. I’m normally not one to gravitate toward fruity cocktails, but whatever they put in these is magical because they taste like heaven.
I turn to the guys while sprawled out on a cushioned beach chair facing the water. The drink in my hand is served in a hollowed-out pineapple with a vibrantly colored straw, garnished with fresh mango and a tiny purple orchid.
“Okay, I take it back. This weekend is worth it just for these drinks,” I say, taking another long sip.
“I know,” Miles agrees, holding his own tropical concoction up to the fading sunlight. The liquid inside glows amber and pink. “They’re so good.”
Finn looks around, his gaze scanning the beach with exaggerated disappointment. “They’d be even better if I were sitting next to a girl in a bikini.” He sighs dramatically. “But yeah, I agree—they’re pretty good.”
“Well”—I lean back, letting the tension drain from my shoulders—“we’re only here for the weekend. We might as well make the most of it.”
