What’s his name smiles, but there’s a crease of confusion on his forehead. Sawyer didn’t encourage his invitation in any way.
He hasn’t realized I forgot his name yet.
But I think Sawyer might have come to that correct conclusion. He taps a finger against the rim of his plastic cup, scrutinizing me. Judging me, it feels like.
I hold his gaze, refusing to be the one who looks away first. Yeah, it was rude of me to forget the name of the guy who invited me, but it’s not a crime. He’s acting like I committed a felony.
“What areyoudoing here?” a snide voice asks.
The brunette is approaching. I forget her name, too, but I don’t feel badly about that.
I deliberate not answering, then decide saying, “I was invited,” is more satisfying. So, I do.
“Who invited you?”
One second passes. Two. Three.
“Me,” a male voice says. Not the one I’m expecting, but the one I instantly recognize and can connect to a name.
Her snideness wavers, hurt appearing instead. “Seriously, Cap? The fuck?”
“Leave it, Cammie,” Sawyer says, then strides past me and out of the kitchen.
“The deck cooler is out of ice, Wade,” Cammie comments cooly, then follows after Sawyer.
Wade.Wade, Wade, Wade, I chant silently, determined not to forget his name again.
“On it,” Wade replies. He glances at me, curiosity evident in his expression. He’s the only other person here who knows what Sawyer just said was a lie. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Sounds good,” I say, raising my glass in a silentcheers.
Wade smiles, then leaves me standing alone in the kitchen.
4
Ishould head home. I couldn’t fall asleep last night, so I drove to the secluded inlet I found a few years ago. It’s probably private property, but no one’s ever bothered to tell me so. Then I went to the field, threw until my shoulder was screaming. By the time I collapsed into bed, it was well after three a.m. Tomorrow, the Fourth of July, will be an early morning and a busy day at work.
Yet I don’t move from my truck’s hood. I continue to stare up at the clear, dark sky, scattered with stars, wishing I hadn’t bothered to show up. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known she had too. Wouldn’t have been stuck with this awareness, left wondering what she’s doing inside. Wondering who she’s talking to. Wondering why she bothered to come.
It wasn’t for Wade; she didn’t even remember his name.
With a frustrated exhale, I slide off the hood and trek toward the house. Tonight was supposed to be simple—a cold beer and fooling around with Macie, a new waitress at the yacht club’s restaurant. Instead,I’m sober, and I’ve been too busy avoiding looking at Wren to notice if Macie is here or not.
Wade is leaning against the railing, smoking a joint, a melting bag of ice propped against the post to his left. “Thanks,” he says as I approach.
“Don’t mention it.”
I mean that literally. The last thing I want is misplaced gratitude from Wade. I didn’t lie to spare him Cammie’s wrath. I lied because I had seen how all the guys were looking at Wren, and I knew they’d be less obvious about checking her out if they thought I was interested in her.
I leave Wade smoking on the deck and head inside. The air-conditioning has never worked well in this house, and having a few dozen people crammed inside isn’t helping, but at least the living room is less humid than outside. The kitchen is my current destination, but I only make it a few steps before I hear my name called.
Gus beckons me over when I glance his way, shouting, “Cap!” again.
I wish I could discreetly inquire what the hell he’s thinking. Wren is standing next to him, and I have no clue why Gus is calling me over to join them.
You got the girl, idiot. Fucking hoard her. Make a damn move. Don’t create competition.
Not that I’m competing.
