“Crazy people can be funny. There’s no rule that says they can’t be.”
“Nah, I like them. And I’m enjoying the research. Oh! And guess what!” I brighten at the reminder. “The county sent me Darlie’s death certificate. We’ve got official confirmation that she’s dead.”
“Oh, thank God,” she mocks. “Weneeded that confirmation so badly. I was suffering sleepless nights because of it.”
“We both know you’re invested now. Stop pretending you aren’t.”
“Didn’t you say you were going to be looking at possible jobs this summer? What happened to that?”
“Ugh, yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I’m doing that research too, but this is way more fun. Oooh, and now that I know she’s actually dead, I can hit up all the local cemeteries and look for her tombstone.”
“Wow.” Annaliese stares at me for a moment. “Maybe that can be what you do after graduation. Cemetery stalker.”
I flip up my middle finger, then reach for the bill that our waiter just dropped off. “On me,” I say. “Since you drove.”
“Are you still coming to the fireworks show tonight?” she asks as we leave the restaurant.
“Me, yes. Not sure about Wyatt yet. If he comes, we can meet you at Commons. Otherwise, pick me up?”
“You got it.”
After she drives me home, I head to the dock in search of Wyatt. His guitar and notebook are on a lounger, but he’s not with them. He’s lying down on the swim platform fifty feet out. Sunglasses on, black swim trunks hugging his muscular thighs. A golden feast on display for my hungry eyes.
“Hey, Graham!” I shout toward the water.
He rises on one elbow and props a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes, peering in my direction. Then he gets up and dives off theplatform, barely leaving a splash in the water. I admire his long, graceful strokes as he swims back to the dock.
A moment later, he climbs the ladder, his muscular torso glistening and water dripping from his wet hair.
A devilish smile forms at the sight of me. “Hey, freckles.”
Forget the sun beating down on my head. His words are what make me melt. I’m a fucking goner every time he smiles at me like that. Every time he drawls that endearment. For the first time in my life, the wordfrecklesdoesn’t feel like a slur.
He strides toward his lounger and grabs a towel, drying himself off. Then he flops down and stretches his legs out. “When’d you get back?”
I wander toward him. “Just now. I came down to see if you want to go to the fireworks tonight with me and Annaliese and her brother.”
I don’t think Wyatt is listening. He’s too busy staring at me. Or, as Annaliese would call it, undressing me with his eyes. That hot gaze starts its journey at my feet in my red flip-flops, traveling up my bare legs, resting on the hem of my short, flouncy skirt. He focuses only briefly on my thin tank top before those hungry green eyes lower again.
“Lift up the skirt,” he says.
I gulp. “Why?”
“Because I want to see your pussy.”
My breath stutters in my chest. I’m standing in the middle of a dock, not exactly a discreet spot, yet a thrill shoots through me at the prospect of giving him what he wants.
Biting my lip, I gather the white fabric between my fingers and ease my skirt up, flashing him just a hint of my striped panties.
He curses softly. “Move the panties aside. Let me see.”
Oh my God.
I nudge the narrow scrap of fabric aside, baring myself to him.
His eyes blaze as they settle between my legs. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Goddamn. I want to go down on you right here.”
