The Spencers ignore him and fix their pleading gazes on me. I think they’ve clocked me as the more receptive one.
“Do you mind if we sit out here by your dock for a while and listen?” Big Spencer asks.
“Sure, knock yourself out,” I say, shrugging. “We’re just…going to go back inside.”
“We’ll catch you guys on the lake tomorrow!” Little Spencer calls after us.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Wyatt mumbles under his breath.
We leave the two boat weirdos to their own devices and quickly ascend the steps back up to the house. Not a word passes between us. It isn’t until the french doors are firmly closed, providing a sound barrier to the lake, that we look at each other and burst out laughing.
I double over, wheezing from the giggles. Wyatt rubs tears from his eyes, pushing hair away from his face as he laughs his ass off.
“Jesus Christ,” he croaks.
“Okay,” I say when my laughter finally subsides. “They were nuts, yes. But they were kind of adorable.”
“They were not adorable, Logan.”
“Also, and I’m not joking, but I’m really intrigued about this Darlie case. And all the supernatural Tahoe stories?” I glance at him on my way to the staircase. “Do you need the Jeep tomorrow, or can I take it?”
“Take it where?” he asks suspiciously.
“You realize I’m allowed to drive to town by myself without telling you what it’s for, right?”
“Take it where?” he repeats.
“Oh my God. If you must know, I want to hit up the library.” I head up the stairs, over my shoulder adding, “I’m getting changed now.”
“Right, into your pajamas. I approve.”
I stop halfway on the staircase and peer down at him. “I told you I’m going out. That hasn’t changed.”
“You’re not going out.”
“Oh, I am. And guess what else? You’re not invited.”
He glares at me from the bottom of the stairs. “Like hell I’m not.”
“Sorry, Graham. I’m just gonna order a car and be on my way.”
“I’ll drive you,” Wyatt says through clenched teeth. I can see his jaw ticking from the strain.
“Nope,” I answer cheerfully. “Because you’re not coming.”
“Oh, I insist.”
He stomps off, and I’m grinning to myself as I climb the rest of the stairs. Reverse psychology. Works every time.
Chapter 7
WYATT
THE BAR IS ONE OF those lake-town dives with string lights and wooden tables with sticky tops. We find a seat in the back near a jukebox that’s cranking out classic rock my dad would drool over. Speaking of drooling, our waiter can’t stop checking out Blake, though I don’t blame him because I’m doing the same damn thing. The infuriating woman changed into a sundress designed to get a man hard. Short, white, and innocent in the kind of way that isn’t innocent at all.
Kill me.
I’d much rather be back at the house with my guitar, but she was determined to go out tonight, with or without me. And, well, the latter wasn’t an option, so…here I am. Nursing a whiskey I don’t even want, trying not to notice the way her dress rides up as she settles on a stool. At least she’s drinking a virgin cocktail. That’s reassuring, I suppose.
