Tag grumbles, jumping from the chair. “Suddenly have somewhere to be.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” she says as he sweeps past her like something set his ass on fire. “I don’t judge.”
“No, but you poke.” He jabs a finger into her upper arm, tipping her off-balance. “Like a damn woodpecker.”
“I can’t help it. I live to harass you.”
“Harass me tomorrow. I’m going to bed.” Tag disappears inside the house, waving a disparaging hand over his shoulder.
Annie turns back to me, the smile still there. Still beaming.
But her eyes…
So fucking tired.
“Surprised you’re still awake.” I place the guitar beside me. “It’s late.”
The beam dwindles, losing its fight. “I can’t sleep. Honestly, I haven’t slept alone in years. It’s an adjustment, I guess.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Managing. Coasting.”
I nod. “Better than standing still.”
“Yeah. For sure.”
She doesn’t believe that. I see the ambivalence painted all across her face. It’s then I know that Tag was right…
It won’t last.
Something in my chest tugs. Aches. But not for me.
For her.
Because I can see she’s not happy.
I fidget with my thumb ring, tracing the silver band in slow circles. “We can talk about it.”
“Nah.” She shrugs, scrunches her nose. “I’m only going to rain on your parade.”
“Good. Never liked parades, but I love the rain.”
Her eyes flare, just a fraction. Then she lets out a quiet laugh, drops her chin, curling her bare toes against the weathered pine. “How do you know when you’re making the right decision?” She lifts her gaze, hesitant, searching.
I take my time with this one. “When you know you deserve better than what you’re settling for.”
“You think I’m settling?”
“Only you know the answer to that. If you are, then you’ll know.”
Something in her deflates, but I can’t tell if it’s frustration or defeat. She collapses into the chair Tag was sitting in and snatches the notebook she abandoned on the table an hour ago. Hunching over, she drags her fingers through her hair, the swell of her breasts spilling out over the low-cut neckline of her tank top.
My eyes linger.
Perfect porcelain skin. Full, pillowy lips pressed together in thought. The delicate slope of her neck as she tilts her head, lost in whatever storm is brewing there.
A little mole freckles the skin below her ear, matching the one above her lip. I wonder what it would feel like, brushing my thumb over it. Just a graze.
