“Can someone get Riggsby a napkin to wipe up his drool?” Heath jokes, searching the table for a napkin.
“Shut up,” I bite back.
The two of them round the table to my side, since Heath and his lady friends take up the other. There are still two free stools next to Levi’s empty one.
“Ladies,” Heath greets, waggling his eyebrows.
“Settle down, Pierce.” Greer laughs. “Anyone sitting here?”
Heath shakes his head. “Only the two prettiest girls in Silo Bay.”
“Now who needs to settle down?” I grumble.
Greer takes Levi’s vacant seat, sliding out the stool next to her. My eyes track every movement as Wren hops onto the stool. Theway she wiggles to get comfortable. The denim of her skirt rises, revealing more toned legs. I’ve always had a weakness for her body, especially those goddamn legs. At five-foot-eight, Wren isn’t short by any means, but most of her height comes from her legs. Legs I used to envision wrapped around me. I remember being fourteen, with raging hormones, noticing how my best friend was growing into a woman.
“It Ain’t My Fault” blasts from the stage, Baker’s voice carrying through the speakers, causing Greer to shout in praise. Feet pound across the dance area in front of the stage as more people flock the space. Bodies dance as beer sloshes.
“I’ll grab the first bucket of beer,” Heath announces and slides off his stool.
“Wren, do you still drink beer? Or have you moved on to more expensive tastes?”
Her head whips in my direction, and I hate myself for how rude I sounded.
She stares at me, then at Heath. “Beer is fine. Thanks for getting drinks.”
“C’mon,” Greer shouts, reaching for Wren’s hand. “Heath can find us out there.”
Wren hesitates. “I might need some liquid courage,” she admits.
I slide my beer over to her. “Here, it’s half full and still pretty cold.”
She offers me a small, grateful smile before bringing the bottle to her lips.
“So, Wren,” one of the girls across the table starts. “What’s it like coming back to Ohio? Wasn’t cut out for LA?”
Wren chokes on her sip, eyes widening at the brazen question. “Considering I was on a reality show for four seasons, I don’tthink it was because Iwasn’t cut out for LA.”
“But it’s Hollywood…I don’t know how you could leave it,” the other girl adds.
Wren’s muscles stiffen. “LA isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Before the girls can say anything else, she’s sliding off her stool and reaching for Greer’s hand. I can’t look away. Now there’s no denying something happened in LA, but what could have been so bad to have Wren running home?
My brow furrows as I watch the girls move through the crowd. It doesn’t take long for her to let go. As the song shifts, so does Wren. She might be different, but deep down, she’s still the crazy girl I fell in love with.
Out on the dance floor, her hair flying, boots stomping, body writhing, she’s the kind of carefree that makes my ribs ache because we used to bring that out of each other.
One of the girls clears her throat. “You’re staring.”
“Observing,” I correct, but my throat’s tight.
“Uh huh,” she retorts. “We’re going to the restroom. We’ll be back.”
Heath finds Wren and Greer, dropping off their beers before pushing his way back to us. He’s telling me a story I can’t find myself to listen to, not when Wren’s in my proximity. Even with our history and the emotions swirling around us, I can't take my eyes off her. She’s mesmerizing in the way she swirls her hips and tilts her head back, shouting lyrics without a care in the world.
It’s not long before Heath’s lady friends return, and he’s slipping out the back door with one, or both of them. I don’t care enough to watch.
With drinks flowing and more liquid courage humming through my veins, I push off the bar stool, unable to control myself.
