“You sure you didn’t just forget what comes after twenty-nine?” I call back, folding my arms over my chest like I’m above their childish game. No one has to know that I’m not exactly immune to the sight of Wes’s bare skin, draped in tattoos and gleaming in the sunlight. It’s a shame his personality isn’t anywhere near as attractive.
“Thirty-two!” How Wes has the lung capacity to laugh is beyond me. “Thirty-three!”
“Fifty-five, forty-three, sixty-four…” I count loudly over him. Tracy giggles next to me when Matt shoots us a murderous glare. His face is red now, darker than the flush beginning to creep into Wes’s cheeks, and sweat drips off his forehead.
“This,” Tracy begins with a sigh, pretending to fan herself, “this is what theyshouldmean when they say ‘boys will be boys.’ I don’t even care what they’re arguing about. In fact, if Matt wants to solve all our fights by taking his clothes off…”
I laugh, nodding toward her left hand where her engagement ring should be. “Should I take the missing ring as a sign wedding planning is going well?”
“One of the stones was a little loose so it’s being fixed.” She sighs and brushes her thumb over the faint tan line left behind. “Planning is…You’re probably the last person I need to tell this, but I swear, weddings aren’t even for the couple anymore. My parents, his parents, everyone thinks they deserve a piece of the day.”
I nod sympathetically. I’ve seen the fights up close. It’s one of the many reasons I’ll be passing on a big wedding if it’s ever my turn to go down the aisle.
Across the parking lot, Matt finally admits defeat. Wes gets to his feet with ease, bends to grab his discarded T-shirt, and uses it to mop sweat off his chest. “See something you like, Sloane?”
“Not even a little.” Pointedly turning my attention back to Tracy and ignoring him, I ask if she’s figured out her plan for the contest yet.
Instead of answering, she gives me a long, indecipherable look, a slight slant to her brows.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” I scrub my fingers over my mouth, hoping the chocolate I ate on the drive hasn’t left evidence I’ve been walking around oblivious to.
Tracy shakes her head, glances at her fiancé once more, and then finally answers my question when the guys disappear around the side of the building. “I think I’m going for structure. Turquoise skies are always my favorite. Maybe a tornado and rainbow combo, if Mother Nature decides to cooperate, but you know how hard those shots are.”
“What’s so hard about having less than a second to line up a shot, make sure it’s in focus, and hope like hell there isn’t a raindrop on the lens?” I joke. “Cakewalk.”
Tracy huffs out a laugh. “What’ve you got in mind?”
I shrug. “I haven’t decided, exactly. More vibes than anything right now.”
“Sloane Michaels doesn’t have a plan? Is the sky falling?” Wes makes space for himself between us, thankfully with his shirt back on. He props his elbow on my shoulder, the scent of sweat and dust and hot asphalt pouring off him.
I shove him away with a muttered “Gross” not quite under my breath. He doesn’t care, his expression lit up with mischief right before he exchanges a smug look with Matt. That’s never a good sign. Especially when I glance behind them and notice the two assholes from earlier heading around the side of the building.
“Very funny. Sure you don’t want to catch a ride with your new besties?”
Wes shakes his head, his expression settling into uncharacteristic seriousness when his eyes catch mine. “You couldn’t pay me to get in a car with those guys.”
“Then what were you…”
I trail off when a massive SUV emerges from the side of the building. On the back of the extremely dusty bumper, someone—my money is on tall, dark, and smug standing next to me wearing a frat boy grin—has scrawledHonk for dick.
Tracy and I explode into laughter while Matt lets out a quiet chuckle at what I can only presume is his part in Wes’s handiwork.
“What was that look about?” Tracy asks in a voice too low to be overheard before nudging her shoulder into mine. “You have something to do with why Wes went after them?”
I’m not about to pretend he did this for me. He saw anopening to start shit and took it. That’s nothing new. “Of course not. He’s a five-year-old in a grown man’s body.”
Tracy makes a noncommittal noise, but before I can question it, someone shouts that it’s time to go. Phones whip out, radar apps are checked, and maps are consulted while we all hustle toward our cars. I quickly hand Tracy her snacks before she rushes away with a shouted, “Text me!”
Wes is parked next to me. Of course he is.
I make a point of walking a full circle around my car like it’s a rental I’m inspecting for preexisting damage. “You write anything on my car and I’m slashing those,” I threaten, pointing at his brand-new beefy tires with my entirely harmless keys.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He’s right—it’s an empty threat, but empty threats are a key part of our interactions. “Fine. I’ll go to every gas station and buy out the entire supply of those Nerds Gummy Clusters you’re addicted to. Just the blue ones.”
“You wouldn’t.” Aghast with exaggerated horror, he folds both hands over his heart. “Everyone knows the red ones are subpar.”
