“I mean… yeah,” I mutter, trying to sound casual, even though Luke’s already rambling off more names to invite. I barely hear him. My thoughts drift someplace else entirely.
Troy.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me when it comes to him. Every time he’s around, it’s like my brain short-circuits. At the sailboat parade, when he winked at me—just a stupid little wink—I nearly forgot how to breathe. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. My chest tightened. I’m sure I looked like an idiot.
“Cool,” Luke says after a moment, snapping me back. “I’ll send out the invites. Later, dude.”
He hangs up, leaving me alone in the quiet barn with my thoughts racing. It’s not like Troy’s flirting actually means anything. According to Luke, he flirts with girls at the tavern all the time. Maybe it’s just part of his personality. He probably flirts with everyone.
So why the hell am I letting it get under my skin?
By the time the sun dips below the treetops, the bonfire is crackling high, sparks flying into the dark like fireflies. The backyard is crowded with lawn chairs dragged into a loose circle, coolers wedged between boots. The cool nighttime air smells of woodsmoke and damp grass.
I’m wedged between Luke and one of his friends whose name I can’t remember, nursing a cider I’m barely drinking. Luke, of course, is the center of attention. His thunderous laugh ricochets across the yard as he retells some exaggerated story about the time he supposedly outran a park ranger on his dirt bike.
I pretend to listen, nodding along, but my focus keeps drifting across the fire, through the flicker of orange flames, to the last person I want to be staring at.
Troy.
He’s sprawled in a cheap folding chair, his thick thighs spread apart, an amber bottle dangling from his fingers. A half-empty case of his beer sits at his feet, the cardboard softened from the moisture in the grass.
I’ve been trying to ignore him all night—keeping my gaze on Luke, on the fire, on the condensation sliding down my bottle—but every so often, I feel it. That prickle along the back of my neck.
When I finally look up, he’s watching me again.
Through the flames, his brown eyes almost look like amber. His silver piercings glimmer in the glow of the fire, his tongue toying with the ring in his lower lip.
I drop my gaze immediately, heart thudding against my ribs. Christ. What is wrong with me?
As Luke continues telling his story, my mind drifts away from the fire. My gaze keeps flicking to the one empty chair in the circle. The one I dragged out an hour ago, hoping Phoebe would actually show.
After two weeks of silence, she finally responded to my party invite with one word.
Okay.
Now my knee won’t stop bouncing, jittering against the leg of my chair. Every burst of headlights from the road makes my chest tighten, praying it’s her. The aching need to clear the air with her gnaws under my flesh, festering like a parasite threatening to break the skin.
Then, finally, I hear it—the slow roll of tires on the gravel driveway.
My head snaps up as a familiar Jeep turns in, headlights sweeping across the lawn before cutting off. My throat goes dry as Phoebe climbs out, hugging her beige cardigan tighter around herself as she approaches the fire.
She forces a smile, greeting Luke and a couple of the girls from town. Her eyes dart around nervously, flickering to me for barely half a second before skittering away like she’s afraid to make contact.
Before I can think, I’m on my feet.
“Can we talk?” I ask, stepping up and gently catching her elbow. Lowering my voice, I add, “Somewhere private?”
Luke lets out a long, obnoxious whistle. “Ooooh, somebody’s in trouble.”
Heat floods my face. “Fuck off,” I snap over my shoulder.
That sparks a round of laughter, but Phoebe goes quiet, swallowing hard. Her eyes search mine, wide and wary.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Okay.”
Troy’s gaze burns into my back as we step away from the fire, moving across the yard toward the shadows. The cool air wraps around us as we reach the tall maple tree tucked at the corner of the property, its leaves rustling softly overhead.
Phoebe leans back against the rough bark, arms crossed over her chest. I stop a couple feet in front of her, hands shoved in my pockets, heart pounding against my ribs. Her gaze sweeps over me cautiously, like she’s checking for injuries. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
