“Come on, June,” Bryan urges, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders.“Let’s find a drink.”
11
FORD
Two hours later, I’m officially buzzed.Not drunk.Buzzed.And yes, there’s a difference.
For one, I can still walk a straight line, and two, I’m still very much aware of my surroundings.Maybe a little too aware, now that I think about it.June’s over by the bonfire.Bryan snagged a cooler a few minutes ago and dragged it closer to the heat.He lets June use it as a seat before setting her up with a bag of marshmallows and two roasting sticks.One of which, I assume, he’ll be using.I tear my attention from the couple in question as Paxton belts out the lyrics to one of the band’s greatest hits.My head bobs up and down with the music.Judge was right.He’s not half bad.Not as good as Dodger, the usual lead singer, but not half-bad at all.I continue my perusal of the sea of people.I still haven’t seen Ethan.Not sure whether or not his absence is a good thing.
Hawke is nowhere to be seen, and Roman has only popped up once or twice.It makes sense.They’re used to staying out of the spotlight.Me, on the other hand… I lift my chin toward a couple of buddies, bring the beer to my lips, and take a long pull of the amber liquid while Jagger and Violet dance across the beach.I’ve never seen my brother so happy and relaxed, which is saying something, considering the shit-show of our lives at the moment.He smiles down at Violet, bending closer and closing the distance between them.Meeting him halfway, she kisses him back, her fingers threaded at the nape of his neck.
Gross.
I toss back the last of my beer and wipe my mouth with my sleeve as my gaze finds June again despite my best effort.Roaster in hand, she cooks a marshmallow all by her lonesome.
Where’d her boyfriend go?
I survey the people scattered around the bonfire, but come up empty.Maybe he fell into the flames and was burned alive?My mouth twitches before I smooth out my features and saunter toward her, tossing my empty bottle into one of the barrels we brought for trash on the way.A small voice in the back of my mind says I should keep my distance, but what does he know, anyway?
Okay, maybe I’m a little closer to drunk than I initially guessed.
Nah, I’m fine.
Hands outstretched, I let the heat lick my palms as I stand beside a seated June.She doesn’t notice me.Too busy cooking her late-night snack.The flames dance off her pale skin.It makes her rosy cheeks practically glow as her mouth forms the lyrics to the song.
Funny.I would’ve pictured the girl as a country aficionado more than a punk rock listener.Not all of IndieCent Vow’s songs fit into that category, but as a whole?Yeah.Kind of.
“Hey, June Bug,” I finally greet her.June’s body jerks, and her head snaps toward me.With a laugh, I add, “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Realizing I’m not some stranger, she relaxes, but only a bit.“You’re fine.”She smiles, turning back to her marshmallow.“And…hi.”
“Hi.”I rock back on my heels.“You mad at me?”
Her stare remains on the flames in front of us.“Why would I be mad?”
Because I was a dick to your boyfriend, I almost tell her as she removes the marshmallow from the fire and analyzes the exterior.
Still.Silent.
The question is…is it because sheismad and doesn’t want to talk to me, or is it because she doesn’t know what to say and is gathering her thoughts?It wouldn’t be the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
Let’s try a different tactic, shall we?
“Having fun?”I prod.
“Mm-hmm.”She blows on the roasted marshmallow.The slight pucker of her lips makes my cock twitch in the process.It’s a good thing she can’t read minds, or she’d probably skewer me herself.“Whoever’s idea it was to have marshmallows for s’mores is a genius,” she adds.
Pride prickles at the base of my spine.“I’m sure I can think of one or two ways you can thank me for said geniusry.”
She snorts.“Is geniusry even a word?”
“I know of at least two people who have used it, so I’m going to go with yes.”
Another quiet chuckle is all I get in response as she picks off the crunchy outer shell of her marshmallow from her roasting stick, leaving a white, melty center on it.
So focused.So content.
“What are you doing?”I ask.
