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I catch Mace’s smile through the rearview mirror. “You’ll see.”
“I’m not sure y’all can shock me.” I swing the car around, making a U-turn. “Farrow said I wouldn’t leave this town a virgin, and I’m halfway home.”
“Oh, that’s a challenge,” Mace announces.
“Sounded like it,” Coral adds.
Tommy stares out the window, her face so pale with her white hair up in a ponytail.
Mace rolls down the driver’s side window, hanging her head in the wind. “We can do better.”
“So much better,” Coral echoes. “You’re not going to finish theweekenda virgin.”
My stomach dips, but I keep my expression calm. “And if I do?”
“Then we’ll tattoo the Jolly Roger on our asses,” Mace coos.
I burst out laughing, Coral groaning. “Oh, you did not just commit us to that,” she whines.
I shake my head, but then I worry about what lengths they’ll go to in order to make sure they don’t have to get that tattoo. I’m not in the habit of accepting drinks I didn’t make myself, but I’ll be extra careful this weekend. For sure.
The whole way home other questions occur to me, like how will they know if I do it or not, and does oral count? And right away, an image of Hunter’s head between my legs flashes in my mind, and I roll down my window, too, for cool air.
Taking the car back to the barbershop, I hop out and toss Mace the keys, not Coral.
“Tomorrow,” they remind me.
“I’ll bring the tequila.”
They probably won’t be in bed for hours, but now, I’m tired. At least that’s what I tell myself, because Hunter’s car still isn’t in front of his house.
Closing my front door, I flip on the light and head up to my bedroom, pulling my phone off the charger and putting the one Hawke gave me back on. I restart my phone, tossing it on the bed, because I’m not anxious for a call or a text.
We’re just playing around.
He’s in a weird place, and I’m misreading what we’re doing. Just like I misread any signals I thought I was getting from Kade.
I need to stop thinking about him and just go to sleep.
I tug the rubber band out of my hair and start for the door to go get some water, but I hear a notification go off and charge back for my bed.
I’ll do a sweep of any messages.Get it over with and then get to sleep.
The notification is for Quinn’s Instagram, though. There’s nothing else. No missed calls or texts, a mixture of disappointment and relief washing over me, because no news is good news, I guess?
But he knows it’s getting late. Wouldn’t he like to see me? Or at least say goodnight?
I click to see what she posted, and a picture of Hunter appears, his head bowed as Fallon cuts his hair. I break into a smile, seeing A.J. posing next to him and making a goofy face.
He went home. That’s good. I check the time stamp, seeing the picture was posted almost two hours ago.
That’s really good. He must still be there.
I’m a little sad, though. His hair wasn’t long, but I loved it. It was always sexy-messy, and I liked feeling it between my fingers.
He’ll have to grow it back. I laugh to myself, tossing the phone back on the bed, but as soon as I look up and out my window, my heart stops.
My stomach clenches and needles prick my skin.
