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Ares
I thought you were all at the beach.
Bellamy
Heading down this afternoon.
Nixon
Yeah. I’m driving.
Bellamy
You offered.
Caitlin
I can drive.
Bellamy
NO.
Nixon
NO.
Ares
How many cars have you crashed this year?
Caitlin
This year? Only two.
Nixon
Only . . . Only, she says.
Ares
Don’t burn my house down.
I close out of my messages and drop down on the edge of Grace’s bed, wondering how today went sideways so quickly.
“Hey,” she whispers a few minutes later, and I look up.
Grace walks over to me, freshly showered and wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. Her long, dark hair is piled high on her head with damp tendrils framing her face. So much warm, pink, soft skin.
She moves between my legs and takes my phone out of my hands, then tosses it to the nightstand.
I wrap my hands around the backs of her long legs and drop my head to her chest.
Grace’s fingers dig into my hair, massaging my scalp. “Why were you angry earlier?”
I run my hands up the back of her bare legs under her towel and drag her closer. “I don’t want to do this today. It’s your birthday.”
“Do what?” I look up and watch her eyes flick over my face, searching.
