And then—
“It’s nothing,” Wesley says, cutting him off, eyes still locked on the windshield.
Emmett sighs and closes his mouth. Whatever he was about to say vanishes.
I glance between them, confusion scraping at my ribs.
“Bullshit. You guys are being weird. Why?”
Emmett swallows hard, shifting in his seat. “It’s not—you didn’t do anything,” he says quietly, voice tight. “It’s just…complicated.”
Wesley’s knuckles whiten around the wheel.
Complicated.
The word sinks into me, cold and heavy.
“How?” I ask, barely above a whisper, trying to understand.
Emmett opens his mouth—
“It doesn’t matter,” Wesley cuts in again, finally glancing up at me in the mirror. His voice is harder this time, shutting it down completely.
I wish I could turn my brain off. My chest aches and my cheeks burn. I feel iteverywhere—under my skin, between my ribs, in the space where his hands had been.
It shouldn’t matter. We agreed it wouldn’t.
So why do I feel like this?
Finally, the front door swings open.
Landon walks out, rolling his shoulders and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he strolls to the truck. His hair is damp and messy. He’s relaxed, calm, and effortlessly charming in a way he never seems aware of. A small half-smile tugs at his mouth, revealing his dimples.
Guys have it so easy.
“Evening, everyone,” he says to the group as he slips into the back seat beside me.
His thigh presses against mine as he adjusts in his seat. It’s light and accidental, but he doesn’t shift away. Instead, he gets comfortable, stretching his arm along the seat behind me.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. His eyes flick over to Wesley before landing back on me. “You smell nice. You doing alright?”
Wesley’s hand tightens around the steering wheel, knuckles pale.
Before I can answer, Lydia darts down the porch steps, an oversized denim jacket sliding off her shoulders and a silver flask dangling from her fingers.
Instead of heading to the back seat, she marches directly to the passenger door.
“Move it, cowboy,” she calls, tugging at the handle.
Emmett blinks.“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she says sweetly, flashing him a devilish smile. “Back seat.”
He mutters under his breath but climbs out, slamming the door as he squeezes into the back seat beside me, squishing me between him and Landon.
Landon leans forward, gesturing for the flask. Lydia sighs and rolls her eyes, reluctantly handing it back.
He takes a long swig, then offers it to me with a quiet nod.
