“We haven’t had sex,” I blurt. “So unless I’m the next vessel for immaculate conception, I don’t see how that could happen.”
The words hang in the air and Lydia stills. The remaining two guests leave, their voices fading into the dark as the last ember collapses into ash.
“I wish I’d waited,” she confesses. “I wish my first time was with someone I loved.”
“Why didn’t you?”
A sad smile ghosts her face. “I guess because the someone I loved didn’t love me back. And I was too stubborn to wait for him.”
“You? Stubborn?No way.”
She rolls her eyes, bumping my knee with hers, then brushes the dirt off her jeans as she stands.
“Come on. I know you wanna see your guy. Let’s go raid my brother’s liquor cabinet.”
Thewalkbackisquiet except for the steady whir in my chest, every step pulling me closer to him, the anticipation curling low in my stomach.
The smell of alcohol is pungent the moment we step into the bunkhouse. Laughter spills across the entire room from where the guys are gathered around the table, cards fanned in their hands.
My eyes immediately find Lane. He’s sitting at the far side, elbows resting on the table, his eyes narrowed in concentration at his cards.
Lydia bounces straight for the small wooden cabinet against the back wall, rummaging through the clinking glass bottles until she finds the one she wants. She pops the cork, takes a long swig straight from the bottle, then holds it out to me.
I grimace. “No thanks. I’m going to go see Lane.”
Her smirk does little to hide her thoughts, but I don’t care. I make my way around the table to Lane and slide into his lap. His arms wrap around me without hesitation, pulling me in until I’m tucked tightly against him. He presses his nose to my hair, inhaling deep like he’s been starving for it.
“Mmm, you smell like heaven. I missed you, baby.”
I tilt my head, a little caught off guard by the new nickname. Lane always calls melove—it’s my favorite—but I’m probably overanalyzing, so I brush it off.
“Missed you more. You should’ve come to the bonfire.”
He doesn’t respond and instead points at Landon with a mock-serious look, sliding a stack of chips in. “This is where you tap out, big guy.”
Landon shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his mouth, revealing his dimples. “You’re out of control tonight, man.” His gaze shifts and he nods at me. “Hey, Sadie—“ But his words cut off mid-greeting, eyes darting past me toward the cabinet. “Dammit, Lyd! Get your thieving hands off my stash.”
Emmett lifts his chin in greeting, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he goes back to his cards. A couple of other guys nod, their faces familiar but names completely erased from my memory.
And then—without meaning to—my gaze collides with Wesley’s. He’s leaning forward, hat turned backward, forearms braced on his knees. There’s a tightness in his jaw and his eyes are unreadable as they hold mine.
Eye contact with Wesley feels intimate in a way I’ve never experienced. I long for the day I’m free from this magnetic pull toward him. But why don’t I feel these things for Lane? Shouldn’t I be drawn to my boyfriend in such a compulsive way?
Lane roars with laughter, breaking my trance, and tosses a card onto the table before replacing it from the pile. The movement stirs the air, and the reek of alcohol slams into me—sharper now, thicker. My nose scrunches as I spot the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the center.
Waves of nausea roll low in my stomach, and a faint tremor runs through my hands. I press my palms into my thighs, trying to ground myself. Bitterness coats the back of my tongue, even though it hasn’t touched my lips.
I’ve always hated the smell of whiskey, but after that night—after him—it’s enough to make bile rise in my throat.
Lydia leans into the back of Emmett’s chair with a dramatic grimace. “Ugh, I cansmellhow drunk you guys are!“ She swipes his glass and takes a sip, eyebrows drawing together. “This doesn’t taste like Jack.”
“Because it’s not,” Emmett chuckles. “I’m not drinking tonight.That, sweetheart, was the last of the sweet tea Lane made.”
Lane is deeply passionate about his sweet tea craft. I smile, grabbing his glass to steal a sip.
The first swallow burns like liquid fire, tearing down my throat and scorching all the way to my stomach before my brain can process what’s happening. My eyes water. I cough, choking on the heat painting my insides.
Laughter explodes around the table. A can of soda is pressed into my shaking hand. I gulp it down, desperate to erase the sting.
