“Was I right?” he asks, the DreamWorks introduction rolling as I grab my dinner. My focus volleys between the second queen bed and the open spot beside him. Before I can change my mind, I crawl next to Jett. He tenses, then his muscles loosen.
“You were right,” I admit.
Ice Agestarts, and we fall into an amicable silence while we eat. Jett mumbles the lines, switching between characters. A kernel of deep fondness for him lodges beneath my diaphragm.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says as the crazy squirrel chases the acorn.
My mind blanks on every single like and dislike, and I panic, blurting out the first thing that comes to me, something far more personal than I’d like. “I don’t have a best friend.”
I cringe. He probably meant my favorite color or movie, not that I have friends, but they all have other best friends. Charlie has Amy. Vivian has Amber. Maria and Luisa have each other. I have…myself.
“I’ll be your best friend,” he says.
“What about Mateo?”
“He can get fucked. I have a new best friend now.”
A cacophony of fireworks ignites and explodes in my chest while I flounder for a response. His foot taps mine, once, twice.
“We can add it to your list of titles,” he continues. “Chief Lady Badass. Sugar tits. PR girlfriend. Best friend.”
“That’s going well,” I tell him, switching the subject before I overthink his words. “Your fans are digging in with the theories, and we’ve had dozens of emails from people about the docuseries.”
“Keep up the good work, but no more business talk. They’re about to leave Syd behind.” His lips tick up at the corners. “They do that every year.”
The movie plays on, and my head grows heavy from the sunburn and the food, which I’d rate a solid 7.3 on my scale.
I only realize I’ve fallen asleep when Jett rustles, and I jerk up, ripped awake by the pain of moving. Darkness cloaks the room; only the light from the movie credits illuminates the space to show Jett tiptoeing in front of the bed, trying to sneak out.
“Thank you for tonight,” I whisper, adjusting to slip under the covers.
He pauses in front of the door.
Sleep drags me under again, but I swear he whispers, “You never have to thank me for spending time with you. It’s a selfish desire, really.”
Chapter 12
jett
“We’re drivingthose?” Sofía asks, beeping the lock on the LandCruiser in the parking lot in Hervey Bay. “I figured we would get a sedan.”
The key sparkles in the sunlight as it spins around my finger. “I’m driving. You can give directions.”
Molly and Doug hop into the other vehicle we rented to drive to K’gari and camp for the night. I’m shocked Sofía agreed tothe camping aspect when I suggested changes, but it’s only one night, and she splurged on rooftop tents rather than sleeping on the ground.
Our luggage is lighter now that I’ve shipped Sofía’s old clothing back to Los Angeles, and I throw the suitcases into the trunk. Sofía attempts to climb into the passenger seat while I round the car, her ass hanging out as she tries to wiggle up. With a huff, she hauls herself up, and I avert my gaze, trying to calm the quick beat in my chest.
Staring at her is rude, but I find it hard to look away.
“Jett,” she calls out, “turn the car on. It’s hot.”
It’s an older vehicle, but this baby was made to last, and the engine roars to life. The radio kicks on, seventies music pouring from the speakers.
Doug pulls up next to us, window rolled down, arm hanging out. “Grab the groceries and then head to the ferry?”
With a thumbs-up and a honk, we depart, detouring for groceries before we head to the beach where the ferry picks up the 4WD vehicles headed to K’gari.
“So, what’s the plan when we get to the island?” I ask, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music.
