Page 30 of Sundown Somewhere

HUX

Confession I can’t believe I made to my best friend today: that I fucked someone else before having her sleep beside me in my bed.

Confession I can’t believe my best friend made to me today: fucking someone else before sleeping in my bed. With me.

Nothing—and I mean nothing—has ever happened between Dolly and me. We swore to strictly be friends a long damn time ago, and we’ve stuck to that. There are zero blurred lines between us. Cuddles, shared sleeping spaces, held hands—that’s it. All platonic.

Never been a single question about that.

Yet knowing that Warren Callahan had her before she slid between my sheets makes me want to rip his limbs straight off his body. Even if that was ten years ago.

It’s not like I thought Dolly was a virgin. I knew she wasn’t. I was the first person she told about losing her virginity back in high school. And after six years with Jeff…well, we won’t go there. Because I want to rip his limbs off too.

Flopping back onto the king-size bed in our suite at the Seven Swans Inn, I suck in a deep breath, letting my diaphragm stretch. As weird as that admission was, I don’t regret it. Dolly is the one person on this planet I can be that vulnerable with. And if that helps her build herself back up, then I’ll be as vulnerable as she needs me to be.

“Okay, I’m ready, I think,” she says, stepping out of the bathroom. “Does this look okay?”

Holding her arms out, she twirls, the skirt of her lilac-colored sundress billowing just enough to follow her movements. She looks adorable—and not in the little girl kind of way. In the making my insides do somersaults kind of way. The kind of adorable that you file away in the back of your brain for a moment when you need a smile, because just the thought of her like this will make everything right again.

“Looks great. Is that new?”

She nods, her eyes darting away from me. “Yeah, I bought it for the honeymoon…”

Fuck…

I should know what to say. But I don’t. Something loving and supportive. Or something about how his loss is our gain. Or even a simple fuck him would work. But I’ve got nothing.

The awkwardness takes over, silence weaving its way between us in a way it never has before, making my chest ache. I need to do something.

Popping up off the bed, I wrap an arm around her, and once I’m sure I’ve got a good grip on her, I pull her in close and dip her. Dolly lets out a little yip before bursting into giggles, my move catching her off guard.

Success.

“What was that for?” she asks, her giggle still echoing through the air. A zing rockets through me, making the little hairs on my arm stand straight up.

I straighten us out, smiling as I stare into her eyes. “Felt like it. That a problem?”

She shakes her head, smile still wide. “Is there more where that came from?”

“Depends.” I shrug. “If the moment calls for it.”

Laughing, she rolls out of my grip, cool air rushing between us, making me miss her. Something I shouldn’t feel. For a split second, I think maybe I’ve overcorrected. Then I remember this is Dolly, and that she’d never take such a move seriously from me. Even if that had been how I’d meant it.

“To the Sand Bar?”

I hold out my elbow, offering to escort her like we’re dressed to the nines ready to walk the red carpet, rather than in our casual best headed to a beach bar. Still, the move earns me an even bigger smile—the one with her wild in it—and an eyebrow wiggle, so I’ll take it as a win.

Because that’s my Dolly. She’s coming back.

The walk to the Sand Bar doesn’t take long, leading us down the paved path alongside the main road through the touristy “downtown” with all its cute shops and restaurants. It’s busy, even for a weekday, no doubt some Georgia locals trying to sneak in a trip to the island before peak season starts in a few weeks.

“What do you think it’s like to live in a place like this?” Dolly asks, as we wind past the last of the shops, back onto the beach toward the bar. “I know Brenna interviewed for a job over here and said it reminded her a lot of Hickory Hills, but we don’t get tourists like they do here.”

“I think living in a destination location full-time is something entirely different. And no thank you.”

I hold the door open to the bar, letting Dolly walk in ahead of me. The small, one-room building opens up onto the beach, making the space much bigger than it looks from the outside. A cover band perched on a stage out on the sand plays a nineties country song, the familiar melody seeping into me, my brain keeping time with the beat.

Flicking my eyes down to Dolly, I notice the movement of her skirt, that lilac fabric almost shimmering as it shifts, her hips moving in time with the count in my head. A count I’m going to lose track of if I continue to stare at said hips.