Page 22 of Shattered Dreams

I grab the salad and the tray of fruit, like he asked, and make my way outside.

“Where do you want these?”

Dre points to the large patio table on the porch to the left, and I make my way over to deposit the tray and bowl of salad and notice the patio table is set with two plates, napkins, and silverware—not the disposable plastic kind, either—and there’s a bucket of ice on the table with four beers in it. There’s also plates with buns, burger toppings—everything from cheese to onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles, and even jalapenos and crispy fried onions—and six different condiments. If this wasn’t his backyard, I’d swear it was a restaurant.

“Thanks,” he says as he sets down a plate full of cooked burgers and hot dogs.

“Gotta admit, you outdid yourself,” I say as I take a seat.

Dre does the same, reaching for the beers and pops the caps, sliding one to me.

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs.

I take the beer, relishing in its coolness against the heat of my palm.

“No, it’s definitely something,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “A guy could get used to this kind of treatment.”

He smirks, letting out a low laugh. “Maybe we should do it more often.”

“Maybe.” Between the heat, the food, the beer, the water, and Dre, I can’t remember the last time I felt this good. Probably when we went to New York to see Austen and the guys, which was…

Fuck, was it already like four, five months ago? Shit.

I’ve been on the pizza raft for what feels like hours, next to Dre, the two of us just chatting about everything and nothing, and it’s the easiest thing in the world.

That’s when the words fall out of my mouth without warning.

“Maddox asked me if I had a girlfriend today.”

Dre shifts on the raft beside me, careful not to put too much pressure and upend my buzzed ass into the cool water.

“Oh?” I nod. “Wonder why he asked that.”

“He noticed my bag.” I turn my head to look at Dre who’s turned to his side, his palm resting on his chin. The look on his face is stern, focused. Like he’s more than just invested in what I have to say. Like whatever it is I’m about to say is not just an answer, but something else. Though that could just be the beer and the heat.

“Said Amelia usually packs one when she goes to see Sean.”

There’s an odd silence as Dre shrugs.

“What did you tell him?”

“Told him no, obviously,” I grumble, looking at the space between us. Some warm water sloshes back and forth, left from us jumping up onto the damn thing and being heated by the sun all afternoon. I don’t even know what time it is, nor do I care. Time passes too slowly when we’re together, anyway. “Which would have been fine, but—”

Dre shifts a little closer, the raft dipping until I slide forward, close enough our fingers touch.

“But what?”

“He asked why not? And I guess I didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to be single, but…”

“It’s easier,” Dre says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah.”

I don’t know how long we stay there, in the heat of the sun, just being there. I only know that when Dre rolls off into the water, splashing me, that the weird stomach flipping thing happens again. I sit up on the raft, watching as he swims over to the ladder and realize the sun’s starting to set. So I do the same.

“Let’s start a fire,” Dre suggests.

“Sure.” I clear my throat, which feels oddly dry.