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Her friend was dancing in the living room, her eyes closed, her arms over her head, moving as though the music were making love to her.
Apparently, Becca wasn’t the only one who thought so, because two guys were dancing alongside her. Becca didn’t recognize either one of them.
The trio wasn’t lacking for an audience, either.
“Quinn seems lonely,” said Hunter. He’d grabbed some sodas from somewhere and was holding out a sweating can. She took it.
Quinn thrust her h*ps with the beat, then smacked the insides of her thighs.
Becca winced. “I’ve never seen her do that before—”
“You sure?” Hunter’s voice at her shoulder was dry. “That looks kind of practiced.”
“Hey.” She glared at him.
He shrugged and took a draw from his can. “Just saying.”
The guy behind Quinn moved closer. He stood a head taller than she did, with dark skin, maybe Middle Eastern or Hispanic—it was too dark for Becca to tell for sure. He put strong hands on Quinn’s h*ps and pulled her back.
Becca stiffened. She’d punch a guy for grabbing her like that. But her friend smacked his hands playfully and spun away from him, giving him a pouty look and shaking her head.
Becca caught her eye. You okay? she mouthed.
Quinn nodded, making it work with the beat. He’s hot, she mouthed, fanning herself while her back was to the guy.
The song changed. Quinn held out a hand, a clear invitation.
Hunter leaned in to speak over the bass line. “You want to dance?”
Becca drew back and rubbed her neck, his closeness making her flush. “Not now. It’s kind of hot in here.”
“Let’s go for a walk then.”
The outside air felt ten degrees colder than it really was. Wind blew across the water to ruffle her hair and whisper across her skin. The entire back patio was surrounded by white holiday lights, opening to a path illuminated by tiki torches, just like she remembered it. Some guys were grilling burgers, though they seemed more interested in turning the tongs into a branding iron—then chasing each other with it. At the far end of the patio, there was a short break of grass before the landscaping revealed the end of the driveway—where eight or nine guys were doing more roughhousing than playing basketball.
It was too dark to make out Drew, and she didn’t look too hard.
Becca gestured in the opposite direction. “Let’s walk down by the water.”
“Sure.” He hung close. “You won’t be too cold?”
She’d probably be freezing, but she didn’t want to stand here in the patio lights, waiting for Drew to notice her. “I’m good.”
They walked toward the water. The sand was tight and hard beneath her feet, reluctantly giving way to her heels. She wrapped her arms across her stomach, regretting the inch of flesh that the cropped top revealed.
Hunter steered her to the far side of one of the fire drums where some folding chairs sat empty. There were other kids there, too, mostly seniors, no one she knew. Voices were hushed, beer bottles pushed into the sand haphazardly. At the fire drum a bit farther down, some kid had a guitar.
Hunter pulled two chairs together, and she sat, grateful for the fire licking heat across her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.
Water lapped at the sand ten feet away. She fingered the rocks strung along her wrist, running her thumb over the sharp edge of one, the rough side of another. She couldn’t tell which was which from the feel, except the hematite, which was smooth and round. Her fingers kept seeking that one, rolling the slick stone between her knuckles.
Becca fixed her eyes on the fire, suddenly aware he was looking at her. “So—are you into a lot of ... ah, new age stuff?”
“Not really.” He sounded amused.
“How do you know so much about the rocks?”
“I grew up with it.” He paused, as if he planned to say more, then thought better of it.
