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“He seems like a nice guy.” Hunter grunts.
“He is,” I answer, watching Tim talk to Drew.
“I especially like the way he kissed you.”
“Jealous?” I ask, before I can swallow back my words.
“They seem to have hit it off.” He motions with his chin toward our friends. They couldn’t be more different, Drew wearing a Hawaiian shirt with shorts and flip-flops, his blond long hair finishing the whole “surfer dude” picture, and Tim, the outlaw businessman in his pristine suit and buzz cut.
“I hope they will,” I reply, and he nods.
“I saw you throwing up. You feel better?” he asks, frowning.
“I’m fine, Hunt.”
He keeps staring at me, raising one brow.
“But…”
“You looked good out there,” I say, changing the subject.
The line between his brows deepens. “Thanks,” he replies, running his knuckles over his stubble jaw, giving me a questioning look. “I’m trying. The ribs are healing. Drew and I even went surfing again early this morning.” He laughs, pushing his hands down in his pockets. “More like Drew went surfing, and I hung out in the water, watching him catch wave after wave. I think our moment in the truck took a toll on me,” he drawls.
I turn my face away trying to hide my glowing cheeks, but he reaches out and caresses the back of my head. He lifts my chin up, and we lock eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, babe.”
“Hunt,” Jay yells, motioning for him to get a move on.
“That’s my cue. Sure you’re okay, Shorty?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, loving the way he calls me that.
“See you at dinner,” he promises, turning around.
He walks away, rolling his broad shoulders.
“What’s wrong with having a little harmless fun?” I try to convince myself.
Drew and Tim hit it off during dinner, and somehow he talks Hunter and I into going out with them to a bar. Mac and Jay will stay home and clean up.
I change into my favorite blue dress and head downstairs. I close the front door, and find Tim leaning against the porch railing.
“I’ve missed you, honey,” he tells me, draping his arm over my shoulders as we walk to the garages.
“I missed you too, Timmy,” I tell him, tightening my grip around his waist.
“Peter was asking about you. He said you’re thinking about not taking your medication?”
“I stopped last night. I’ve been on them for months now, and I’ve got all the side effects in the books.”
“Are you sure? Since you’re having trouble with your voice? And you barely touched your dinner. Are your hands hurting?” he asks, pausing in front of the garage.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Tim,” I huff.
“We need to talk about it,” he says, grabbing my arm.
“No.” I shrug his hand off. “I want to have one carefree evening.”
“Damn it, Sky.”
