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That.That look in her eyes. Theneedin her voice. She had no idea what she was asking for. All her life, I’d been there when she needed me. I held her when she cried. I rubbed her hair when she was sick. I’d been her savior. I’d been her protector. But if I was honest, the main thing she needed protection from…was me. She’d built a life she deserved, and all I wanted to do was keep her here, to drag her away from it.
I stood silent, looking into her eyes, begging her to let this shit go.
“That’s what I thought.” She huffed a laugh and shook her head. Then she walked away from me again. And I didn’t stop her.
KENNEDY
Something in me was broken. Like when you pulled a box of Christmas ornaments from the attic and heard the unmistakable rattle inside and thought to yourself,well shit. I wasn’t one of those girls who had already picked out her ideal engagement ring and had a Pinterest board full of wedding stuff. That was Kacey’s thing. Not mine.
But standing there, waiting for Hendrix to say something, to take us back to that moment in my living room, to give us a do-over—my heart did this fluttering thing that made it feel like a plastic bag on the highway.
And then a car smacked into it.
He said nothing.
There was no mulligan.
“Burgers are done, and mama is hangry,” Kacey said, derailing my pity train.
Kacey didn’t get hangry. She probably had the blood pressure of a Buddhist. I’d never even heard her raise her voice. She was as laid back as a person could get without smoking something. I bought her a shirt once that said,Namaste, motherfucker.She bought me one that saidShe’s whiskey in a teacup. I couldn’t think of anything more accurate.
Ashton gave her a quick smack on the ass as they walked toward the grill. She squealed as if it embarrassed her, then giggled because she knew she loved it.
It should be illegal to be that happy. If their lives were a reality TV show, no one would watch it because there would be no drama. That was how perfect they were.
I walked over, grabbed my tank top from the back of Ashton’s chair and slid it over my head.
My gaze darted to Hendrix. He smiled at the group of friends around him as he brought his beer to his lips. Then, as if he felt the weight of my stare, he looked over at me.
The beat of a familiar song strummed through the speakers. My pulse picked up as soon as I heard the first lyrics.Sure Thingby Miguel. Slow and sexy. Meant for lovers but made for best friends. Ten years ago, Hendrix and I staked the flag and claimed this song as ours. Every time it came on, no matter where we were or what we were doing, we danced. The flag was planted. The stake was claimed. It was our duty as song owners.
That’s what he was doing on his phone.
He chose this song on the jukebox app.
Holmes was talking to him, but his eyes were on me, oblivious to whatever she was saying and not one bit sorry for it. His eyes looked sad, and I hated thinking I had anything to do with that sadness.
Why did we do this? Why did we keep lashing out at each other?
I smiled at him. It was a smile that said,I screwed up and I’m sorry. His mouth twitched, a slow curve of one corner. Then the other. Soon, he was smiling, the full-blown, crinkled-at-the-eyes Hendrix smile that made my legs feel like goo.I’m sorry too.
The lyrics kept coming. Hendrix kept staring. God, he looked really good in pink. No one pulled off flamingo shorts the way he did. He pointed up at the closest speaker and his shoulders started moving. His neck rolled and his head bobbed.
Oh, no.
Oh, hell.
Then his torso rolled.
His hips rocked.
Good, God. Here we go.
If there was anything that made me forget all aboutfriend zoneswith Hendrix, anything at all, it was the way he danced. My Hitachi and I made loads of great memories together thinking about the way Hendrix danced.Have mercy.
He walked away from the group and toward me.
Shit.
