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“Yup. Fuck it. I can’t take it anymore.” Michaela hooked her arm in mine. “Let’s go.”
We were the last ones back to the bonfire. Tate seemed a lot happier with Paxton now that he’d saved us from the boob-flashing situation, and the two of them were deep in conversation, heads close together.
When Paxton saw that I’d returned, he smiled and patted the log, gesturing for me to sit back next to him. I happily acquiesced, and he asked me to grab a stick from the ground near my feet so he could toast us some marshmallows.
“I have a truth for everyone!” Callie announced. “Put your hand up if you’ve ever hooked up with someone older!”
Michaela’s hand shot up, and she nudged me. “Hello? You have to put your hand up.”
I shook my head. “Paxton and I haven’t—”
She cut me off. “I meant you and Tate.”
Paxton raised a brow. “You and Tate, huh?” he murmured, gently squeezing my shoulder. “Should I be jealous?”
I stared at Michaela. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember back in seventh grade when the three of us decided to practice kissing together?” she said, brows rising. “Tate is three months older than you.”
“Okay, first of all, it’s so embarrassing that you just told everyone that,” I said as the rest of the group erupted in laughter. “And secondly, three months doesn’t count as an older guy!”
“It totally does!” Michaela insisted.
“Don’t worry, Sienna,” Callie called out. “I’m drunk enough to admit that I used to practice kissing on my teddy bears.”
“It was a pillow for me,” Victoria chimed in. “I used to hump it too. I was a weird kid.”
The laughter grew louder, and I joined in, no longer embarrassed.
“Hold on,” Tate said, brows furrowing. “Why did you put your hand up, Michaela? I’m a month younger than you.”
Michaela’s cheeks turned pink in the firelight. “Sorry. I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Oh my god!” Victoria screeched from the other side of the bonfire. “It’s true, isn’t it? That rumor about you and Ryder McAllister.”
Ryder was a junior guy Michaela went on a date with two weeks ago. She hadn’t given me or Tate many details about it other than the fact that it was ‘okay’, and she was considering seeing him again.
She smiled coyly. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Everyone laughed again. Paxton swore under his breath as he snatched his arm back from the fire. “Shit.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, turning my attention back to him.
“Yeah. Sorry. I dropped your marshmallow in the fire,” he said. “I burned my sleeve trying to get it out.”
I frowned, glancing down at his right sleeve. It was badly scorched. “You didn’t hurt your arm, did you?”
“No, it’s okay.” He smiled faintly. “I’m mostly just annoyed about the jersey. But it’s fine. I have a ton of backups.”
It was a USNTDP team jersey, white with royal blue and red letters, numbers, and accents. The hockey guys wore them a lot, even when they weren’t playing, presumably to display their pride at being selected for the team.
“We might be able to wash out the scorch marks,” I suggested. I didn’t think that was actually possible, but it gave us an excuse to go back into the lake house without the others.
He smiled. “Good idea. Let’s give it a try.”
We headed up to the house and went into the kitchen. Paxton stood by the sink and ran his sleeve under a stream of water. I helped by gently scrubbing at the fabric with a green scourer I found next to the dish drying rack.
“It’s working a little bit,” I said. “Some of the ash came off, I mean.”
