Page 34 of The Sweet Spot

“Already did, so I’m good right now.” Dallas chuckles as his friend disappears. “Sorry about that. He’s gets goofy when he’s yicked.”

That slang feels like home. “You grow up in Santa Cruz?”

“Born and raised.”

“Me too. Santa Cruz High.”

“Cardinals, huh?” He smirks. “I went to Kirby.”

“Private school, huh?” I say, mimicking his tone. A thought occurs to me and I perk up, pointing. “I bet you were on their sailing team too, weren’t you?”

“Every year.”

“I may have seen you guys at some point.” During certain times of year, the water around Santa Cruz is filled with cheery, bright sails. I wonder how many times Dallas was one of them.

“Yeah, we were pretty hard to miss,” he agrees. “Anyway, what’re you studying?”

“Psychology.”

“Messing with people’s minds, I see how it is.” He looks down at his phone suddenly, face illuminated by the glow. “Shit, my brother’s looking for me. We gotta go.”

Bubble, popped. I take a step back, startled by the abrupt shift. “Your brother?”

“Yeah. He’s at another party around the corner.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“My friend knows somebody here. A girl.” Dallas whips out his phone, typing something into it before refocusing his attention on me. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

My heart skips a little. Dallas has that irresistibly chill appeal I thought I got over in high school. “Not weird at all.”

I put my info into his phone and hand it back, glad it’s dark. Posey’s brownie has me feeling pretty silly, and I don’t want to imagine what my face must look like.

“When’re you headed back?” he asks, taking a couple steps back.

“Tomorrow.”

“Sweet. I’ll see you around then, Wren.”

Luca

Ifight another yawn, trying to concentrate on Logan’s rambling story. He’s drunk, and he’s not the only one. I can barely sit up, thanks to a winning combo of vodka and jetlag. That could be a drink.

I’ll have a vodka jetlag, please.

Kellan pockets his phone, glancing over at me. “Dally’s on his way back now.”

“Where was he?” I ask, finishing my drink. It’s mostly melted ice by this point. A vodka jetlag, on the rocks.

“Up the street, at a friend of a friend of a friend’s house or something. I don’t know. I told him to get back so we could go.”

The girl Kellan’s been chatting up whispers in his ear. Whatever it was, it must’ve been dirty, because he bites his lip and hauls her onto his lap.

Yawning, I glance at my watch. Just past two in the morning. There was a time that would be of little consequence, but I’m still on Florianópolis time and all I want is bed. Too bad I have to Uber all the way back to Walnut Creek tonight.

But it’s worth it. I’ll take advantage of the quiet house tomorrow, sleep a little extra.

“I’m think I’m gonna try one of those White Russians.” Brooke leans in, tapping her long, pale pink nails over my hand. “You in?”

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