Page 90 of Home in Nevada

I don’t even bother arguing. She’s right.

“We literally just ate!” I throw my head back against the car seat, groaning louder this time as the memory finally clicks into place. Wings. Wedideat wings tonight. “You know, I’m pretty sure you ate half my wings, dude!”

“Come on!” Lucy wails, throwing her hands up like I’ve just ruined her entire night. “I can’t believe you right now... Who even are you?!”

She looks like she’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears. Over pizza. Seriously? Why the hell is not ordering pizza such a big deal to her?

I glance over at her, and she’s clutching her purse like it holds the last shred of her sanity. Her eyes are big and glassy, and for a second, I almost feel bad—until she lets out a loud, dramatic huff and glares at me like I’ve betrayed her.

“Lucy,” I start, but she cuts me off with an exaggerated sigh.

“No, Jeff. No! You don’t understand. Pizza iseverything.”

I let my head fall back again, groaning into the ceiling of the car. “I can’t with you right now.”

Lucy folds her arms, pouting, and mutters under her breath, “You don’t deserve pizza anyway.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, a short ping that I recognize immediately. Jamie. My heart jumps like it always does when it’s him.

I want to grab my phone right away, but I don’t. I’m too drunk to think straight, and Lucy’s already on edge. Is she really about to cry over pizza? I don’t get it, but I also don’t want to deal with it right now.

I sink further into the seat, trying to disappear until we get back to... wherever we’re going. I can’t even remember. My brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and all I can think about is the way my phone keeps buzzing in my pocket. Another ping. Then another. Ten texts? Seriously? How can I not look at my phone right now?

The Uber finally pulls up outside my apartment, and Lucy bolts out like she’s on a mission, her high heels clicking unevenly on the pavement as she stumbles toward the door. I follow behind at a slower pace, rubbing my face and wondering how the hell she still has so much energy. Once we’re inside, she doesn’t say a word—just makes a beeline straight for the bathroom in her skintight dress, her purse swinging wildly at her side like it’s barely holding on. The door slams behind her with a little too much force, and I hear the lock click a second later, sealing her in.

“Thanks for the chat,” I mutter under my breath, the sarcasm thick as I toss some pillows and a blanket onto the couch for her to crash on tonight. They land in a messy heap, but I don’t bother fixing it. She won’t care, and I’m too tired to put in the effort.

The second I hear the faint sound of water running in the bathroom, I’m reaching for my phone, my hands fumbling as I pull it out of my pocket. My heart’s already racing, my brain spinning with possibilities. What did Jamie text? Something funny? Something sweet? Maybe a picture?

I know Lucy’s going to be in there for a while—probably puking, reapplying her lipstick, or some combination of both. She’s predictable like that.

Leaving my bedroom door open, I flop down onto the bed, the springs creaking under my weight. I stretch out on my back, staring at the ceiling for a second before pulling up Jamie’s messages.

My fingers hover over the screen, and my chest tightens with anticipation. It’s stupid how just seeing his name makes my heart do that. But it does. Every time.

I take a breath, bite my lip, and tap the screen to open the thread.

Jamie: Yo.

Jamie: I finished the photos I took of you on the beach.

The next dozen or so texts are pictures of the beach, and a few of them actually feature me. They’re... really damn good, even on my phone’s tiny screen. I can’t stop staring. I don’t have many recent photos of myself—definitely nothing this impressive.

There are a couple of shots of me catching waves, though none of them are close-up. Jamie must’ve been far away when he took these. I hadn’t even seen him out there.

The second-to-last shot is me walking along the beach with my surfboard, silhouetted against the setting sun. The last photo? A close-up of my face, wet and dripping, looking down at the sand with my damp hair falling into my eyes. I’m guessing it’s from when I walked back to shore after finally spotting him.

The orange light of the sunset is incredible in these pictures. The way all the colors pop is unreal. Jamie killed it. He edited the hell out of these, and it shows.

Before I even realize it, my fingers are already flying across the screen, dialing him. Butterflies take flight in my stomach the moment I hear his voice, low and soft and familiar.

“The photos are amazing,” I blurt out before he can even say hi. “How’d you make me look that good?”

Jamie laughs, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. “Jeff, that’syou.You always look good, dude.”

“Notthatgood.”

“Yes,thatgood… Are you serious? You’ve always been such a fucking stud.”

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