Page 60 of Limbo

“Here.” I toss his sweatshirt at his face, ignoring his comment. “Do I want to know why I woke up wearing this thing?”

“I might have thrown you in the pond.”

Thanks to the prompt, I recall what followed him running toward me on the dock and my scream—a whole lot of wet and cold.

He tucks the sweatshirt under the bar. “We went inside to dry off while Shayna found you clothes to wear in her car. Butsomeoneliterally couldn’t keep their shirt on. Or your bra—making Tony the clear winner of your bet, by the way.” He busies himself, cutting a lime. “Anyway, I grabbed my sweatshirt and threw it on you.”

A tension releases from my shoulders. Nothing happened other than Pete being his usual self—the nicest guy imaginable. His expression softens as he watches me relax.

“All innocent, m’lady,” he says. “We were nowhere close to reliving prom night.”

“No offense, Pete, but thank God.”

He pours us each a shot of tequila to go with the lime wedges. “Good thing I got you covered when I did. Brock came in a second later. Keeping him off you clothed was enough of a chore.”

And the tension returns at the mention of his name.

“The key was to keep you talking about Jordan,” Trey says. “Brock wanted nothing to do with you then.”

“It must not have worked that well.” I clink my glass with theirs.

Pete and I take our shots, but Trey sets his down.

He turns toward me on his stool, his brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

I shrug, lime wedge still in my mouth. “I still had sex with him.”

Now Pete’s face matches Trey’s, both staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

They glance at each other before Trey says, “Cal, we never let you out of our sight. Pete, Tony, or I were with you at all times.”

“I even stood outside the door when you took a piss. We weren’t going to let anything bad happen to you.” Pete’s head rocks, weighing his comment. “Except the whole falling-ten-feet-from-a-tree incident.”

“Also, her driving the four-wheeler directly into the barn door.” Trey throws back his shot. “Tony really dropped the ball on that one.”

“But I remember being alone with him…” I skirt around explicitly telling my cousin and ex what part of Brock’s body I remember pressed against me and focus on the only other detail. “Outside by a fence somewhere?”

“Oh, fucking fuck.” Pete slaps his bar rag down. “You’re talking about by the bull’s pen?”

“Maybe? I remember Tony running from the bull.”

“No,” he says, his mouth turning up. “He was running across the pen because you kneed Brock in the balls for getting too close.”

“It was great,” Trey adds.

“No.” I shake my head. They have to be wrong. “Brock texted me the next day andtoldme we had sex.”

They both cuss and make promises to kick his ass the next time they see him.

“It never happened,” Trey insists. “I swear.”

My head spins, for once the alcohol not to blame as the truth slams into me. Brock lied. Of course he lied. I created the perfect opportunity when I admitted to not remembering. Hell, I delivered the damn thing wrapped with a fucking bow. Then I chose to believe the guy who’d spent two years breaking promises and starting fights with me out of sheer boredom.

Trey nudges my shoulder. “Where’d you go, Cal?”

I keep staring straight ahead, not focused on anything. “I ended things with Jordan. I’d fucked up and lost control and slept with Brock, and I ended things, so next time I fucked up, I wouldn’t hurt him.”

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