Page 46 of The Hearts We Fumble
Maybe I needed the distance.
The driveway is packed when I pull in, headlights bouncing off the sea of cars, my gaze instantly locking on Zane’s GTO parked in the grass beside Reed’s Mustang. He’d never risk parking where some drunk idiot could ding his car, which means he got here early—probably before half the people showed up.
I don’t know why that knowledge makes my stomach twist.
Shaking it off, I park at the edge of the property and climb out, the sound of music and conversation drifting from the backyard.
The girls are already gathered in the Adirondack chairs around the firepit, their laughter mingling with the crackle of burning wood. But my eyes drift past them, searching before I can stop myself.
Until I find him.
Farther back, near the bonfire barrel, he stands with Colter and Hayes, the orange glow casting shadows across his sharp jaw and broad shoulders.
His head tips back as he laughs at something Colter says, the deep, familiar sound cutting through the noise around me, sinking beneath my skin.
I inhale, gripping my keys a little tighter.
One night.
I can get through one night without falling back into whatever the hell this is.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I start toward the firepit.
Zane’s gaze flicks toward Colter, who’s deep in conversation with Hayes, beer bottle in hand, his expression serious. The moment he realizes Colter isn’t paying attention, his eyes are back on me.
I feel it before I see it—the slow, unhurried way his gaze drags down my body, lingering just a little too long on the slivers of skin peeking between the rips in my jeans and the exposed strip of my stomach between my cropped hoodie and waistband.
He lifts his beer to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine as he takes a slow swig, the movement deliberate, like he’s daring me to look away first.
I don’t.
But my pulse betrays me, hammering in my throat as I close the distance to where the girls are sitting.
All the chairs are full, so Tatum shifts to the side, making room for me to perch on the armrest next to her.
“You look cute.” She smiles up at me. “You thirsty? We can grab you a drink.”
“What are you drinking?” I ask, trying—and failing—to keep my attention from drifting back toward Zane.
“Hallyn and Ava made jungle juice. There’s beer and some other stuff too, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”
I nod, and she pushes to her feet, linking her arm through mine as we head toward the house.
The second the back door closes behind us, muffling the bonfire sounds, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Tatum is already crossing the kitchen, pulling out cups from the cabinet, when I slip it out to check who it’s from.
The name on the screen makes my stomach drop.
Zane.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the message, knowing damn well I shouldn’t care.
But that’s the thing about Zane. Even when I tell myself I don’t, I always do.
Zane: Where are you going?
I bite my lip, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
