Page 36 of Meet Me in the Valley
But when I finally glance back toward the fire, I feel it. Her stare.
Across the flames, a pair of hazel eyes lock onto mine.
Tia leans back in her chair, a joint tucked casually between her lips, watching me through the flicker and glow. There’s a spark in her gaze—half challenge, half amusement—that shoots straight through me.
Like she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing.
I watch her cheeks hollow as she inhales, and it shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. She exhales slowly, blowing the smoke just to the side, but her eyes never leave mine.
Her face glows entrancingly, the firelight casting shadows that dance across her features—heat on heat, like the flames are mirroring what’s happening beneath my skin.
A quick glance around the fire tells me no one’s paying attention. Everyone’s either too stoned or too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice the charged stare holding steady between Tia and me.
And yet, the silence between us might as well be louder than their conversations.
Her eyes dare me to move. Her body—posture, breath, presence—tells me exactly what she wants.
Her chest rises and falls. She bites her lip. She shifts her thighs together like she’s trying to quiet something only I can see.
This isn’t subtle. This isn’t casual. This is her yelling at me without saying a word.
And I’m one second away from listening.
But then a petite brunette obstructs my view, standing in front of me with a smug grin. At least she’s fully clothed this time.
“You wanted to talk to me earlier?”
My cloudy brain takes a minute to recalibrate. Right. I’d asked Isabel earlier if we could talk just before she got pulled into a game of corn hole with Jackson.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Okay. Walk with me?”
“Sure.”
As I move to stand, I catch Tia’s gaze following me as Isabel leads me toward the vineyard. Lately, I’ve gotten good at reading the storm of emotions that live in her eyes. I’ve seen jealousy, lust, even adoration. But this time … it’s different.
It’s not anger, not possessiveness.
It looks a lot like acceptance—and somehow, that unsettles me more than anything else.
Isabel and I make it to the edge of the vineyard, just far enough to talk where no one can hear our conversation.
“So, what’s up?” Isabel asks, running a hand through her long hair.
“I wanted to apologize. You know, for last night. And the night before. I feel like I led you on, and I shouldn’t have.”
Isabel stares at me for a few seconds before laughing in my face. I’m slow to react because of the weed, but I nervously chuckle alongside her, scratching the back of my neck.
“Logan. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who came onto you. If I had known you were into Tia, I wouldn’t have pursued you the way I did. And besides, it wasonly casual. I’m not like looking for a boyfriend or anything. No offense.”
None taken.
“Wait wait wait. What do you mean you wouldn’t have pursued me if you … if I weren’t … Wait. What the fuck am I trying to say?”
We both start laughing, the weed clearly short-circuiting my brain and its ability to form coherent thoughts.
Through the haze, I force my mind to focus, rewinding Isabel’s words like a tape I suddenly need to study. She’s the second person to say that I have a thing for Tia.
