Page 96 of Second Chance Vacation

…within seconds, Gen is off the table, pressing me to lean against it. Despite this, she doesn’t let up her words of affirmation.

She kisses my chest. “I love you…”

She kisses my stomach. “I love you…”

She unbuckles my belt. “I love you…”

Her face is now level with my crotch, an obvious sign of the effect she has on me tenting my trousers. Gen’s knees meet the carpet as she looks up at me. The moon gleaming in through the window shines off her eyes, painting a sight so beautiful it is typically only reserved for the Louvre.

“Jackson…” Gen says, her voice barely carrying through the air.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

TEN MONTHS LATER

GEN

“Gen, we’re going to be late!” Hannah’s voice carries through the house Jackson and I moved into just two weeks ago. We were supposed to be on the road over an hour ago, but as I finish forcing my suitcase closed, sitting on top of it, I am reminded why traveling with Hannah has always been a torturous process.

“I’ll be right down!”

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I pull the suitcase down the stairs.

I was weary about Hannah and I driving down to meet Jackson at the beach house, but he was insistent that he and Liam had something that they needed to do upon arrival for work. What that is, I couldn’t tell you. However, Stephen sealed the story with his words, so I can’t argue that I’m being deceived.

“Finally!” Hannah sighs, grabbing my suitcase with ease and throwing it in the back of her rental vehicle. She arrived last night from New York with far too many suitcases for a one-week trip to Panama City. Especially a trip she takesevery year.

Despite my having known the Thatcher-Miles family for most of my life, I’ve never attended the famous Park and Thatcher-Miles family trip. I crawl into the SUV to find the passenger seat pushed almost flush with the dashboard. The two back rows of the third-row vehicle are packed to the brim with suitcases and boxes. My eye immediately diverts to Hannah.

“Hannah…”

She ignores me as we pull onto the highway.

Actually, she doesn’t say anything for close to an hour on the road.

“You going to tell me what this is about?”

“What what is about?”

“I don’t know, the fact that my knees are slamming into your dashboard and the back of this car is filled with all your shit?”

Hannah gnaws at her inner cheek in thought for a few seconds before she turns to me.

“I’m moving to Atlanta.”

“Oh—wow, does Jackson know?”

“I mean…sort of? He told me I’d be welcome to move any time and live with…”

“No…”

“Viv—you wouldn’t seriously leave me on the street, would you?” Hannah's pout reminds me of her acting chops.

“Han, no.”

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