Page 4 of Second Chance Vacation

Savannah groans.

“He was nervous, but I get your point. No more shenanigans, and no, it’s not Will. Scouts honor.” She grins from ear to ear, holding up three fingers.

“You were never a Girl Scout.”

“Was so. For three days,” Savannah chuckles, “until I realized I actually had to do stuff, and I wasn’t just getting a cute vest.”

I glare at her as I push what is left of the contents of my desk into a file box. I’m not sure what she is doing, but she is up to something. I have faith I’ll figure her out.

“It’s a friend of Wesley’s from Duke. They were roommates. He’s staying with him while he gets his footing now that he’s moved to Atlanta. It would be rude to leave him at home.”

I have met most of Wesley’s friends from undergrad but never his mysterious roommate Jax. Knowing my luck, I’ll be stuck for weeks with some weirdo who is convinced Georgia Southern is better than Georgia State.

“Oh, I get to meet the elusive Jax?”

“Yes. And he’s a good guy, so don’t be a bitch.”

I feign offense. “Me? Why would I be a bitch?”

“Yeah, okay.” Savannah rolls her eyes. “Anyway, we should probably head back to your place to get you packed. We leave early.”

“And why do you need to help me pack? I am fully capable of packing a suitcase on my own.”

“Because I don’t trust you not to pack exclusively mumus and maxi dresses.” She leans over the box on my desk, perusing its contents. “Seriously, Gen, I would kill to have your curves, and you cover them up twenty-four-seven. Let the girls breathe. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

I can’t resist groaning. Savannah is maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, so her being envious of my body borders on comical. We used to wear the same size, for crying out loud. I am hard-pressed to believe her. While her twenties have only led to Savannah becoming even more toned, as if that was possible, I got the inverse. Adulthood has graced me with an extra forty-five pounds and an excess of insecurities. When Savannah even implies jealousy, I can’t help but interpret it disingenuously.

“Fine. Well, we should probably get going then. I’m not even sure what I have that would fit your standards for appropriate Saint-Tropez attire.”

“Then we’ll just have to go shopping!” Savannah perks up at the implication that she can dress me. Her favorite pastime is treating me like her own personal Barbie doll.

“Savannah.”

“You never let me have any fun.” She huffs, jumping from her earlier sitting position on the edge of my desk. “What can I carry?”

“Uh, take this box. It’s mostly yours anyway.” I laugh, jumping out of the distance of her arm that is swatting at me.

“I knew that was my headband!”

She yanks the velvet headband off the top of the pile of my desk’s contents before putting it on her head. I struggle to keep my laughter at bay as I go to the doorway, Savannah in tow. I flip the light switch, a breath of relief leaving my lips.

Here’s to a couple of weeks free of stress.

TWO

JACKSON

“That’s not very ladylike!”

I slam on the horn as I resist the urge to flip the bird out my window at an elderly woman in a ’95 Honda Civic who just cut me off in traffic. Cars swerve in and out of lanes, going easily fifteen miles over the speed limit at minimum. I merge into the right lane as traffic is diverted into a construction zone. Signs stating hefty fines for speeding are littered on the shoulder. Unsurprisingly, no one heeds the warning. Traffic still moves at a lightning-fast pace. I groan as the traffic halts to a stop. I pray there isn’t another accident. I can’t deal with yet another accident on this already long drive.

Devil Went Down to Georgiastartles me as it blares through the speakers of my rental car. The ringtone that started as a joke now seems like a poetic interpretation of my recent choices. My heart rate is high from the traffic, so the surprise isn’t helping. I scramble to find the button to answer as I read the incoming call on the screen.

Hannah.

“Hey, Han!” The distracted tone in my voice is met with what sounds like the quietest sound of crying coming through the Bluetooth. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate it here, Jackson!” Hannah hiccups, giving the slightest brevity to her sobbing.

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