Page 71 of Second Chance Vacation

“Can you grab me a Bud Light?”

A pause passes as she looks to Wes before she tosses him the can, making sure to shake it up slightly in the process.

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically as he taps the top of the can, attempting to quell the mess that it is about to be.

A squealing sound emanates from the can as he opens it, and in less than a second, bubbles start piling over the edge. Sage smirks as Wes fuses his mouth to the rim in order to prevent more spillage.

“And who is this?” she asks with a perk of interest in her voice that wasn't there before.

Here we go.

Sometimes I’m convinced Sage can find the one guy not interested in a ten-mile radius and will zero in on him.

She's looking at Gabe, who is standing at the back of the pack, not even attempting to talk to her.

“Oh, this is my best friend. Gabe,” Liam says, smacking Gabe’s arm, “don't be rude.”

Liam pushes Gabe toward Sage, much to his dismay. Despite this, Gabe is incapable of being rude.

“Sorry. Nice to meet you.” He grins awkwardly. “Can I just get a water?”

She hands him the bottle, seemingly disappointed in his lack of interest, but allows her hand to graze over his own and linger for a split second. Gabe doesn’t engage her as he pulls the bottle of water to his lips and gulps it down. I’m sure his girlfriend appreciates his lack of interest in her.

The sun barrels down on us, leaving a stinging sensation across my skin. It’s hot to the touch, and my fingertips leave white marks. That’s going to hurt tomorrow.

Sage drives away with a disappointed Liam gazing off at her, a dazed look on his face.

“So your sister…” He turns to Wes.

“It’s never going to happen, man.” He chuckles before pulling his club from his bag as we approach the next hole of the tournament. Even with us in the lead, Wes is still meticulous in his stroke. Even with that, Gabe outdoes him by a long shot.

We wrap up a few hours later, dragging our bags to our cars with a groan.

The sun is peeking out over the horizon, casting a colored hue over us, causing my sunburn to creep from pink to orange in its blanket.

How I managed to spend weeks in Saint-Tropez without a single sunburn, but spend a day on the green at a golf tournament and find myself burned to a crisp.

“Drinks at my place?” Liam perks up, somehow having far more energy than the other three of us combined. Despite our exhaustion, somehow, he manages to strong-arm us all into it.

Once again, we drink.

TWENTY-NINE

GEN

“What about this one?”

I hold up a simple satin sheath dress in an ivory shade to Savannah. Once again, I am met with her scrunching her nose, obviously trying to figure out a way to be nice about it.

“It’s cute, but…it just doesn’t fit my vibe for the party, you know?”

So she thinks it’s ugly, duly noted.

The small boutique is known for its unconventional bridal picks, most of which are vintage and belonged to some, probably dead by now, Hollywood starlet. Each piece on the rack I’m looking at appears to be simple, something that I know Savannah won’t be interested in.

She wants extraordinary, as she puts it, and thus—simple satin doesn’t fit the bill.

Savannah holds up a beaded number with a look of glee painted on her face.

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