Page 39 of Just Friends

Alex hops into the passenger side, eyeing me suspiciously. “Something wrong?”

The truck revs to life, vibrating the worn leather seats, warm from the sun, and I switch it into gear. “Nope.”

“Whatever you say,” Alex singsongs, flipping on the radio. An old country song filters through the scratchy speakers, covering the harsh beating of my heart. When he turns on the next station, static crackles, and a smile stretches across my lips.

“You can keep trying, but we only get one station this deep in the mountains.”

Alex crooks an eyebrow at me. “You’re serious?”

“Well, no. There is a radio preacher on the AM station, but if you want music, it has to be country.”

The din of static is replaced by twangy crooning a second later, and I can’t help but hum along with the classic. Alex’s smooth baritone joins in, singing softly enough that I can barely hear him over the sound of the wind rushing through the open windows. His arm is propped on the window, bright sunlight making the hairs on his sinewy forearm stand out even more starkly against his pale skin. He looks so different here in my hometown, wind rustling his normally styled hair, miles of defined muscles peeking out from shorts and an impossibly thin linen button-up. He looks nothing like the professional Nashville realtor in starched collared shirts and fitted slacks. This relaxed look is doing things to me, and I don’t know what to make of that.

The fields slowly disappear as we get closer to the town’s center, the roads switching from cracked concrete patched with gravel to smooth pavement. The golds and oranges of sunset crest over the mountains and through the windshield, warming the truck pleasantly.

“Where are we going to park?” Alex asks as we get into the thick of Trail Days traffic. The streets are still lined with tourists, some obviously families who are sunburned and most likely staying in a cabin decorated in bear paraphernalia up on the ridge, while others are clearly hikers, dusty and haggard, with heavy packs that will get discarded in tents or the hostel in town.

“I know just the place,” I tell him, making a sharp left in the direction of the river.

Alex says, “Might be a little wet out there,” and I roll my eyes.

“There’s a little fishing spot down here. My boyfriend and I used to park out there.”

“The one who said he was glad you met after you got hot?” Alex asks, one eyebrow lifting high on his forehead.

“One and the same.”

He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat before saying, “Didn’t realize you were so into fishing.” I can see his grin out of the corner of my eye. It’s the easy, lilting teasing I’m used to, not diffused with any of the tension I’ve been feeling over the past few days.

“Oh yes, I lovefishing,” I answer, emphasizing the word.

I back the truck into the dirt parking lot in front of the river, hidden behind trees and big enough for only two or so vehicles. It’s darker here than it was on the street, hiding the golden rays of sunset.

“You any good?” Alex’s voice has slipped an octave, and I think my calm goes with it, sliding away like water between my fingers. All that’s left is a pulsing awareness in my stomach and a thick knot in my throat.

His eyes are dark when I meet his gaze, like looking into a vat of oil. “Atfishing?”

He nods, not looking away.

My shoulder lifts in a shrug, and I try to lighten whatever tension is forming between us. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. “I’ve been told I’m a good fisher. I’m pretty good at baiting my own hook.”

When his eyes slide a little further into darkness, I realize the double meaning of my words. Heat stains my neck, climbing up my cheeks and ears.

“That’snotwhat I meant,” I tell him.

His voice is still smooth as velvet and thick as honey. “What did you think I meant, Hazel?”

I swallow against the lump in the back of my throat, the one that feels too big for such a tight space. I feel prickly all over, like there’s an electric current running beneath my skin, threatening to shock me at any moment. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

His eyes clear with his blink, the familiar easyfriendAlex returning. “I just meant fishing. We should go sometime.”

My body flushes hotter at his words, whether he meant them that way or not. I don’t know what’s happening, where these unwelcome feelings have come from, but it needs tostop.

Thankfully, my phone buzzes on the console between us, subduing whatever current was crackling in the air. It’s Wren, asking where we are. I shoot her a quick text back with our ETA.

“Ready to go?” Alex asks. He’s completely back to normal, cool and unfazed, and I wonder if it was all in my head. That thought leaves a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I force myself to respond normally, willing my heart rate to return to normal. With a nod, I say, “Let’s go.”

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