Стейси Кестуик - Wet

Because it hadn’t been here with me.

Four more days passed without a word from West.

I changed my sheets.

Took photos of kids with first birthday cakes smashed on their faces. Shot images of a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, their hands never letting go of each other. Captured stills of two foolish teenagers getting engaged far too young, thinking they had some clue about what love was and how to hold onto it forever.

Idiots.

I had two meetings with Grady about photography opportunities at Water’s Edge, and he had my hopes up, alluding to a big project he wanted to assign me to but was just waiting for the final approval from his boss. As I left our meeting that Thursday, I asked Grady if he’d had a falling out with Rue.

His face blanched, and he froze with his hand on the doorknob to see me out. “Why? What did she say?”

Interesting.

“She didn’t. But things seemed tense between y’all the other week.”

His knuckles turned white, and his lips pressed into a hard line. “I have no problem with Rue. If something seemed off, it must be on her end.”

Riiiiight, nothing weird going on there at all.

I smiled at him and slipped out of his office, leaving him to his thoughts, and unable to stop myself from wondering what Rue had found wrong with him. I’d almost asked last weekend, after we finished Crazy Stupid Love for the millionth time, but something stopped me every time I went to open my mouth. Meddling never helped, in my experience.

As I left the resort, I ran into Theo in the parking lot as he was headed to his car, which was parked a few spots ahead of mine.

“Hey, Sadie! What are you up to tonight?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a run down on the beach? Nothing much.”

“Have you been to the drive-in yet? I feel like getting out of town for the night. Want to see if Rue wants to go, and we can make a night of it? If we leave in the next hour or so, we have time to grab some munchies and get there before the show starts.”

My eyes widened. “There’s a working drive-in movie theater around here?”

“Yeah, about an hour inland, past the Air Force base. There’s a double feature at sundown.”

I hesitated and checked my phone. No messages. My fingers tightened around the device, as if it was its fault I hadn’t heard from him. “You know what, Theo? That sounds perfect.”

If he could detect the forced enthusiasm, he didn’t show it.

“Great!” He stubbed his rubber flip flop against the asphalt and peeked up at me from under his floppy hair. “Do you mind driving? The Wrangler would work better than my piece of shit here. I’ll spring for gas and food.”

My eyes softened. “No problem. Want to swing by after you change?”

By the time I got home, took a shower, and threw on some comfy clothes — Nike shorts and a faded Vanderbilt shirt — Rue had packed us a cooler of beer, and Theo had arrived with two Piggly Wiggly bags of junk food.

This was exactly what I needed. A night with friends, way too many calories, and physical distance from everything that reminded me of West.

On the car ride, we cranked up the radio and sang along to Top 40, failing horribly at the hip hop songs but singing louder just the same. Well, Theo and I failed. Rue held her own, the pink tips of her hair whipping around her as we flew down the highway.

Dusk was falling when we pulled into the field, and we divvied up the snacks. Little Debbie cakes, kettle chips, and more candy than we could eat littered the dash and console, and freshly-cracked beers were ready in the cup holders.

“What’s playing tonight, anyway?” Rue asked, taking a sip of Bud Light.

Theo shoved half an oatmeal cream pie in his mouth before answering. “Who cares?”

They clinked beer cans, and we settled back against the seats, Theo propping his legs up on the armrest, and Rue and I reclining the seats back.

We chatted while the opening credits rolled and trucks and SUV’s parked around us, gorging ourselves on artificial flavors and additives, washing it down with mind-numbing alcohol.

“We need to pace ourselves, guys. I’ve only got one more thingy of beer left.” She held up the empty plastic rings from the first six-pack.

The previews were just starting when two trucks pulled into the row behind us, about half a dozen vehicles down. One was a black extended cab pickup, the other a familiar jacked up dually.

My heart thudded, beating against my ribs and threatening to split my hard won indifference into something wide open and gaping.

The cellophane from my honey bun package crinkled in my clenched fist as I sat upright, squinting through the growing dark at the new arrivals.

Wyatt, Trevor, Aubrey, and two other skinny girls spilled out of the black truck, laughing and hauling gear with them. The door to the dually remained stubbornly closed for another dozen painful heartbeats.

Finally, it eased open, and there he was, looked deliciously rumpled in a wrinkled tee and cargo shorts.

West.

My chest expanded sharply, humid air filling my lungs and forgetting to leave, and my foot reached for the brake pedal as if that would stop this whole scene unfolding before me.

I couldn’t look away as they lowered their tailgates and part of the group settled into cheap folding lawn chairs in the back of Wyatt’s truck. Aubrey skipped over to the dually and waited until West lifted her up to the high truck bed, his hands spanning her whole waist. She dropped down into one of his orange bean bags, wiggling her barely-covered ass into the vinyl, and stretched her long legs out in front of her, angling them across the space.

West hopped up into the truck bed, plopped on the other poof, and rested his head back against the toolbox, staring up at the sky, his whole body sagging.

A twinge of sympathy swelled — he looked exhausted — but I smothered it, burying it under a thick layer of I-don’t-give-a-shit.

The movie started, and I forced myself to face the oversized screen, although I couldn’t help stealing covert peeks. The brightness from the projector did a decent job of lighting the field, and I was a glutton for punishment, intent on watching how my own personal horror show was going to play out.

After my fifth or sixth glance to the side, Rue got annoyed.

“Sadie!” Her loud voice carried over the background music of the opening credits. “What in the hell do you keep looking at?”

She stood up on the seat of the Jeep and turned to her left, her chestnut and pink hair a beacon, causing several heads to turn in our direction.

My face burned hotter than last week’s sunburn, and I slunk as low as I could in my seat, wishing I could bury myself under all the wrappers on my floorboard.

From a few spots down the field, I heard Wyatt’s voice answer. “Rue? Are y’all here too?”

Rue lifted her hand in greeting, squinting his direction, and then she turned her big brown eyes to me, silently asking me questions I didn’t know the answers to.

I focused on my breathing, squishing my eyes shut in mortification. In, out. Slow and easy. Repeat.

A whoosh of air signaled my door being yanked open, and I grabbed the steering wheel as if I was in danger of falling out.

His presence was palpable as he loomed over me — I could feel his eyes raking down my body, a hot caress that had my traitorous thighs pressing together in response. Only West had ever made me feel that way — a visceral awareness that seeped through me, saturating my limbs with pure, unadulterated desire. I fought it, battling it into submission.