Page 135 of The Long Way Home
“Something I can help you with, Sunny?” I watch as she crosses the room, pulls back the blanket, and slides in next to me, silent. Her head finds my chest, and I swing my arm around her.
Her hand settles on me, fingers splayed out gently, warm even through the thin cotton of my shirt. It’s nothing dramatic, no grand gesture, but I feel every point of contact.
“Your heart is beating fast, Rhett.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “You have that effect on me.”
I can feel the slow shift in her breathing as sleep starts to pull her under, the weight of her head growing heavier on my shoulder.
And that is when it hits me. We’re different now.
Chapter Thirty
RACHEL
Isink into a low-slung beach chair, the canvas warm beneath my bare thighs. Legs stretching out, catching flecks of sunlight that scatter across the dock. The sun hangs high, lazy and indulgent, casting the lake in gold and teasing us with the illusion that summer will never end.
Margo lounges beside me, a half-empty seltzer balanced against her thigh. She twirls a loose strand of hair around her finger, humming along with faint music drifting from the speaker on the dock.
Lexi sprawls flat on a towel, every limb relaxed. Slone props her feet on the edge of a cooler, one knee bent, sipping something with a slice of lime caught between glass and lip.
“You’re staring,” Margo says without looking at me.
“I am not,” I snap, though my head betrays me, tilting toward the boys.
“You totally are,” she insists, voice sing-songy.
I glance anyway. Down by the dock, Wes, Rhett, Connor, and Anderson are barefoot, tossing a football in the soft grass. Their laughter rolls across the water. Beads of sweat glint on sun-warmed skin, arms rippling with motion, and every so often, one of them yells something ridiculous, sending the others into uncontrollable laughter. Nothing here feels real enough to be a responsibility or a consequence.
My eyes snag on Rhett. He catches a pass with one hand, jogging backward with that infuriating swagger, while Wes mutters curses under his breath. My lungs pause, forgetting how to breathe.
He glances over and smiles just for me. I can’t stop the way heat pools low in me, pressing against the small of my stomach.
Slone, ever the clairvoyant, smirks over her glass. “It’s okay. We support lake lust, Rach.”
“Lake lust is not a thing,” I reply.
“It absolutely is,” Lexi chimes in, lifting her sunglasses with one hand. “It’s like Vegas rules. What happens on lake time, stays on lake time.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh, and glance at Margo, who nudges my foot with hers. “Whatever happens, just don’t overthink it, okay?”
“Pfff, I don’t overthink things.”
All three of them pause, staring at me like I’ve just announced the Earth is flat. I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “Okay, fine,” I admit.
I take another sip of my drink and peek over my sunglasses. Desperate to change the subject, I project, “So… Slone. You and Connor have been attached at the hip lately.”
Margo raises her eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She leans a little closer, clearly invested. Lexi snorts into her can, a bubble of laughter floating through.
Slone doesn’t flinch. She tilts her head back, a sly, lazy smile curves her lips. “Yeah? And?”
“That’s it? No denial? No snarky comeback?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Why deny it? He’s hot. He’s funny. He respects women. He makes a decent margarita. And he doesn’t talk through movies. I’d be an idiot not to enjoy his company.”
“Well damn,” Margo says, laughing, head thrown back. “Love the honesty, Slone.”
“I do love blunt Slone,” Lexi adds.
