Page 103 of The Storm

“All I’m saying is that if a mushroom dish hits the table, I’m out.”

I grit my teeth and turn around to face her. “He’s making an effort, so just… stop being a dick.”

She raises her brows at me. “Someone’s touchy.”

“I’m not. I’m just telling you to have some fucking grace! Okay?”

Wow, she mouths when she thinks I’m not looking. Now I feel bad for snapping at her. But I also don’t regret it because it needed to be said.

“Okay, okay. If it’s so important to you, I’ll be the most graceful person ever,” Dia says.

My shoulders relax, and I make a face before I send her a small smile as a white flag. “Thanks.”

I sit down next to her while we wait for Bridget to arrive. Dia scratches her thigh absently and blows out a breath, dropping her head back. My gaze zeroes in on the large purple splotch on the side of her thigh, a few inches above her knee.

“What happened to you?” I point to the bruise.

She glances at it and frowns before she looks at me again. “No idea. Guess I ran into something when I wasn’t paying attention. Oh! Bridge is here.”

Bridge’s mom’s car pulls into the driveway, and Bridge jumps out.

“Sorry, we’re late,” she calls out. “We stopped for gas on our way here, and this dude was totally flirting with Mom.”

“He was not flirting,” Mrs. Delaney says.

“He asked her what her favorite type of quiche was.” Bridge grins as her mother halfheartedly swats at her.

“You’re a monster.”

“Good thing you’re getting rid of me for a few days.”

Mrs. Delaney laughs and hugs Bridget. “I put some emergency cash in the side pocket of your backpack, and there are extra socks and a sun hat in there as well. Be good and try not to get into too much trouble, okay? Or cause too much trouble. Ihave to run. You know how your father gets if we don’t leave for the airport three hours early.”

We all stand and wave as she drives away.

Once the car is out of sight, Bridge turns to look at us with a wide grin on her face, her eyes shining with excitement. “Who’s ready to have some fun?”

The car window is down,and my arm rests on the sill. A warm breeze blows in, thick with salt and a faint, swampy sweetness you only get this close to the Chesapeake Bay. The wind keeps whipping strands of hair into my eyes, but I don’t care.

Bridge is scrolling on her phone, and Dia has, as is usual ever since she got back home, nodded off.

Nick drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out the beat of the song coming from the speakers on the center console. My eyes keep getting stuck on the way his biceps flex, and the golden-brown hair on his arms. It’s impossibly soft to the touch. I know from experience. Plenty of it.

In my head we’re alone. I push up the hem of his T-shirt. Press my lips to his pecs.

Yeah, wearing shorts and having horny thoughts in a crowded car is not a smart combination. Then again, when aren’t my thoughts dirty these days?

Nick turns his head and quirks his brow knowingly when he finds me looking at him. I shrug, not the least bit apologetic about it.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Bridge says, still scrolling on her phone. “August Sun. Blue Reverie. Parking Lot Saints.” She looks up and meets my gaze. “Have you heard any of those?”

Nick glances at her through the rearview mirror. “What are those? Bands?”

“There’s a concert later,” I say.

“Some of those sound promising,” Bridge says thoughtfully.

“Odds aren’t in our favor if we’re being honest, though,” I say.