Page 57 of The False Flat

“William, get out of there!” Deanna screamed, but William carried on as if she’d told him she’d be joining him in a minute.

“Grant, do something. This is . . .” Deanna glanced back at the wake attendees in black, who were lined up, watching.

“That’s it.” Grant slipped off his shoes and socks, then his shirt. I had this wild idea that Embrace-Life Grant was giving in, stripping down, and joining William. But his jeans remained as he dove into the pool.

Chuck bent at the edge of the water. “Get ’im to the edge, Grant, and I’ll pull his naked ass out.”

Silence. Deanna and I covered our mouths. After three failed attempts, Grant finally managed to grip William’s waist and pulled. William spun in Grant’s arms.

“No pets in the ocean! That little guy’s gonna drown!” William screamed as he went after Grant’s facial hair.

Nothing deterred Grant, not even his jeans when they rode low on his surprisingly cut waist as he stepped out of the water, carrying his large friend. I tried not to notice, but I couldn’t look away, especially after I spotted the small patch of ink on the right side of his lower torso.

Grant has a tattoo.

Hot.

“Get the gate,” Grant ordered and then carried William across the neighbors’ lawn, to a backdrop of whistles, claps, and cheers from what now seemed like all the mourners. When William protested, Grant growled, “Don’t even think about it,” a husky demand that made my belly flutter. Miraculously, William obeyed.

I wasn’t sure which it was—Grant’s immediate action, his naked torso, his authoritative strength, rippling back muscles, or the tattoo—but my body ached. I wanted to be William because he was wet and naked and in Grant’s arms.

This was not how you were supposed to feel about your friends.

I pulled my cell from my pocket, replied to the workspace email, releasing my old office space, and booked a ticket to Minnesota because my feelings for Grant were the last straw. I was not going to be a cheater—again.

CHAPTER 22

FIVE-STAR CHOCOLATE TORTE

A few days after Bonnaroo, on my mother’s doorstep, I’d kissed Chad hard on his mouth. A pang of guilt had weaseled its way under my skin as I looked into his face and told him how much I’d missed him. Really, I’d missed my old comfortable bubble that kept the feelings out. Then I told him he’d been right; I’d been miserable at Bonnaroo.

I was mad at myself because I couldn’t make life in Nashville work, and I’d developed feelings for Grant, feelings, which ruined everything. How could I be friends with Deanna now? How could I act normal around Grant now that every time I looked at him, I’d think of his muscled, wet torso and how much I wanted to rub myself against it?

Chad had smiled, patted my hair, and pulled me to my old bedroom, where I shoved, scratched, nibbled, and pounded him into me because I needed proof that my body belonged in his bed.

This morning, Friday morning, after days of me wallowing at Aurora’s house, Chad told me he had a surprise he’d tell me about over dinner.

I spent the day as I had the previous three, alone in my mother’s house, reading Jane Eyre and mostly ignoring life and the texts from Deanna, Grant, Erin, and even William. Deanna’s was the hardest to ignore.

Deanna, Sunday, 4:27 p.m.: Where are you?

Deanna, Sunday, 5:32 p.m.: William is such a doofus. I’m mortified. Did you get home okay? You wanna get dinner? I can’t even look at William. Grant and Chuck are babysitting.

Deanna, Sunday, 7:49 p.m.: Did something happen at Bonnaroo?

Deanna, Sunday, 9:17 p.m.: Pen, please call. I’m really worried. I need to know you’re okay.

After writing and erasing a bunch of words: Me, Sunday, 9:25 p.m.: I’m fine, going to Minnesota for a few days.

Deanna, Sunday, 9:25 p.m.: Thank God you’re okay, but did something happen? Aside from William?

Me, Sunday, 9:46 p.m.: I just need some time.

Deanna, Sunday, 9:48 p.m.: Understood. Please call/text if you need anything. Miss you.

Me (after sucking up tears to avoid looks from other travelers), Sunday, 10:05 p.m.: Thanks.

Deanna, Monday, 7:00 a.m.: I need to talk to you. I have something to tell you.