Page 89 of Changing Lanes

Beckett’s erection though? That’s not getting concealed no matter how big a pillow he tries to hide the monster with.

Marc’s gaze takes in the room before landing on our position with a funny look.

My eyes flit to Beckett but he’s not looking at me anymore.

“What’s up?” he asks gruffly instead.

A frown creases Marc’s already rigid expression. “Cruz just called. They’re having a party down at the river. He said it was cool if we stopped by. You down?”

“I don’t know, man. I got shit for sleep last night.”

I watch as Beckett picks at his cuticle. He works with cars for a living. Engines. Grease upon oil upon who-the-hell-knows-what, but now’s the time he’s decided to take an interest in his nail beds?

“Paige? What about you? Cruz wouldn’t shut up asking about you.” His laugh that follows should be criminal. He’s so attractive when he’s just scowling and generally frowny but when he lights up, it’s practically indecent.

Beckett’s hands freeze but he still refuses to meet my eyes. I wait a beat, giving him time to come to his senses.

When he doesn’t, I shrug a shoulder and stand from the bed facing my other roommate. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

We agree on a time frame that works for both of us and just as he’s about to leave, he adds, “Wear a swimsuit. Cruz is taking his jet skis and you can show if you’ve got skills riding anything other than that Honda.”

I laugh under my breath. “I thought I already proved my riding skills to Beckett but sure. I’m game.”

The smile Marc flashes tells me he knows exactly what I’m referring to.

“Fuck it,” Beckett bursts out, finally looking between the two of us. “I’m going.”

Hiding a grin, I make my way over to my own room in search of an outfit. And a swimsuit.

* * *

The park hosting the impromptu soiree is hidden away in a quiet riverside neighborhood I’ve never been to before. There’s a tiny boat launch with a dilapidated dock that’s proving to be quite the hot spot on this sweltering afternoon with several tweens taking turns jumping from the rough wood they’ll undoubtedly get splinters from, if they haven’t already. The nurse in me cringes while the daredevil in me cheers them on with great envy.

The hot air sits like crackly tissue paper all around us with no wind whatsoever to break up the itchy heat. Basketballs bouncing on the nearby court along with various watercraft engines skimming past on the water create a backdrop soundtrack to the otherwise sluggish summer day as hints of watermelon and flattened grass fill my nose.

With a plate of food, I make my way over to a picnic table, sitting next to Angela while keeping an eye on the preteens.

“They make it look so easy, don’t they?” Angela nods at the squealing bunch.

With a tee tied at the midriff, cut off shorts, and a baseball hat paired with aviator glasses, she looks like she belongs in California. If I didn’t know her better, I’d assume she was carefree, living the dream instead of troubled, having survived a nightmare that she thinks she’ll never fully wake up from.

“Not a care in the world.” I shake my head. “It must be nice.”

We exchange a knowing look.

While most of the guys were caught up in a game of beer pong last night, we swapped childhood stories. Hers nearly broke me to hear, yet here she sits with an amazing boyfriend and a family of friends she blended into seamlessly.

“No salad today, Paige?”

Marc’s question is greeted with crickets as he finds a seat at the end of the table.

Too soon. Too fucking soon.

“See? This is what happens when the broody one tries to make jokes.” Beckett, dressed in colorful swim trunks and a light blue shirt that says Remember To Twist Your Fist, sits opposite me with a heaping plate of his own. “Don’t go there, bro, that’s my thing,” he says to Marc before leaning in to lock eyes with me seriously. “If you or someone you know has been personally offended by one of Marc’s dark jokes, you may be entitled to generous compensation.”

“You’re the most offensive one here,” our roommate openly accuses.

Beckett throws his hands in the air, looking around wildly. “Did you not see the guy on the way in here? Dude was wearing a banana hammock while riding one of those wiggle scooters. Ba-na-na ham-mock. At a family park, wiggling his junk back and forth aggressively. That’s offensive. I thought we were gonna have to pick Paige’s eyes up off the concrete.”