“This is the time,” I rasped, “that I’d say, ‘No, you’re beautiful,’ but it’s not true.”
She flinched.
I grinned. “You’re breathtaking.” I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Devastatingly gorgeous.” Another kiss to the side of her mouth. “My tongue’s favorite taste.”
She shivered as I took her lips again, this time harder, claiming them for myself as I parted them with my tongue. I may as well have been planting my flag, preparing for war against anyone who dared contradict what was mine.
Loud music and laughter interrupted us.
And then we had around seventeen — no joke — high school kids running toward us.
Bronte gave her head a shake while I glared daggers at every single little shit who continued skipping our direction, throwing sand all over the blankets, my guitar.
Someone was dying this night.
“Mom!” Amelia yelled. “I didn’t know you guys were going to do a campout.”
“Surprise?” I offered lamely, gaining the attention of the seventeen kids who all stared me down like I’d single-handedly cured the common cold.
Giggles erupted, and then cell phones came out.
And our date was over, wasn’t it?
I put my fake smile on for all to see and immediately went into Drew Amhurst mode. I signed autographs while Bronte helped me take pictures with guys, girls, selfies.
Amelia looked uncomfortable. That made two of us.
The last thing she needed was to feel even more out of place after the cancer diagnosis and the tension over wondering if she was still in the clear. I could practically feel her stress pulsing in my direction despite her easy smile. I knew those smiles well; they were convincing when it came to everyone but yourself and your own damn reflection.
“Hey, man!” One of the guys, who was wearing his Seaside High letterman jacket and, honest to God, had his black beanie pulled almost completely over his eyes, showed off two piercings in his ears like he was “hard.” “Can you play Stay with Me?”
Kill. Me. Now. No, better yet, kill me dead. Please.
I gave Bronte a save-me look, which she completely ignored by the way, and then started to strum. “Sure man, what’s your name?”
“Ryan!” He high-fived the dick next to him as they pulled out a flask, and I mentally cleaned my gun on the spot. I was going to have to serve time in federal prison if he as much as touched Amelia.
Damn, I was getting protective over the non-daughter.
But she was innocent.
She was dealing with cancer for shit’s sake.
Ryan probably couldn’t even spell cancer if his life depended on it.
He let out a belch.
I gave a side scowl to Bronte, who caught it this time and put a hand over her mouth, her laughter turning into a cough.
At least we were on the same page.
NO RYANS!
A teen in black-rimmed glasses handed Amelia a Diet Coke and asked to sit next to her.
“Thanks, Alex.”
I nodded my head in approval.
We like Alex.
We hate Ryan.
Ryan seemed to hate Alex.
Which meant Alex just gained a billion points while I was already plotting where Ryan’s body would be buried.
So, I was officially picking sides.
That was different.
With a deep breath, I strummed my guitar and sang the lyrics of the requested song as smoothly as possible, even though I loathed the thing.
It was one of our older ones.
And sadly, one of the most beloved.
It had also become the one song that held all my shame, all my pain — the song I’d written about Angelica when we’d been close when Will was going semi-off the deep end.
It was our song.
It was our friendship.
And now the song was my ghost, possibly my demon.
Perfect.
I finished and looked up. Everyone had their phones out, which meant in about two-point-seven seconds, I would be trending on all social media… again.
And I’d probably get another call from Skye.
Which meant I had to change my number… again.
And then I’d probably get a text from Angelica later saying sorry.
Then a warning text from Will to stop singing the song.
And yeah, lots of super fun moments in my future.
Exhaustion suddenly took over.
“I know that look,” Bronte whispered. “Let’s pack up.”
“Noooo.” Could I sound more like a child? “This is our date. They can leave.”
She grinned. “I doubt they will, plus it’s still early. Tell you what…” She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “We can still have our outdoor adventure, just not on the beach.”
I frowned but exhaled in relief. I didn’t want our time to end, not when it was just beginning. “Then, where?”
“Just pack up the tent.” She winked.
“Fine, but I’m trusting you. Don’t let me down,” I teased, my voice even sounded tired like I’d done a three-hour concert with a thirty-minute encore.
The kids were still hanging out at our spot when we packed stuff up, said our goodbyes, then got in the car and drove home.
I was madly disappointed.
Devastated, actually, that we’d been interrupted.
I was about to apologize when Bronte grabbed our gear and, instead of going inside the house, went around back toward the grassy cliff that overlooked the ocean.
“Think you can build that tent again?”
I smiled in relief. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”
“Good.” She set up our blankets and disappeared, only to come back with one of the small fire pits that were set around the patio. She placed it next to the tent and lit it while I moved the blankets nearby so we could look at the stars.
Wordlessly, we lay down and looked up at the clear night sky.
“What was that?” she asked.
I tried not to move, not to sigh. “What?” I turned on my side to face her.
She mimicked my motion and frowned. “When you sang that song, not the first one, but the second, you sounded so sad, so wounded, so exhausted… I wanted to just yell at everyone and chase them away, and then I imagined them all getting pissed that Amelia’s mom lost her sh—cool in front of everyone.”
I grinned. “Were you going to say shit?”
She scrunched
