Page 78 of Jesse's Girl

“Sure.” It’s barely there, but something like disappointment crosses her features.

I pull out my phone and fire off the text.

Out back, we dust the spiderwebs and dead leaves off a couple creaking lawn chairs with rusty frames, carefully testing they won’t buckle under our weight. Reassured, and with drinks in hand, we slouch into the woven plastic seats, settling into a comfortable silence. The heat of the day has faded to a comfortable warmth, and a sliver of sunset cuts through the trees.

“This reminds me of that summer we all stayed up at Adrian’s stepdad’s cabin,” Ada says softly. “We’d sit in the backyard every night, just like this.”

“Right.” I give her a sidelong glance. “Was that the trip with the watermelon fight?”

She turns. “Oh my God! I forgot about that! With the kitchen knives?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“What did we call it? The game?”

“Uh, I think it was Defend Yourself?”

“Ha!” she barks. “Defend Yourself. Fuck, we were stupid.”

“Whose idea was it to throw chunks of watermelon and try to slice them mid-air?” I ask.

“Don’t remember.” She shakes her head, her grin slowly fading to a soft smile as she lifts her glass to her lips. “Yours, probably.”

“What?” I almost laugh. “I was never the instigator.”

She points at me. “That’s bullshit, because you instigated the shit with the fireworks on that same trip.”

“Did not!”

“You absolutely did. You and Kai went down to meet some shady guy who sold them to you.”

“Oh, yeah,” I whisper slowly. “I’m seventy-five percent sure that guy wasn’t a serial killer.”

She laughs. “He was dodgy as fuck. I was just glad you came back alive.”

“Just me? Or me and Kai?”

“You, mainly,” she admits. “Fucking Kai.”

We share a look, fighting off a laugh. Kai was a special brand of idiotic back then.

“Damn, those were fun times,” I say, then take a sip of my drink.

“Yeah,” she almost sighs. “Between the knives and the fireworks, it’s amazing we still have ten fingers apiece.”

I blow out a laughing breath, then hold my drink out to her. “To surviving being idiots?”

Her gaze meets mine as we clink glasses, her smile seeming to sit deeper in my chest than usual. “To surviving being idiots.”

I take another sip, then sit back in my chair, trying to shake it off.

“I was thinking about what you said the other night,” Ada says, snapping me back to attention, “at dinner.”

Shit.

My brows draw together.

I guess we are talking about this.