CHAPTER EIGHT
NEELY
Sit by me.” Penn pulls out a chair. There are three open seats at the table, but this one just happens to be across from Dane. “I insist.”
I lower myself into the blue plastic seat. Across the table, between Dane and Claire, is Brittney Blevins. She was a year older than Matt, Penn, and me in school and is stunning. Time has been kind to her. Her long blonde hair shines in the hazy light. Seeing her beside Dane loops a knot in the back of my neck.
“Hi, Brittney,” I say as I get comfortable.
“How are you, Neely?”
“Good. Thanks. You?”
She brushes a lock of hair off her shoulder. “I’d be better if Patrick actually showed up tonight.”
“You need to forget him,” Claire tells her. “I know you like him, but he’s no good.”
“You can say that again,” Matt grumbles.
Brittney sighs. “I like him, all right? I know he’s unpredictable and won’t commit and gets jealous, but I do like him. I can’t help it.”
I hold up a hand. “Wait. Who is Patrick? Why doesn’t that ring a bell?”
“He’s that fool who ran his truck off the bluff and into Dogwood Lake,” Matt says, flipping a beer tab toward Dane.
“Oh.” I look at Matt. “Didn’t someone die in that accident?”
“That’s what they say,” he tells me.
Brittney rolls her eyes. “No one died. That was a stupid rumor.”
Dane leans forward, flicking the beer tab back toward Matt. The bracelet around his wrist looks bright against his tanned skin. “It wasn’t a stupid rumor. Bobby Jones went missing right around that time, and the last person who saw him was said to be Patrick.”
“That’s not what he says,” Brittney retorts.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Penn chimes in. “That’s gonna make him look even more suspicious.”
I drag my gaze away from Penn to the other side of the table. Claire is taking a sip of her drink, hiding a smile as she watches me. I don’t have to look at Dane to know he’s watching me too. The feel of his gaze has me shifting in my seat.
Clearing my throat, I sit back in my chair. “You know how it goes. Small towns are always full of silly stories and conspiracy theories. You can’t believe everything you hear.”
“I agree with that,” Penn says. “When Claire told me you and Dane were practically screwing in the middle of Dogwood Café—”
“Penn, I’m warning ya,” Dane says through clenched teeth.
My cheeks heat as Matt and Brittney laugh, and I punch Penn on the shoulder.
“What?” Penn asks. He stretches an arm over the back of my chair in a clear joust aimed at Dane. “Don’t lie to me, bud. I saw you right after that.”
“Stop it,” I tell him. “You’re such a pesterer.”
“That’s a nice way of saying it.” Dane’s words are crisp. “He has nothing better to do with his time than needle me.”
“Yes, I do. You just tell me my stories all sound the same.” He leans closer to me, the smirk on his face clearly for Dane’s benefit. “Maybe I’ll work on a new story for ya, Dane.”
“Penn, you’re pushing it.” I laugh, shoving him away.
The waitress stops by the table and drops off a few fresh beers for the crew. Claire orders the Rocket Razzle, a new Mucker’s invention, for me and a plate of fried pickles for the table.
As the group chatters back and forth, Dane and I exchange a soft smile.
“Are you dating anyone?” Brittney asks, pulling my attention away from Dane.
“Who? Me?” I ask.
She grins. “Yes, you. I actually . . . This is a little embarrassing, but I follow your articles.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking briefly at the table. “I think it’s totally awesome you got out of here and did something big with your life. Every time I see your name on the website or in print, it just makes me really proud of you in a weird way.”
My cheeks ache at the compliment. “I don’t know what to say. That’s a really nice thing to tell me, Brittney.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Her voice trails off into a laugh. “Anyway, I figured you had some big-shot boyfriend in the city. That’s how you roll in my head.”
Dane’s movement beside her catches my attention, but I don’t look at him. I force my eyes to stay trained on Brittney. I happily accept a large frosted cup with a mixture of bright-yellow and red liquids from the waitress. “I don’t have a lot of time for a private life, actually. No big-shot boyfriend for me.”
“That’s good news,” Penn says.
“Why?” I turn to him, my drink in hand, and take a long sip. The spiciness of the rum mixed with the sweetness of the pineapple and the sugar-rimmed glass lets me take in a little more than I intend on the first gulp.