Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

“I don’t know.” He grins. “I don’t have a lot to do tonight. What do you have going on?”

“I am not sleeping with you, Penn,” I say, shaking my head before taking another drink.

His gaze skims over the top of my head, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Got something you wanna say, Dane?”

“Oh, I got a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’m not about to give you the satisfaction of saying them.”

I glance over my shoulder. Dane is leaning back in his chair, one arm draped over the armrest. He appears completely cool. Relaxed, even, but the vein in his temple gives away his irritation.

Turning back to Penn, I shrug. “Sounds like he has your number.”

Matt groans. “Everyone has his number.”

“Back to the topic at hand,” Brittney says. “I need you to have a super romantic life, Neely. Do it for me. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“I just don’t have time,” I reiterate. “I work ten-hour days. Try to get my money out of my gym membership. Travel for work once a month or so and spend time with my friend Grace. Where do I fit in a private life?”

Mentally patting myself on the back at how believable that sounds, I take another drink. It’s all true, anyway. I don’t really have time for a boyfriend. Even if I found one, where would I fit him in, in the midst of my responsibilities?

My bed.

“You have to make time for a private life,” Claire chimes in, ripping me away from my vision of a male form with a green-and-yellow bracelet tangled up in my sheets. “I learned that the hard way.”

“How do you mean?” I avert my gaze from Dane’s and hold up my glass to see it’s empty.

“I work at the café to help pay my tuition at school. I’m going to be a dental hygienist,” she tells me. She presses the slice of lime through the neck of her beer bottle. “I had a great boyfriend and thought life was good. Apparently, he didn’t. I was too focused, according to him.” She rolls her eyes. “So now I make sure I take time for myself.”

Penn leans my way again. “She really just means she fucks me at least twice a week.”

Claire throws a napkin at Penn, making him chuckle.

The waitress interrupts us, clearing off empty bottles and replacing them with fresh ones. As my friends give Penn hell, she comes back with another colorful Razzle for me. I waste no time diving in. The rum warms my blood and knocks off the edge of my anxiety. I can feel it rushing through my body and delivering a much-needed dose of comfort.

“Who did you get to replace me in New York?” Penn asks.

“Excuse me?” I laugh.

“Who is the devilishly handsome stud whom you secretly want?”

My snort is unavoidable. “I didn’t realize that’s what you are to me, but good to know.”

“And?” he prods. “He’s a musician, isn’t he? I always felt I could’ve been a drummer.”

Claire throws her head back and mutters something to the sky. All I can do is laugh.

“Well,” I say, “you’ll be happy to know you were irreplaceable. I spend all of my free time with my friend Grace.”

“Is she hot?” Penn asks.

I turn to look at him. “She’d eat you alive, bud.”

Why I’m surprised at the sparkle in his eye is beyond me, but it’s there. Coupled with his little grin, the one that would tempt Grace in two seconds flat if she were here, I can only imagine the two of them together.

“When can I meet her?” he asks.

“So no boyfriend at all?” Dane asks, bringing my attention back to him. The sound of his voice sends a ripple of energy across my skin, and I glance up to see him looking at me.

“He really just means he wants to—” Penn starts, but is cut off by everyone’s laughter.

“Stop,” I say. Pointing my finger at him, I shoot him my best glare. It’s not a great one with the rum in play. “Don’t.”

“I’m just trying to help things along. Help the inevitable.”

“What’s inevitable is that I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t shut up,” Dane warns.

Penn extends his arm and shifts in his seat so he’s sitting even closer to me. It’s comical, watching his antics stir up a storm behind Dane’s eyes. It’s also gratifying.

“Can I get you all anything else?” The waitress places an oversize plate of fried pickles in the middle of the table.

“Ranch,” Dane and I say at the same time.

“And I’m full of shit?” Penn laughs. “Please.”

“It’s salad dressing,” I point out. “Everyone likes it. Claire likes ranch. Don’t you?” Silently pleading with her, I watch the amusement roll across her features.

“Not with fried pickles,” she says. “Just with salad.”

“It’s good on a baked potato too,” Matt adds. “But these two,” he says, motioning toward Dane and me, “are the only ones I know who eat it on everything.”