Page 29 of Best Friends, Tennessee

And not even your type anyway.

And it’s Finn, for God’s sake.

We stepped outside. The night was humid, and not even too cold to relax on top of the blanket. His backyard was about a hundred times better for Night Camp than my parents’ yard used to be. It was modestly sized but it had a nice, easy downslope that looked toward the red maples, poplar trees and wisteria bushes he’d planted over the years.

Finn grabbed a giant camping blanket and put it next to his fire pit as I got the fire started.

“Can’t believe you even remember how to start a fire after all these years,” he said.

“Come on,” I told him. “Just because I lived in the city doesn’t mean I can’t light a fire.”

“I’m impressed,” Finn said. “Maybe I’ll get you riding horses next.”

I let my eyes focus on the little glowing lights he had placed under some of the bushes in the yard.

Yeah.

Those were a good thing to look at. A nice, welcome distraction from the curve of my best friend’s ass under his shorts.

“I swear I’ve seen more photos of this backyard over the past few years than anything else from you,” I told him. “Now I’m finally actuallyinit.”

Finn had always texted me periodically with pictures and descriptions of the progress of his trees and flowers, even if we hadn’t talked about much personal stuff in the past few years.

“My country boy oasis, as you called it.”

“Forgot I nicknamed it that.”

“I call it that all the time now,” he said, lying back on the blanket. I took the spot next to him.

I could feel the cool, grassy ground under my back, below the padding of the blanket. The red-orange glow from the fire in the pit was small, but provided enough ambient warmth that made the area feel cozy instead of chilly.

I took a few deep, slow breaths, looking at the night sky.

“This feels good,” I said.

“And you’re not just taking pity on me because of my nightmare?”

I turned to face him on the blanket, propping myself up on one arm. “I feel so sorry for poor, scared little Finn,” I said sarcastically. “No. Of course not. I love it out here. My problem with Bestens was never about the natural landscape.”

The low, quiet sound of faraway frogs and crickets came through the air. It really was like a little oasis—the trees and shrubs lining his property made it seem like his backyard was his own private place, despite the fact that he was on a normal residential street. Finn was quiet for a minute, looking up.

“Bet you didn’t have nights like this out in Los Angeles,” he murmured, seeming to purposely lay on the Southern accent in that moment.

“I definitely didn’t,” I said, being completely honest.

“I was just trying to get you all riled up,” he said, turning to look at me. “I know you probably had way more fun out there. On a night like this you probably would have been at a fancy art gallery afterparty around now, wouldn’t you? Or getting your dick sucked by some rich male model in his hot tub?”

“I did go to a lot of art events,” I said, trying to ignore the way Finn’s voice sounded when he saiddick sucked. “I can’t believe how far away that life already feels.”

“Do you miss it?”

I hummed. “Yes and no. Those events felt so important to me. Every time I went to an art gallery opening, I’d stand there sipping wine looking at the front doors the whole time.”

“Why?”

I paused for a moment. “This is going to sound pathetic.”

He grinned. “Juicy details. Tell me.”

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