Page 47 of The Hearts We Fumble
Glancing up to make sure Tatum isn’t paying attention, I quickly type out a reply.We’re getting drinks. Be right back.
We opt for jungle juice, the kind that tastes like candy but sneaks up on you if you’re not careful. After last night, I’m fine nursing just one cup. I want to be able to drive home even though I only live a few blocks away. I want just enough to loosen up.
Tatum clinks her cup against mine before we head back outside, where the crackling fire casts warm flickers of light across the yard. Reed’s setting up a few extra chairs around the firepit, and before I can pick a seat, Zane strides over and drops into the one directly across from me.
It’s intentional.
He leans back, legs spread, the flickering flames highlighting the sharp angles of his face. The stretched collar of his hoodie exposes the base of his throat, and when he lifts his drink to his lips, his gaze latches onto mine like he’s waiting for something.
I settle between Everly and Tatum, willing myself to focus on the conversation. The guys are talking about today’s game against the Kings—a rivalry that once ran deep before Hayes and Eric Osten finally buried the hatchet.
But my mind isn’t on football.
My phone vibrates in my lap.
My breath hitches, and when I glance up, Zane is sliding his phone back into his pocket, lifting his drink in silent command.Check it.
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, my pulse kicking up as I pull out my phone.
Zane: I’m going to use the bathroom. Tell the girls you want to grab a blanket from your car and meet me around the side of the garage.
My eyes narrow as Zane pushes himself to stand, the firelight flickering across his sharp features. Without a word, he tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin along the side of the house, then jogs up the steps and disappears inside.
I sit there, pretending to listen as Everly and Tatum vent about a professor who’s been a complete nightmare all semester. Everly is stressing over her grade while Tatum plots ways to turn the tables on him.
Feigning a shiver, I rub my hands up and down my arms. “I’ll be right back. Gonna grab the blanket I left in my trunk.”
Tatum’s brows knit together. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, no,” I rush out, maybe a little too quickly. “You stay. Keep chatting with Ev. I’ll be right back.”
She studies me for a beat before nodding, shifting to get more comfortable in her chair.
I leave my purse at her feet—another layer to sell my excuse—and slip my keys into my hoodie pocket, though I have no intention of going anywhere near my car.
Finishing the last sip of my jungle juice, I toss the cup in the garbage and round the side of the house, the cool night air tightening my skin. I barely make it a few steps down the driveway before a strong hand grips my forearm, yanking me back against a solid, familiar chest.
Zane.
I know it’s him before he even leans down, his breath warm against my ear.
“It’s me,” he murmurs, voice thick, rough.
His hand slides down, fingers threading through mine, and he doesn’t give me time to react before he tugs me across the driveway, leading me toward the far side of the garage. The shadows here are thicker, the only light coming from the moon and the distant glow of the bonfire.
There’s nothing over here. No people. No distractions. Just the stretch of trees lining the edge of the property, creating a perfect cover.
Zane doesn’t stop until my back is flush against the cool siding of the garage, the chill of it biting into my heated skin. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, but the sensation is quickly forgotten when his chest presses against mine, a solid wall of heat and muscle pinning me in place.
His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark. Hungry.
And when he speaks, his voice is pure gravel.
“What the hell are you doing to me, firecracker?”
The darkness cloaks us, but my eyes slowly adjust, tracing the hard lines of his face and the sharp cut of his jaw. His breath fans over my skin, warm and unsteady, and my own chest rises and falls in sync, anticipation coiling inside me like a tightly wound spring.
