Truly smiling for the first time, she agrees. "No, they don't. As long as I'm still unmarried and living in Summer's Bay, I'm staying with them."
"I got Myles," I remind her. "He brought all his shit in yesterday."
"He told me he'd asked you. I wasn't sure you'd say yes. He can be…."
"An asshole, but you probably knew that." My voiced feelings for my brother have made her tense.
Her mouth shuts in a tight line as she picks the label from her beer. "He's not always an asshole," she defends. "He's not to me, anyway."
Deciding I'd rather not talk about Myles, more so her and Myles together, I throw caution to the wind and ask, "You wanna get out of here?"
Her eyes grow wide as her lips part. And hell if I don't appreciate the blush that comes next.
"Out of here with you?"
"Why not? I brought the truck."
As she grins wide, I know I've got her. She always loved my truck. "The old red one?"
"Aged, Ry," I correct her, standing and reaching for her chair. "Don't call my baby girl old. She hates when you make fun of her."
"Old. Aged. They mean the same," she says. "Besides, she knows I love her."
"Right."
Cautiously, she asks, "Can I drive?"
My eyebrows lift and for a brief moment I don't think she's serious. "You want to drive my truck?"
"Yes. I'll be good."
"No," I answer. "My truck, I'll drive."
Ryleigh humphs, but stands as I take the back of her chair. She reaches for her purse just as the voice of trouble calls.
"Chase! There you are. I've been looking everywhere." Coming at us fast is the woman I've been dating for the past two months. We're not serious, but we are exclusive.
She stops at my side to take Ryleigh in. Instantly, her eyes widen in surprise.
"What's going on?" she asks, worried.
"Ryleigh Davis, this is Camille. Cam, this is Ryleigh."
Cam's heard me talk about Ryleigh, but only in the childhood sense. Since she still probably pictured my old friend as a kid, the recognition of Ry's beauty has taken her off guard. She covers her reaction and offers her hand, reluctantly admitting, "I've heard a lot about you."
My first glance in Ryleigh's direction since Cam appeared tells me more than she thinks it does—she's not unaffected by my choice of company.
Clearing her throat, Ryleigh accepts her hand and returns, "It's nice to meet you, too." Then, as if giving us an out, she looks up at me and says, "I need to start heading home. If I'm not back soon, Myles will wonder where I've been."
No, he won't.
He doesn't deserve her.
Son of a bitch.
"Bummer," Cam whispers, and thankfully Ryleigh misses the sarcastic undertone in which she says it. As Ryleigh starts to walk away, Cam pulls on my arm and questions, "That's Myles's girl?"
Obviously the rumors of my brother's sexual proclivities aren't lost on anyone here, except the one person to whom it matters most.
The woman who thinks she loves him.
Shit.
Chapter Three
RYLEIGH
"Not that one, either," I dryly refuse. "Put it down."
Kate holds up the nasty bubblegum-pink dress again and studies it with suspicion, scrunching her face in disbelief. Thankfully, though, she accepts my verdict and places it back on the rack.
Giving me a look of disdain, she replies, "This isn't working. Something's up. Tell me."
Tell her.
Tell her I haven't stopped thinking about Chase since the night at the bar, a week ago?
Tell her I memorized the new tanned crinkles around his eyes, or the softness in them when he called me Annie? Maybe I should tell her how I felt when that woman, Cam, stepped in to stake her claim. Even though I had no business being angry, I still felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me.
No. I can't tell her any of that, and it sucks.
"Nothing's up. Other than I'm not crazy about the color pink. We agreed black for the men and emerald green for the women."
"Green doesn't work. I'll remind you, your cousin Samantha has purple hair."
Closing my eyes and tilting my head to the ceiling, I take a breath and wonder how nice it would be to just disappear; get away from a place I once thought so fondly of.
I've hardly seen Myles since we got back. He's been working with his dad during the day and spending the evenings with his friends doing God only knows what. The small attention he's been paying me is only to complain about our sex life, or lack thereof.
"I think we're done here," she states. "I don't know what's going on, but you're not into this. I'm the maid of honor, not the wedding planner."
Kate's lost patience and I don't blame her.
"Is this about Chase?" she questions, pulling my arm and leading me out the front door of the bridal shop. "You've got exactly three weeks to figure this out."
"It's not about Chase," I confess.
And it's really not entirely about him.
Hitting the humid outside air, I take a breath only to feel suffocated.
"Then what is it?"