I catch it mid-air, grin wide, and toss it back onto the mattress.
“Pillow fights—after sunset,” I murmur, and close the door behind me.
The sun’s shining over the water, basking the house in that sticky, golden glow that makes everything look better.
I jog down the front steps, pop the trunk of my Ford Raptor, and grab the last bag I left behind. I’m halfway back up the walkway when I hear footsteps behind me. They’re loud, heavy, and 100% Tanner.
“Jace!” he calls out.
I pause, turning slightly as he catches up, his face red from carrying two duffels and a case of beer like an overenthusiastic labrador.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“So… I got stuck upstairs.” He shifts the weight on his shoulder. “Would you mind switching?”
“You wanna switch?” I raise a brow.
“I know you’re downstairs and…dude, I snack like a maniac, and the kitchen’s way closer to your room and no one else wants to switch.”
“What room do you have?” I ask casually.
“Upstairs, second to last door to the left,” he explains, eyes bright with hope.
The beat of silence that follows is only loud to me.
The room right next to mine…Well, Melody’s now.
“Sure,” I say casually before he can keep talking. “Switch is fine.”
“Really?” Tanner grins, all dumb and grateful.
I nod, already imagining how easy it’ll be to hear her. How easy it’ll be to drive her fucking crazy. And how easy it’ll be to casually mention that it was Tanner who requested the switch to Dom.
“Thanks, man.” He clasps my shoulder like I just saved his dog. “You’re a legend.”
“Enjoy your snacks,” I smirk, grabbing my bag again.
The sun’s still hot, hanging heavy over the area, trying to kill us with humidity. Waves crash in the distance, the ocean roaring. The scent of saltwater and expensive cologne is thick in the air, music thumps faintly from the speakers near the patio, and everyone’s already settled.
And I’m sweating, chopping firewood with a man who looks like he eats priests for breakfast.
Thanks, Dom. You absolute fucking traitor.
“I asked Dom for help with the wood,” I mutter under my breath as I line up another piece of wood. “Not Lord Voldemort’s American cousin.”
Next to me, Zed grabs a thick log, plants it on the chopping block, and swings his axe in one clean, effortless motion. It splits perfectly. Not even a grunt.
He doesn’t sweat like a normal person either. He glistens like something freshly forged in hell.
“I can hear you,” he says flatly, reaching for another log.
“Good,” I snap. “Then you know you’re not exactly a talkative delight.”
“I’m not here to delight you.” His eyes flick toward me, light and unreadable beneath dark lashes.
“Fucking clearly.”
We chop in silence for a minute. My arms ache, sweat drips down my back, and I can’t stop thinking about her. She sent me pictures of the house. Well, she sent pictures to Ghost, telling him how the view will be better with me there.
