Darlin’

17. Where There’s Smoke

Where There’s Smoke

"Savannah?" Andy perks up a confrontational brow as she hikes up the heel of her foot on the camping chair. Pippa, Marlow, Jo, and the rest of the SOS women turn toward me, silent and eager as they wait for my response. "Well? Body count, let's hear it."

I groan, anxiously tapping the neck of the Smirnoff Ice nestled between my thighs.

Distant cackles boom from the other side of the bonfire.

I wonder what the boys are laughing so damn hard about.

Maybe they're also comparing their lists of sexual conquests.

A bitter taste coats my tongue. I'm almost glad that the men and women naturally separated a few hours ago.

It's like grade school all over again. Girls on one side of the fire, boys on the other.

It's better this way. I don't want Jesse to hear about my abysmal dating history, and I sure as hell don't want to hear about his.

"Damn, girl." Pippa laughs, balancing one of her kids on her lap. "You gotta think that long about it? Okay, I see you." She smirks. "And I like it. "

"As if." Andy scoffs. "I'd be surprised it was over ten."

"Ten?" I blink, choking on my cooler. "That's...a little?"

Marlow snorts. "For Andy, maybe."

"Don't make me steal your boyfriend." Andy shoots daggers at Marlow. "You know I could."

Marlow flips Andy the bird. "I'd like to see you try, bitch."

Jo sighs. "Easy girls, we're here for a good time, not a fucking catfight. If you wanna brawl, do it tomorrow."

Marlow grins at Andy. "I'm free? Are you?"

Andy holds up her freshly done nails. "I would, sweetie, but these are new, and you're not worth the touch-up fee."

"Yeah, yeah," Marlow jeers, scowling. "You know I'd kick that flat little ass of yours."

Andy's jaw drops. "Flat?! My ass is not flat, trust me." She stands up and lifts her hoodie up, showing us her backside. I nod, silently agreeing with Andy. That's one well-kept buttock if I've ever seen one. "My ass is perfect."

"Put your ass away and sit down already," Pippa groans, rolling her eyes. She glances in my direction. "Let's get back to the game. Savvy?"

"Right," I hum, much preferring to stay on the topic of Andy's assets. Swallowing, I peep out, "Well...I guess...I guess it's two...I think."

Pippa blinks. "I'm sorry, did you say two?" She whips her head at Marlow, frowning. "Did she say two?" Pippa looks around the semi-circle of tipsy women. "Did you guys hear her say two?" She lets out a long breath, shaking her head. "Honey...are you okay? "

"Actually, it's more like one," Marlow chimes in, giggling. I melt into the camping chair, embarrassed, as she looks over at me. "I don't think the first one counted." She addresses the group. "She couldn't tell if it was in or not."

Kill me now. This is why liquor is Satan's favorite juice. Pops the lids off secrets like no other. Not that I told her to keep it to herself, but I assumed that was a given. Foolish. Note to self, Marlow's a blabbermouth.

"Couldn't tell if it was in—" Andy's tone indicates she's about to rip me apart, and I'm not willing to give her the satisfaction.

"I was sixteen, and it was my first boyfriend, and we were both nervous, okay?" I say quickly, leaping off the chair and downing my drink. "I'm getting a little chilly. I'm gonna go sit by the fire for a minute. Y'all enjoy the rest of the game."

"Sav!" Marlow calls out as I seek refuge from the prying posse. "Come back! I'm sorry! Sav!"

I ignore her, walking away. A break is desperately needed.

The dancing flames from the bustling fire illuminate my face as I sit down on one of the surrounding logs. I catch the corner of a s'mores kit leaning against the side of the log and fish out a marshmallow, stabbing it on the tip of a makeshift roasting stick.

"You're going to burn it." Jesse's deep voice startles me as he steps over the log and sits down.

I rotate the stick a hundred and eighty degrees.

"No." He chuckles, setting his beer on the ground.

He takes the stick from my hand and holds it higher above the fire.

"Like this. You don't want it directly in the fire, or it'll light on fire.

" I sigh, staying silent, but that doesn't stop Jesse.

"Trust me, a burned 'mellow is s'more killer. "

"Never had one," I mumble out, resting my chin in my palm. Amongst other things. "Too much sugar."

"What?!" Jesse exclaims theatrically. "You've never had a s'more?

Are you serious?" He yanks on the ripping s'mores box and pulls out two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate.

"We've got to remedy this now ." He places the crackers on his lap and constructs the s'more, biting his tongue as he diligently stacks the ingredients.

"Alright, here you go. Baby's first s'more. "

"That's literally pure processed sugar, Jesse." I eye the treat warily. "It's not good for you."

"Your point being?" Jesse asks, holding the s'more up to my lips. "Sometimes, princess"—his suggestive gaze flits across my face, the heat from the fire warming my cheeks, and it's suddenly very hot over here—"the best things in life are not good for you."

"I know that..." I swallow, the tempting scent of a delicious treat mere inches away. Momma's been teaching me self-control for twenty-one years. It's ingrained in my brain. A moment of pleasure isn't worth a lifetime of regret. She was talking about waistlines.

I'm not.

"Come one, Sav." Jesse leans forward, placing his warm palm on my thigh.

He cocks his head, a shockingly gentle smile spread across his face.

"Just one bite." I want it. I want to sink my teeth into something bad.

Something dangerous. Something that I know will whisk me into another world.

I know it would be sweet and decadent and sinful.

One bite. One bite won't kill me. One bite won't... "There we go.

" He nods as I part my lips tentatively, ready for damnation. "That's a good girl?—"

"We're out of fucking ice!" Ryder's unmistakable annoying voice thunders from the booze pit. "We didn't pack extra?"

"Sav..."

No. My head snaps in Ryder's direction, my conflicted heart thumping in my chest. No, I can't. I can't do it. It's a sign. It's a sign from the universe. Stop while you're ahead. Do not enter. Turn around and leave .

Like a coward, I jump up and create space between Jesse and me. "I'll get more," I shout to Ryder, nodding with a fake-ass grin on my face. "How many bags?"

"Ayy, Alabama to the fucking rescue!" Ryder hollers. "Two bags would be dope." He snickers. "If you can carry that much."

"Savannah..." Jesse's soft voice draws my attention, and I look down, meeting his pleading gaze. "Just sit down. He can get it himself." He holds up the s'more. "We're busy here."

"He's drunk and might get lost, though," I say, nervously tugging at my sleeve as I nod down the road. "Lots of roots and rocks and stuff, y'know? I've only had two drinks. I'll be faster too. The bar's only half a mile away."

"No," Jesse says, tossing the s'more into the fire pit. He stands up, jaw tensed. "It's fucking late. You're not going ." He crosses his arms. "At least not alone ."

"Really?" I roll my eyes, pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning on the flashlight. "I'll be fine, Jesse. I don't need a damn escort to walk seven minutes."

"I'm coming with you," he states, motioning down the dirt path. "Lead the way."

"No," I say through gritted teeth. "You sit back down." Jesse frowns, taken aback by my clipped tone. "I do not appreciate being treated like some idiotic child that can't take of itself. If I get into any trouble, I will call you, okay?"

"Fine," Jesse hisses in a strained tone. He reaches around his waist and pulls out his firearm, holding it in front of me. "But you're taking this."

"Fine!" I yank the pistol from his hand and release the magazine, checking to make sure it's loaded before I cock it and shove it into the back of my jeans. "Happy?"

"That was..." Jesse blinks, licking his lips as his eyes glow with sparks of ember. "Hot."

"Yeah, well..." I smirk, shrugging innocently. "I've told you before that I knew my way around a gun."

"I know you did, but—" Jesse runs a flustered hand through his hair. "I thought?—"

"I was lying?" I pat his chest, grinning. "You thought wrong, darlin'. I'll be back in a jiff." I look up at him and give the corner of his mouth a little wipe. "Sorry, you were drooling."

Before Jesse can reply, I swiftly turn around and head down the path back toward the bar.

Vast emptiness surrounds me as I speed walk down the hidden road The Sons paved last summer.

According to Marlow, in five years' time, this barren wasteland will be home to dozens of houses.

Investing in community expansion and real estate was Jesse's idea.

It's a smart business move, but to expand, you need money in the bank.

Do they even use a bank? Where do criminals keep their profits?

Maybe all their toilet tanks are stuffed with Benjamins.

I chuckle to myself as I make the final turn and head toward the back door of the bar.

Fishing the bar keys out of my pocket, I unlock the door and strut inside, keeping the lights off. People are probably pissed that Jesse's closed The Hog for the night; I'm sure I'll be hearing about it next week.

The ice machine hums in the back of the kitchen, and I grab a large garbage bag and start scooping ice inside.

By the time the bag is half filled, my fingers damn near have frostbite.

I lift the bag a couple of inches from the floor.

Dang, that's heavy. Maybe I should pour some out; how many drinks do these boys plan on drinking?

I scoff to myself. Who am I kidding? These guys are freaking parched camels on a good day.

Sighing, I tie a knot, dreading the walk back as I swing the bag over my shoulder like a cocktail Santa Claus.

"It's not working, dude!"