29. Indy
TWENTY-NINE
INDY
Once we’ve hit a dozen different rides and eaten our body weight in junk food, and the sun has sunk considerably lower, we catch up with Dia and Bridge. They’re sitting on a bench, eating ice cream, Dia’s head on Bridge’s shoulder.
A stage has been set up a bit farther away, and people have started to gather in front of it, settling in with their picnic blankets and foldable chairs.
“We should head over there if we want to grab good spots,” Bridget says, nodding toward the stage.
Dia yawns. “You guys go. I think I’m gonna head to the hotel. I’m beat.”
I frown at her. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
She waves me off. “It’s that stupid jet lag.”
I exchange glances with Nick. “Dia, it’s been weeks. No jet lag lasts for a month.”
“I think it’s this whole year. It’s like… I’ve been on for nine months. And now I don’t have anything planned for the summer. No commitments or anything, and my body just kind of figures it’s finally time to catch up on sleep. Honestly, it’s not a big deal.”
I’m not convinced.
She huffs. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
I nod. “Okay, then. I guess let’s head to the hotel.”
“You can go and check out the bands,” Dia says. “Seriously. I don’t need a babysitter for sleeping.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “But I can still drive you to the hotel. Especially if you’re tired anyway.”
“It’s less than half a mile away. I think I can make it,” Dia says dryly.
“Can you just stop arguing?” I look at Nick and Bridget. “I’ll find you guys later.”
“No, he won’t,” Dia says.
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“Uh, guys?” Bridge waves her arm between us. “I’ll go with Dia.”
“Oh my God,” Dia says, truly exasperated now.
Bridge puts her hand over Dia’s mouth. “I want to change anyway. I’m all sweaty and gross, and I smell like pizza.”
Dia turns her head, so Bridge pulls her hand away.
“Fine.” She yawns. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”
Nick and I walk to the car with them and grab the picnic blanket from the trunk. I throw Bridge the keys, and they take off. Nick and I walk back to the beach and find a spot a bit farther away from the crowd. I take a seat and raise my brows when he doesn’t.
“Give me a sec,” he says.
He disappears into the flow of people and comes back in about fifteen minutes, carrying two paper plates stacked high with funnel cake, and a large cup of soda. He sits down next to me, his arm pressed against mine, and hands me one of the plates.
I smile at him and take a bite. His eyes stay on me like I’m the most interesting thing in the world, then he leans in and drags the pad of his thumb lightly over my upper lip.
“Powdered sugar,” he says before licking it off his thumb.
My chest gives a jolt. My pulse skips.
We lean back and eat. The first band finishes its set, and another one takes their place on the stage.
“Which one is this?” Nick asks.
I shake my head. “No idea. The first band sounded pretty good, though.”
Nick nods. He rubs the back of his neck for a moment like he’s working through something, eyes on me, and then he moves. His leg slides around me, and he moves until he’s behind me. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against him, my back flush against his chest.
I settle into him without hesitation, wiggling closer until there isn’t an inch of space between us. I rest the back of my head against his shoulder. Breathe him in.
His arm rests low across my stomach, his fingertips caressing the sliver of bare skin between the waistband of my shorts and my T-shirt.
I’m aware of every inch of him.
The solid weight of him behind me. The steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. The way his breaths brush over the shell of my ear every time he exhales.
I shift the slightest bit, fitting my body against his more comfortably. His arm around me tightens like he’s making sure I stay as close as possible.
There’s another jolt in my chest, this one so intense it almost feels violent, but everything else about this moment is impossibly soft.
It feels like a beginning.
Something real.
Something that’s ours.
I look around. I inhale. I listen. I feel. My hand is on Nick’s thigh. The band is playing a cover of “Nightswimming.” The air smells of salty water and fried food.
I commit it all to memory.
Just to make sure I never forget exactly what it feels like.
To be this happy.