Kennedy stomps off, her friend LeAnn right behind her, and Kingston just chuckles with Dixon and Bates, who are already completely drunk off their asses. Kingston signals for me to join him, but I just shake my head and hold up the whiskey bottle.

I’m not moving.

It feels like the first time I’ve been able to sit in the same place for longer than twenty minutes all damn week. And at eighteen, I swear my body is tired. Maybe it’s actually my soul.

Not long after that, Kingston parks his big ass next to me on one of the logs we all dragged to place around the fire. He takes a swig of beer and stares at the fire with me, seemingly also transfixed by the flames.

“What’s up with Kenn?” I have to ask, even though I don’t really want to know. I love both of them, but I’m tired of hearing about their bullshit fights over him not wanting to go to school dances or her not wanting to always hang out with a bunch of football players. I kid you not. They once got into an all-out fight over what they would do if they won the lottery.

A fight. About a million-in-one chance of either of them actually winning the lottery. You can’t get crazier than that. And yet, they were legitimately pissed at each other for two weeks. The school thought they were breaking up.

Over. The. Lottery.

He just shrugs, though, and he doesn’t go into full detail like he normally does. “Nothing. She’s always pissed for some reason.” That’s odd. I mean, not that they’re fighting, but that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“What’s up, Kingston?” I prod.

He swallows another gulp of beer. “I don’t know. You ever think we aren’t a good fit?”

Shit, I didn’t think I’d ever hear him say that. My heart does this stupid little dance in my chest, which I try to squash immediately. They’re both my friends. “It’s you and Kennedy. It was determined long ago that you’d be together.”

I lift the whiskey bottle up to my mouth as he responds. “Yeah, but it’s like I’m never good enough. She barely likes me.” He takes a drink of his beer, staring at the fire, his voice sad. “I swear she only wants me for my dick.”

I snort whiskey through my nose, and it stings like a motherfucker while I sputter and bang on my chest with my fist. “Fuck. Don’t say that shit when I’m drinking.”

He pats my back and laughs. “What? You don’t think it’s true?”

I finally stop my coughing fit but try like hell not to think at all. I don’t want to think about his dick. Or Kennedy using it. “Too much information, man.”