My mouth dropped open.

“Since he’s not here, can I take you out for a drink?” Trey intervened smoothly. His hand was still on my waist.

Amy’s gaze went from his hand to his face. “I owe you a beer, at least. I haven’t thanked you properly yet for my flight home.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Trey said.

“I want to,” Amy said. “It meant a lot to me.”

Trey hitched his shoulders, looking uncomfortable.

Amy smiled, fluffing her blond hair with her fingers. “I should go up and get changed.” Even fresh out of bed, she looked fabulous, her black lace top clinging to her small breasts, her mouth a bold, rich red.

I frowned at Trey as she ran back upstairs. Had he meant his invitation for both of us? Or just for me?

Not that it mattered. We needed to talk. The sooner the better.

“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing the hoodie I’d worn to the barn.

A gleam appeared in his eyes. “You want to thank me properly, too?”

I flushed, remembering that impulsive kiss at the hospital. “In your dreams, Laurence. Move it.”

“You want to, ah . . .” He glanced after Amy. “Wait?”

“Nope,” I said.

“My place? Granddad would love to see you.”

I considered the idea. I liked old Mr. Laurence, and for some reason he’d always liked me. I wasn’t the sweet Southern debutante he hoped his grandson would marry one day. But in high school, when Trey and I were in and out of each other’s houses all the time, he’d always ask politely after my parents and then excuse himself to go upstairs, leaving us alone in the firelit library with a full decanter of bourbon. Back then, I’d thought Trey’s house was the perfect setting for long, deep talks, for my first taste of whiskey. My first kiss.

“Or we could go to Alleygators,” I said.

Trey’s brows rose.

I grinned evilly. “Unless you’re chicken.” He never could resist a dare.

“You’re on.” He opened the door with a sweeping gesture. “Right this way.”

Amy would be pissed. It was pretty rotten, leaving her alone on Christmas Eve, I thought with a flash of guilt. But we hadn’t actually promised to take her with us. She’d said she was tired.

And there were things I had to say to Trey I couldn’t possibly tell him with my little sister as an audience.

Graffiti and license plates covered the walls at Alleygators. Glowing strings of chili peppers festooned the bar, glinting off dingy bottles. Judging from the cobwebs, the Christmas lights stayed up all year. The regulars, on mismatched barstools, looked like they’d been there almost as long.

Everyone, including the bartender, gave us the once-over as we walked in and then proceeded to ignore us. Trey and I found a sticky booth in the back, away from the pool tables. By unspoken agreement, we’d stuck to random, neutral subjects on the drive over. But once we fetched our beers from the bar, there was no ignoring the elephant in the room. I felt its weight on my chest.