The extra twenty seconds gives Jonah a chance to grab a floatie and join Sydney. I sit on the edge of the pool while I finish my drink. They’re at the farthest point on the lazy river. Their voices and laughter are barely heard over the music. Jonah is complimenting her body and Sydney’s laughing as he goes on and on and on and on. Your stomach and those shoulders. All right, Jonah, that’s enough I want to tell him. But the smile on her face as they come into view stops me. He’s not saying anything that isn’t true and anything that makes her happy, makes me happy.

We stay at Jonah’s house until around dark. Sydney was all about going out tonight, so we head back to shower and get ready.

For all the things Sydney and I have done together, we’ve never gotten ready for a party or a night out at the same place. It almost feels like a date as I sit in the living room scrolling through my phone waiting on her.

She’s come out three times with different dresses to ask my opinion. Her style is short, tight, and colorful and there’s absolutely no way to go wrong with that so I’m not a lot of help. Torture devices? Yes. But the good kind of torture.

“Babe, Uber’s going to be here in three minutes. Are you almost—”

My words die as she steps into view.

“I’m ready. I’m ready.” Thankfully she’s staring down at the small purse she carries, so she doesn’t see my jaw drop to the ground and hang out there while my eyes scan her from head to toe.

Tonight’s torture device isn’t a dress, but the amount of pain it causes remains the same. A plain white tank top is tucked into a hot pink skirt that ends waaay above her knees. It’s just a step above indecent. She got some sun the last few days and her skin has this smooth and satiny look to it. I want to run my hands up her legs and see if they’re really as smooth as marble. It’s the sort of thing I might have joked about just a few days before, but the tightening of my jeans in the crotch area refuses to let me play it off like that.

“Tanner?” Sydney asks. Her brows knit in concern.

“Sorry, what?”

“Does this look okay?” She runs a hand along her waist. “I don’t usually wear skirts because I don’t like the way the band feels around my stomach and I swear somehow that tiny piece of added fabric makes my boobs look smaller, but… what do you think?”

“Skirt good. Very good. Err…” I shake my head. “I think my brain exploded. You look amazing.”