What the hell?

I cast a sideways glance, finding him smiling at the camera with a slightly smug grin, and I don’t know what to think. Is he doing this on purpose? Or, does he have no idea? I should move. Step away from him, out of his reach. But, I don’t. I don’t want to cause a scene. So, instead of making a big deal out of it, I turn to face the camera with a smile I know doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes.

***

After the awkward encounter with Nash’s hand practically groping my butt back at the Speedway, I’ve done my best to steer clear of him for most of the afternoon. Our party bus hostess, Amber, brought us to the Myrtle Beach boardwalk, and we’ve spent the afternoon going from bar to bar, downing pitchers of icy cold beer and more complimentary shots than I’ve been able to keep track of.

Somewhere between bars we’ve visited, I’ve somehow managed to lose one of my Converse and I had to buy a pair of kitschy flip-flops from one of the souvenir shops on the promenade. Needless to say, as I now sit perched on Harley’s lap while we continue drinking at a rooftop bar overlooking the ocean, watching Kevin drink a concoction of mixed liquor straight from my one remaining Converse, I’m well on my way to a night of bad decision-making if my fingertips tracing the tattoos on Harley’s arm is any indication.

“You’re drunk, Murph.” Harley chuckles, and an involuntary shudder runs through me as his soft breath fans gently against the shell of my ear.

I glance at him, meeting his knowing gaze, and I can see from his heavily hooded lids, to the way the whites of his eyes are slightly bloodshot, that I’m not the only one who’s drunk. “Well, this is a bachelor party.” I shrug. “We’re supposed to be smashed, man.”

He gapes at me, offering a somewhat mock look of shock.

“What?”

“Did you just say we’re supposed to smash?” he asks with a dramatic gasp.

I bite back my own smile, shaking my head at him. “No.”

He quirks one of his brows. “I think ya did …” he says with a teasing lilt.

“Well, we could’ve smashed last night, but you—” I snap my mouth shut, realizing what I’ve just said, my cheeks flaming.

Harley watches me a moment, one eye narrowing as a crease pulls between his brows. “But I thought you said you don’t remember anything about last night?”

At this point, I’m fully aware of his hand splayed against the small of my back. Fully aware of his other hand resting on my thigh. Fully aware of the fact that I’m practically sitting on his crotch. I press my lips together, pulling them between my teeth as I consider what he’s said, racking my brain with what I can possibly say without giving myself away. But then I’m reminded of how many lemon drops I’ve consumed this afternoon, and hell, it’s not the first time I’ve made a fool a myself.