I nod, reluctantly.

“Do you love Harley?” he asks with little to no emotion, the look in his eyes the only thing giving away how desperate he is to know the answer. His question knocks the wind out of me, rendering me breathless, and I find myself unable to move, just staring at him, not even blinking. But then he chuckles softly, shaking his head at me. “Do you want another drink?” he asks, changing the topic of conversation before finishing his glassful with one big mouthful, hopping up from his chair.

I’ve barely even touched my glass of champagne, and I had planned on heading home, and after his question, I probably should, but I don’t. “Yeah.” I manage a smile. “But, can I have a beer, instead?” I ask, holding my glass out for him to take. “This tastes like pee.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Nash chuckles, taking my glass and carelessly tossing the contents over the balcony railing before heading back inside.

Somehow, time manages to get away from us. Before I know it, we’re three beers in, talking and laughing together about some of the stupid things we did when we were kids. The heaviness of our earlier conversation is otherwise forgotten, and it’s just the two of us again. Nash and Murph. And, for the moment, I look beyond the button-down shirt, and the neatly pressed khakis, and I see my best friend.

Nash’s hyena-like laughter dwindles to a small chuckle, trailing off as he looks down to the can of beer in his hand. “Do you remember that night? Summer before senior year, when Harley made us go with him to that field party and you got drunk for the first time?”

I catch sight of the knowing grin ghosting over his lips, and immediately I can feel my cheeks flush.

“Remember?” he teases, nudging me with his elbow. “We were drinking these.” He holds his can up in the air as if to prove a point, but there’s no point to be made. I know exactly what night he’s referring to. My eyes glaze over at the memory, and my skin heats from the base of my neck, upward to my cheeks. I duck my head in an attempt to hide my traitorous smile. But, from the way his eyes are watching me, to the hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, I know he knows exactly what he’s doing to me reminding me of that night.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I hissed, ducking beneath the low-hanging branches of the overgrown willow trees scattered throughout the darkness. Nash held my hand tight, leading the way. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing me a lopsided grin in response to my protest. “Nash, if Momma finds out I’m drunk in a field somewhere, instead of at the movies like I told her, she’s g-gonna kill m-me,” I hiccupped.

“Shh,” Nash hissed with a chuckle, pulling me with him through the wispy long grass that came up to our chests. “We’re almost there.”