Hit the Spot

Women usually didn’t go for men pointing out shit to them.

So when Syd stepped aside without saying another word and freed the doorway for me to enter, hurrying into the kitchen instead of getting up in my face, I was shocked.

But that feeling was short-lived.

After closing the door, I crossed the living room and followed behind, nearly making it into the kitchen before I jerked back, halting to a stop when Syd came flying around the wall separating the two rooms and approached me.

“I do not go off on tangents. I simply feel passionate about things, and when that happens, I get a little wordy,” she informed me, coming up onto her toes to get closer to my face. “Going off on a tangent is when you get off topic and that never happens. I stay on topic. I just usually have a lot to say about whichever topic I’m on. And to prove my point, I’ll go ahead and share point two of what I was driving at before I ran to check on my casserole, which isn’t burning, by the way.”

I bit back a smile. “And what’s point two?” I probed.

She rocked back onto her heels, blinked up at me, and shared, “The only two people who eat on that porch are myself and Brian. No one else. It’s special to us.”

I knew that. I technically knew about that porch before Syd did, considering Dash enlisted my dad to help him find the listing when he was house hunting. And since Dash informed me of the reason he was so hell-bent on having a porch, so Syd could eat popsicles on it like she did when she was a kid, a memory he wanted to give back to her, I knew what it meant to both of them.

“Wouldn’t ask to sit out there, babe,” I shared. “Know that’s important to you.”

“It is and I know you know it,” Syd replied.

“Just hungry and wantin’ a beer, maybe several, considering my ass got run over yesterday. I’m a bit sore all over.” I might’ve been playing up my injuries a bit.

Syd studied my face with narrowed eyes for a second before asking, “Are you really?”

I smirked.

She smiled slowly, like she was fighting it, shook her head through a quiet laugh, then brought her hand out from behind her and shoved a bottle at my chest.

“Here. Brian’s out back with Sir letting him play. It’ll just be us four for dinner,” she said.

I took the beer, giving her a wink in appreciation, then walked behind her into the kitchen, making it nearly to the slider before I registered what she’d just said. Us four?

“You mean it’ll just be us three for dinner. You, me, and Dash. He said everyone else had work or other shit to do.”

Syd shut the oven door and quickly stood, spinning around to face me. “Right. Yep. They do. That’s what I meant.” She anxiously smoothed her hands down the front of her apron. “I was accidentally counting Sir. I do that sometimes.”

My brow grew tight as I stared at her. “You were accidentally counting Sir,” I echoed back.

She nodded, saying, “He’s part of the family, so it’s not weird or anything. I like him feeling included.” Then she grabbed the bowls sitting on the island in front of her, turned around, and started washing them in the sink.

I watched her do this, and I would’ve thought the dog thing was weird, but this was Syd, and knowing her, she would count that damn dog as one of her dinner guests. Probably give him an assigned seat, too, with the little place cards she was always putting out. She loved Sir like he was her kid.

So I left it alone and headed outside.

It was early September in Dogwood Beach. Hot days. Warm nights. And the water was prime fucking temperature. Perfect Carolina weather.

Perfect surf weather, too. Thanks to hurricane season.

The sun burned low in the sky, streaking the clouds with oranges and yellows and shadowing Dash, who was tipped forward and leaning against the railing, looking out into the yard with his back to me.

His name was Brian, but I called him Dash. Always did. Dude was fucking fast when we were kids.

He turned his head as I made my way across the deck.

“Shit,” he mumbled through a smile, peering at me over his shoulder and doing the same evaluation Syd did when she first saw me. “I was expecting you to show up using crutches or with something in a cast. What the hell, man? You look fine.”

“I had a small limp yesterday, all right? So get off my fuckin’ back about it,” I replied, moving to stand beside him. “And just ’cause that bitch didn’t break anything doesn’t mean that shit didn’t happen. I just got lucky.”

I twisted off the bottle cap, bent it in half between my finger and thumb, and sat it on the wood, then took a swig of my beer while watching Sir run around the yard.

Dash was staring at me. I could feel his eyes locked on my profile, prompting me to ask an irritated “What?” before I turned my head.

His mouth twitched. “She really run you over?” he questioned.

“Yeah, brother, she did.”

“I’m talking got you under the wheels of her car, Jamie, ’cause that’s the definition of someone getting run over.”

My gaze narrowed.

“Right,” he murmured, looking out into the yard. “She didn’t. That’s what I thought.”

“Backed into me and knocked me down,” I argued, gaining his attention again. “Made contact, brother. Enough that it put me on my ass. And straight up, she would’ve kept on reversing and would’ve put me under the wheels if I didn’t have the reflexes I do, so thank fuck for that. She’s fuckin’ crazy.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">