Hoax in One

| 06 |

Get there we did.

After three hours of being stuffed inside the third row seat of Matt's Ford Expedition with Tate's long legs and Matt's friend Rhett, we finally made it to our raised sea-green cottage with the cutest pink front door and white shutters.

Matt parked the car under the house between the grill and the beach chairs and children's toys. At the other end was a porch swing looking out at the ocean.

We all piled out to stretch our cramped legs.

The car ride had been mostly silent between me and Tate—due to the fact that the other (real) couples talked amongst themselves and I was sandwiched between Tate and Rhett, who I didn't want listening to any clunky conversation we would have had.

Not a good look for a supposed couple, and what did you do last weekend? was the only idiotic question I kept wanting to ask him.

Tate occasionally squeezed my thigh when Matt awkwardly caught our eye in the rearview mirror, trying to comfort me, but all I could think about was if Tate had always touched my thigh like that, because if he had, I didn't think it ever felt like that—his warm palm covering it and his long fingers wrapping gently down my inner thigh, lightly applying reassuring pressure with his fingertips, was causing me to feel a buzz below my bellybutton that I didn't think should've been happening. All while I sat there the whole time acutely aware of how close Tate's face was to mine and avoided looking at him directly.

The one time Matt spoke to Tate was to be a dick and ask him what he'd been doing the past year. I think the entire car held their breath until Tate said he mostly spent it at home. I wasn't sure what I expected to him say, but it wasn't that.

"We'll take the master bedroom since I drove," Matt demanded as soon as he opened the front door to the beach house and beelined for it.

I rolled my eyes at Tate who just stared back, unsure of what the sleeping arrangements were between the rest of us.

"Taylor and I can sleep together. Rhett, you're being bumped to the pull-out couch," Millie said innocently.

That was not the plan. I glared at Millie.

Rhett huffed. "Fine, but y'all don't wake me up at six a.m. with your ridiculous sleeping schedules."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Millie replied. She smiled deviously and pushed Taylor toward one of the bedrooms near the kitchen.

Tate chuckled softly when he closed the door to our seahorse themed bedroom behind him. In another lifetime, I would have gushed about how obsessed I was with that room.

A bright blue chandelier hung over a white bed, which had two huge hot pink throw pillows. Behind each lamp on the side tables was a tall watercolor painting of a blue seahorse.

"Devin, it's alright. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Okay, but this wasn't the plan," I said, trying to defend myself.

"I know." He stepped into me. "I know you."

"But do you really anymore?"

I should muzzle myself. My tone was light, but that was definitely one of those times where there was truth behind the joke.

Tate reached out and pulled me into him, his expression slightly sour, until my face was against his chest. It expanded against my head as he took one long deep breath.

My brain was going haywire trying to anticipate his next words.

"I—" he started.

The door opened quickly and Taylor stuck his head in. "Oh," he startled. "I'm sorry." He bounced his eyes between us, confused and flustered. "Tate, I was hoping you wanted to go to the grocery with me."