"Ladies! It's about time you got here," Sully announces as we walk through the gate. A warm breeze accompanies him, carrying with it the scent of freshly showered skin. "You've got some catching up to do. Can I get you a drink?"

"I'll take a double shot of vodka." Hartley eyes me closely. "Do you want anything?"

I shrug. "Water?"

"One water and a double shot coming up." Sully dashes off toward the cooler while we wave to Melanie from across the yard.

"Why do you always drink vodka?" I ask. "Don't you like beer?"

She pulls her hair into a loose ponytail with the hair-band wrapped around her wrist. "I love beer, but there's way fewer calories in vodka," she says. "Plus, it gets the job done a lot faster. And after today, I plan to get wasted. Are you sure you don't want something stronger than water?"

I shake my head. "Alcohol tastes gross."

She gives me a lopsided smirk. "That's one thing I admire about you, Gwen. You stay true to yourself. That's pretty brave, if you ask me."

It's fear that motivates me, not bravery, but I bite back that response. "If you plan to get drunk, does that mean we're not going running in the morning?" I'm desperate for a break. Every day begins with the Death Dash, which is what I've not-so-secretly dubbed our morning routine. Getting the chance to sleep in sounds like a little slice of heaven.

Hartley sinks into a patio chair and I follow suit, a canopy of leaves rustling above our heads. "Oh, no. We're still going to run. You're not getting out of it that easily."

"Well, we don't have to do it every day," I reason. "After all, this is summer vacation."

"I know it's summer vacation, but you came here with goals. And me—being the awesome and dedicated friend that I am—promised to help you meet them. You'll thank me when you're a supermodel-skinny, French-kissing pro."

"Who's a French-kissing pro?" Sully reappears out of nowhere and hands over our drinks.

Hartley takes an enormous swallow and doesn't even flinch. "You," she says. "I was just telling Gwen how accomplished you are. Maybe you could critique her technique sometime?"

Heat rushes over my cheeks and I stare at her murderously, but she only gulps down what's left in the red plastic cup.

Sully plops into the seat next to me and pulls back the tab on his beer. "I doubt Gwen needs any pointers. I'm sure she's kissed plenty of guys."

He looks at me as if expecting a response. And I swear, if the earth could somehow open and gobble me up, it would be none too soon. My lips part, searching for a comeback, when something across the yard grabs his attention. But all I see is a group of kids, loitering near the pool. The ripples in the water glow from a series of underwater lights.

"I'll be right back," he says and sets down his beer.

Sully takes off and my body goes stiff. He's heading right toward Dean, the jerk I met my first night in town. Even from where we're sitting, I can clearly see two purple bruises circling his eyes. And judging from the rigid body language, they're in a heated conversation. Hartley and I exchange a look as they head our way.

My chest tightens when they stop in front of us. "Do you have something you'd like to tell Gwen?" Sully asks.

The boys swap scowls. And oh my God. Is he actually making Dean apologize?

"I, um ..." Dean pushes a hand through his dark hair as a few onlookers creep closer. Sully gives him a sharp jab. "I'm getting to it!" he snaps back, his narrowed eyes dropping to the ground. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said."

Hartley lets out an obnoxious snort. "You mean the night I broke your nose?"

Dean mutters under his breath. "Yes, the night you broke my nose."

Everyone's staring at me, waiting for a response. I shift in my seat, my stomach flipping inside out. "It's fine," I say. "No big deal."

"And?" Sully needles. When he doesn't get an answer, he nudges Dean again in the side. The guy's nostrils flare like he's sucking in a gargantuan breath.

"And ..." Dean's voice trails off, pained. "I'm a pencil dick bitch and promise to never disrespect you again."

Laughter howls around us. It takes a minute to fully process what he said, but once I do, I fight the urge to join them. I glance at Sully and he's wearing a wide grin.

Apparently, I'm supposed to respond. "I accept your apology," I say, trying not to snicker.

Sully gives him a satisfied nod and Dean scurries across the lawn without looking back. The crowd scatters like ants.

When he sits back down, my lips twitch with amusement. "Why did you make him do that?"

He shrugs. "You deserved an apology."

It couldn't have been easy getting Dean to comply, yet somehow, he'd pulled it off. I'm guessing it might have something to do with their considerable difference in size. Dean's nowhere near as athletic-looking as Sully, and the chivalrous gesture melts my insides like butter left in the sun.

"Thank you. But you didn't need to do that."

"If I didn't, he never would have said sorry," he says. "And the only thing Dean likes more than staring at his own reflection is acting like a tool."

"That was so awesome!" Hartley giggles, her eyes scanning the backyard. "Did you threaten to kick his—" She falls silent.

I chase her gaze, and standing at the beer cooler is none other than Nick. When he catches her eyeing him, his face morphs into an unreadable expression.

"What the hell's he doing here?" Sully demands with distaste. "He better not try to start something. I can only handle one douchebag tonight, and I just met my quota."

Hartley inhales sharply. "Stop. He's not going to cause trouble."

Sully's brows arch. "How do you know?"

"I just do, okay?" Her eyes never leave Nick's. "Should I go and talk to him?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" I ask. Nick may not be what I'd consider boyfriend-material, but it's obvious he has some bizarre hold over my friend.

She only nods.

And the desire to be supportive gets the best of me. "Then you should definitely talk to him."

Sully's eyes are on me, but he says nothing

Hartley charges toward Nick, not even bothering to look back, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. "So, Oscar's adorable," I say, a sad attempt to lighten the mood.

Sully watches Hartley for a beat longer before giving me his attention. "He's a good dog."

"How long have you had him?"

He's still distracted. "About nine months or so. He's still a puppy."

I toy with the hem of my shirt, twisting and untwisting the fabric around my finger. "I'm glad I got the chance to meet him. I miss the animals at the shelter. It was nice to run my fingers through some fur."

Finally, Sully snaps out of his funk and leans back in his chair. "He liked you, too. In fact," he adds with a growing grin, "he thinks I should see if you'd like to go out again tomorrow afternoon. Would you be interested in a real date this time? Where I pick you up and we go do something?"

His question catches me off guard. I stare at him until his smile fades.

"You don't have to say yes." He looks at me questioningly. "I just thought maybe we'd have fun."

"Oh, no. I mean—yes!" I roll my eyes and take a nervous sip of my water, trying to remember how to swallow.

"Good." He's smiling again, and it nearly knocks me off my chair. "Because I had some ideas."

My pulse quickens with each breath. "Such as?"

"I thought you'd like to do something unique to New Orleans. That way we can make the most of your trip."

Oh my God. He said we!

I fold a leg underneath me. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Well, I could take you out to eat and then we can go on the ghost tour. I think I mentioned that before," he says, taking a swig from his beer. "Or there's tours of the bayou. And if you're not big on swamps, we could swing by the St. Louis Cathedral."

A sliver of guilt tugs at me. "Those things sound expensive."

"Not when you have a job."

I can't hide my surprise. "You work?"

"I help my dad sometimes. He owns a construction company and lets me do odd jobs in the summer."

"It must be nice having your own money," I tell him, feeling a twinge of jealousy. If I had my own money, I could buy a better camera. "You can do whatever you want whenever you want to do it."

He cocks his head to the side. "Not whatever. But, yeah. It's cool."

The conversation lulls and my eyes dart back to Hartley. Nick is smiling at her. He drapes a stocky arm over her shoulder and they walk toward the house. "Guess they made up," I say, nodding in their direction. "I wonder where they're going?"

Sully lets out a loud grunt. "You don't want to know."

"Why wouldn't I want to know?"

His forehead wrinkles. "Because I'm guessing they're headed toward the spare bedroom."

I cringe. Because how they can entertain the thought of—alone time—with a crowd of people outside is beyond me. What if someone walked in on them?

"I don't like that guy," Sully mumbles. "I don't know why she's so hung up on him."

I rest my head on the back of my seat and watch as Hartley and Nick disappear into the house. My voice grows quiet. "She's changed a lot since her dad died. I mean, some things are still the same, but other things ..." I pause, trying to determine how much to say. "Other things are really different. Maybe she's looking for security?"

"No." He shakes his head. "She's looking for control."

I'm surprised by the amount of thought he's put into the subject, like maybe this isn't the first time it's crossed his mind. I study his expression and fiddle with the label on my bottle of water. "What do you mean?"

Sully's still for a moment, and then shakes his head. When he speaks, his tone strikes me as off. "Nothing."

And that's when it hits me: he must know.

I raise my head. "I guess it makes sense. After what she's been through ..." My insides quiver with anticipation. I risk a glance at Sully and he stares right back.

"I can't begin to imagine." He takes a long pull on his beer. "She told me the emergency dispatcher tried to walk her through what to do, but—" He pauses, unable to go on. "It had to be hard, you know? Being alone in that car and watching him die."

He does know.

My bottom lip catches between my teeth and I turn away, wondering what else Sully knows about my best friend.