In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(74)

“You’re lost in some hazy mystery, and frankly, Murphy, it’s starting to hurt my feelings,” she says. I shrug, acknowledging my failures with this one small gesture, and then seven o’clock comes and my phone buzzes on the table, bringing my friend to life like never before.

Our gazes lock. She saw Casey’s name. She’s jumping to conclusions. Her conclusions are probably not far off from the truth, only hers are probably dirtier and contain things, that for me, are only fantasy-level realities right now.

We both reach for my phone.

She’s faster.

“Shit,” I scrunch my face.

“Miss Murphy Sullivan’s phone,” she answers, putting on a southern accent as if she’s from Georgia.

I lean my head to the side and knit my brow at her as I reach for my phone. She holds up a finger.

“Uh huh…Uh huh…I see,” she teases, her fake accent still strong.

“Why are you suddenly from the South?” I whisper with my hands out in question. My best friend moved to Oklahoma from Los Angeles when she was fourteen. South to her is San Diego, and I’m pretty sure it always will be.

She bunches her face at me and sticks out her tongue, and I look to the table of older women next to us and wonder if they act like twelve-year-olds with their friends still.

“We’d love to,” she says, bringing my attention back to her conversation with the guy who called me. I furrow my forehead and let my face fall to my palm as I spear ice cubes with my straw. “I’m sure she remembers where it’s at. We’ll be there. Y’all have a good day now.”

My brow flies up my hairline.

“We’ll be where?” I ask.

She smirks, and sits back in her chair, crossing her legs slowly while her lashes wave at me.

“Sam, what did you do?”

I feel sick. She’s going to make fun of my crush. Especially because I made fun of hers, which—come on, hers is stupid. But my ego can’t handle teasing, especially since my butterflies are just getting used to this new flight pattern with Casey. This is why I haven’t over-shared things about him with Sam. Plus, his situation is private—I wouldn’t feel right talking about him and his family without his okay.

“I hope you’re comfortable in those shoes,” she says, her grin growing more devious as she knocks back the rest of her drink.

My forehead bunches in confusion, and I look down at my feet. I’m wearing my riding boots and my favorite country dress that’s shorter in the front, flared in the back. I wanted to look nice, but feel comfortable. It’s not pajamas, but I suppose it’s pretty easy to move around in, though it would depend on the circumstances, and…f*ck. Friday night. Max’s.

“Sam!” I yell.

Her smirk grows as she flashes her empty glass to the server who quickly fetches her another one.

“And suddenly it all makes sense,” she says, eyes narrowed on me as if she’s a sniper. It’s friendly fire, but f*ck, it still burns. My cheeks flame up and I wish I weren’t wearing something so heavy. My body is flushed.

Sam leans in, setting her fresh drink on the table while she folds her arms over her knees, her eyes twinkling in giddiness as she prepares to make me pay.

“That guy from our high school, you remember him, he’s working at a record label now,” she says, a high, na?ve voice that sounds nothing like me. She keeps going with her imitation. “Oh, we’re just going to work on some recordings. Someone else handled them, so I’ll probably never see him again. Cute? Really? You think he’s cute? I don’t see it.”

And then comes the one where I know she has me.

She has me.

Caught in my lies.

Damn, damn, damn, damn…

“Sure, Sam,” she says, amping up her voice so it’s super flattering, her lips pressed in a self-satisfied grin. “I’ll find out if he’s single. Oh…yeah…I asked—he’s not.”

She leans in close for the kill, her eyes twinkle with all of that best-friend-gossip-neediness that I have never been good at. I’m the listener. That’s my role. My college boyfriends were boring, my high school ones non-existent. Damn it all to hell if I haven’t just shot straight into scintillating territory for her with Casey!

“Fine, I have a little crush,” I say, my voice jumping eight octaves, my shoulders shrugging to my ears. Stamp guilty on my forehead.

Her grin spreads slowly. I swear she draws it out just to torture me.

“You don’t have a little crush, Murph. You freaking have the hots for Casey Coffield!” she practically cackles. “Oh and girl…mmmmm...he’s got it back. I know it!”

“Sam, please, I’m begging,” I lean forward and touch her arm. “Stop, please.”

Even though I want nothing more than the teasing to end, I giggle. It slips out, from god knows where, and I cover my mouth as if I have the hiccups.

“Oh, girl…we are definitely hitting that club now,” she teases, raising her hand to get the attention of our waiter. “She’s going to need one of these,” she adds, lifting her drink, shaking her pinky against the glass and winking.

I grimace. But when it comes, I sip it down fast, because my friend is right—nothing wrong with a little liquid courage.