Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,135

my sunglasses. The black-haired one looks a little familiar, but I don’t think I know her.

“You can’t build a marina down there,” she spits back at Crist. “Guests won’t have access to a beach, either. It’s all rocks, remember? And when the nor’easters blow in, no one’s going to appreciate a front row seat to cyclone force winds, rain, and snow. The entire coastline is eroding, and it’s going to erode right up into your fucking golf course.”

I bite back my smile. I’ve never heard anyone talk to him like that.

I like her.

“That’ll take a thousand years,” he whines and then looks to the other woman. “Alex, a little help here?”

“Oh, no.” She taps away on her phone. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

He shakes his head, leading the way through the park and back toward the lot, wearing a black suit and looking even more handsome than he did in high school, unfortunately.

I haven’t followed his basketball career, but I know he still plays professionally.

Great. With him around, that means the rest of the crew is close.

Who are these women, though?

“I need to talk to Kai,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, run home to Daddy,” the black-haired one replies, “because I’m making too much sense for you.”

He rolls his eyes and keeps going, the ladies following him.

It looks like he’s planning to buy the property. And for a golf course? She also mentioned guests, which sounds like a hotel of some sort.

A feeling of loss creeps in, and I’m not sure why. I have no right.

It was just a great night, and as long as this place is here, it feels like maybe not everything has disappeared.

I wait there for another minute, looking past the Ferris wheel, toward Cold Point. I’m half-tempted to take a walk out there, but I already nearly got caught. It’s time to go.

I head out to the parking lot again, pulling out my phone to check the time, but as I approach my rental, I see someone sitting on the hood.

It was the brown-haired woman from inside, her white tank top too short to cover her stomach. She stared at me with her sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose and pouty, plum-colored lips.

I halt, looking around. The other cars are gone, and I don’t see Michael or the other woman.

“Hi.” I walk toward my car hesitantly. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was just looking around.”

They appeared to own the property now, and I guess I was trespassing?

But she just gives me a small smile. “You’re Emory Scott.”

I pinch my brows together.

“I recognize you from a photo I saw once,” she explains.

“And you are?”

“Alex Palmer.” She crosses her legs, leaning back on a hand. “A friend of Will Grayson’s.”

I tense, dropping my eyes down her form and taking in the fact that no man has “friends” who look like that.

“I saw that,” she teased.

“What?”

“That little…eyes-falling-down-my body-to inspect-the-competition-with-a-side-of-judgment look,” she said, rolling her neck with attitude.

Competition? Is that what she is?

I chuckle, digging in my pocket for my keys as I walk for the driver’s side door. “I wasn’t looking at you like that.”

“Checking me out, then?”

“Yeah.” I unlock the door and open it. “That’s it.”

“You back in town for good?”

“No.”

“Just visiting?”

“Yes.”

“And you stopped by the Cove?” she presses. “Why?”

“None of your business.” I stand inside the door, staring at her. “Would you get off my car?”

I mean, how nosy.

“I need a ride,” she tells me. “If you don’t mind.”

I pause. “Excuse me?”

“A lift?” she clarifies as if I’m dumb.

“I’m not a taxi,” I retort.

And… I don’t know you.

“Saucy,” she teases. “He was right about you.”

He? Will told her I was saucy?

Well, if that’s the worst thing he said, I suppose I’m lucky.

I open my mouth, dying to ask about him.

Is he in town? Is he okay?

Is he happy?

But I clamp it shut again, knowing she’s his friend, not mine.

Hopping off my hood, she hangs over the door, peering up at me. “You give me a ride, and I’ll pay for the pizza and margaritas,” she says.

Pizza and margaritas… Is she kidding?

“What do you want with me?” I ask.

She doesn’t know me, and I don’t for one second believe this is anything but a trick.

But then again…the only thing I believe about people is their worst, so...

“I don’t know,” she tells me, her voice softening. “But do you ever have that feeling that you need something, but you just don’t know what?”

She looks at me, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Like a drink or a good cry or