“Kyndal.” Rick leaned across the picnic table and tapped her hand. “We found a group of orange-foot pimplebacks yesterday that had been suffocated by zebra clams. Would you be able to take some photos for us to use? We’re trying to get some additional funding for relocation.”
“Oh, good God,” Bill muttered under his breath. He leaned toward his grandson. “Hank, can you say ‘tree-hugger’?”
Hank giggled. “Teehuh.”
The group went silent.
Hank beat his palms on the tray, flattening chunks of cake and spraying a happy Chesney with a shower of chocolate crumbs. “Teehuh!” he shouted, obviously enjoying being once again the center of attention.
Kyndal squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Please tell me my son’s first word was not tree hug.”
A roar of laughter met her ears with her father-in-law’s guffaw loudest of all.
“Oh, Lord,” she groaned. “Hank didn’t just inherit his dad’s looks, he got his politics, too.”
A warm arm circled her shoulder and pulled her in close, her mother-in-law’s whisper feathering across her ear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s going to have your way with words.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Unraveling the Past by Beth Andrews!
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WHEN JESSICA TAYLOR lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.
She hadn’t made that mistake again.
Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.
But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.
Yeah, he was a real prince.
A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.
She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.
That she wasn’t letting him use her.
Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.
Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.
She was in control.
Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.
Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the clearing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.