Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Nia: Chandra said she just saw you at a pet store. Explain yourself!
My eyebrows greet my hairline. “Wow. Fuckin’ Chandra did us dirty.”
“Did I not tell you?” Dad grumbles. Sighing, he starts the engine and puts the car in drive. “Time to go home and face the music.”
* * *
Later that night, I walk up to my window just as a familiar figure enters my line of vision. It’s becoming routine now. Grabbing something from my room? Tate’s doing the same. Getting ready for bed? Tate’s doing the same. This time, we’re both reaching to close the curtains, almost in perfect sync. We stop, look at each other, then start to laugh. He disappears for a moment and returns holding his phone.
A message pops up on mine.
Tate: Are we good?
I stifle a sigh. I guess I knew that was coming. I meet his eyes briefly, then type a response.
Me: Yeah, we’re fine.
Tate: You sure? Because you were babbling more than usual when I saw you this morning.
I don’t have an excuse for that, so I just repeat myself.
Me: We’re fine.
Tate: I know last night was kind of awkward and I’m sorry about that. I really didn’t want to embarrass you or anything. But I do think we’re better as friends.
Me: OMG you’re embarrassing me NOW by talking about it. We’re cool, I promise. And we are friends, okay?
Tate: Yeah?
Me: Yeah.
Tate: Good.
Rather than end the conversation there, he remains at the window, still typing, and I do my best not to stare at his bare chest. His abs look like they were chiseled out of stone and his pecs are stupidly defined and—damn it. I’m failing at not staring. I swear, would it kill him to throw on a shirt? He rarely wears shirts when he’s inside the house. Doesn’t he ever get cold? Here, we’ve always got the AC blasting. I’m wearing a sweater right now, for Pete’s sake.
Tate: I’m still waiting for deets on that Keanu Reeves handjob …
I grin at the phone. Really? That’s what took him so long to type? I wonder how many messages he deleted before he settled on that one.
Me: I’m taking it to the grave.
Tate: You’re a cruel woman, ginger.
Me: Copper!
Tate: It’s really cute you actually believe that. What are you up to this weekend?
Me: I’m spending the day at the club tomorrow with Joy. We’re going guy shopping.
Tate: You realize if any man said something like that he’d be labeled as the biggest douchebag in the Bay?
Me: Double standards, you gotta love them!
Tate: Sure don’t!
Me: What are your plans this weekend?
Tate: Working, working, and working. Tomorrow I’m at the club too. Teaching a beginner dinghies class for kids. If I run into you, I’ll make sure to say hi. You know, just to make it awkward again.
Me: Perfect. I’ll pencil you in.
At least we can joke about it.
CHAPTER 11
CASSIE
“Okay, don’t kill me. But I like him. He’s funny.” Joy reaches across her lounger and hands me back my phone. I showed her last night’s text exchange with Tate with the goal of highlighting how embarrassing it was. Instead, she goes and declares her love for the guy who rejected me.
Not that I disagree with her assessment.
“He is funny,” I sigh. “And I like him too.”
As the memory of his rejection pricks at my skin, I order myself to conduct a silver-lining check. Shockingly, I land on something genuine.
“You know what, though? Maybe it’s a good thing he turned me down. I can see myself catching feelings,” I admit.
Joy gives me a somber look. “Oh boy. Yeah. That’s no good. You can’t fall for your summer fling. Well, unless you plan on moving to Avalon Bay and living happily ever after with a local.”
I muse on that for a moment. “I don’t know if I could live here. I enjoy the energy of the city. The Bay is nice to visit, but I think I prefer a faster pace.”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t live here full-time either,” Joy says, leaning back in her chair. She readjusts her sunglasses and gazes up at the cloudless sky. It’s a perfect day for sunbathing. “And from what I’ve seen, the townies don’t tend to leave this place. If you fell for the guy, you’d be stuck here forever.”
“There you go,” I say wryly. “One more item in the plus column for getting friend-zoned.”
Joy smiles. “For what it’s worth, it sounds like he really does like you and want to hang out with you. Maybe being friend-zoned isn’t the end of the world.”
“Maybe not,” I agree, and while I half mean it this time, it doesn’t exactly change my current situation. I’m still left in the same fling-less predicament.
I want my fling, damn it. I was genuinely looking forward to finding someone to spend the next couple of months with. Finally experiencing that summer romance I’ve always envied my friends for. I’d hoped to go into my final year of college with a fresh dose of confidence and some experience under my belt. My entire collegiate dating experience consists of the six months I spent with a guy in junior year, Mike. He was funny and interesting, but we didn’t sleep together because I wasn’t ready, and eventually he got bored of third base and bailed. This year I want a relationship that actually lasts, one that’s chock-full of passion and chemistry. I’m craving passion.