I crack an eye open. Megan’s still draped over him, giggling at nothing. Cheyenne sips her bottle of sparkling water, eyes lingering on Wes, who’s frowning at his best friend.
Tripp leans back, flashing a cocky grin. “Don’t get all pissy just because I’m more fun than you.”
Wes gives a derisive snort. “Must be nice being you, man. You roll out of bed, flash those dimples, and the world falls at your feet.”
Everyone laughs, but Tripp’s smile tightens. It’s not his real smile—wide and easy, the kind that has everyone else lighting up too.
Wes takes another drink of his pop. “It’s easy to be fun when no one expects more from you than a little charm and a good time because you've spent your whole life fucking around.”
The laughter fades.
It’s a low blow, something wrought from living a life full of expectations from two highly successful parents.
Cheyenne makes a comment about getting in the lake to cool down, and Wes follows her in.
Megan bounces to her feet. “Are you coming, Tripp?”
He shakes his head without looking at her, and she jogs after the others without a second glance.
Tripp stays frozen on the rock, fingers curling around the edge, his gaze locked on the sand.
I’m on my feet and halfway to Tripp before I even realize I’m moving.
“Where are you going?” Allie calls after me.
“I’ll be right back. I need another drink from the cooler.”
It’s a lie. But it will get me closer to Tripp without drawing too much attention.
I dig through the ice, shifting cans around until I find a Diet Coke and a Mountain Dew. The cold bites at my fingertips as I wander toward the rock where Tripp’s still sitting, shoulders tight, jaw locked.
“Hey, you want a drink?” I ask, offering him the Mountain Dew.
He reaches for the can, and I lean against the rock, popping the tab on mine.
“Sorry Wes was being a douche canoe.”
Tripp chokes. “Did you just call your brother a douche canoe?”
I shrug. “Yep. And I’m not sorry.”
Tripp chuckles softly. “I’m not mad.”
I roll my eyes. Tripp’s never mad.
Except for the time he punched Brody Connors in the nose for telling everyone I was a bad kisser.
He taps his finger against the top of his can absently, and I stay quiet as I slide up next to him on the rock.
Waiting.
He’ll brush it off if I rush him. But if I give himspace...
“I know he didn’t mean anything by it,” Tripp says after a long moment. “But it feels like this is all I’ll ever be to them—the guy who’s quick to make a joke and never takes much seriously.”
He glances away like he’s embarrassed to be saying it out loud.
“Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever sees me. Not the smile. Not the show I put on. Me.”
