Two guys fill the space on the lounger next to Julia now—myfucking lounger—leaning in close and chuckling at something she’s just said. Her big, obnoxious sunnies she got on our last trip to Fifth Avenue block her eyes, but her body language is open and inviting and turned toward them. My brain buzzes with dangerously loud white noise, and I lift myself up and out of the pool in one smooth motion.
The girl behind me still tries to get my attention with some kind of laugh and throat-clear-led boob hoist, but I pad on hot, smoldering stone toward Julia without looking back, ignoring the sound of singeing skin coming from my screaming feet.
My territory is being invaded, and with war comes pain.
Prick One and Prick Two have smiles the size of Texas as they get up and exit the cabana, and Julia lies back, her stomach stretching out to toned and flat again.
I should go gently. I should lead in like a Roman or a Victorian or whatever the fuck the dudes were on that showBridgertonthat Julia loves so much. Because the cold hard facts are that as far as Julia’s concerned, I don’t have fuck-all reason to be in a piss-poor mood.
Sadly, I don’t listen to my own advice. I steamroll in like the New Yorker I am.
“Who the fuck were those dudes?” I ask, sitting down on the lounger next to Julia.
She sighs before opening her eyes and pulling her sunglasses off. She leans forward, closer to me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to glance down at the way her perfect breasts are being pushed out toward me like they’re on my own silver platter.
Fuck, is it just me, or is this “I’m in love with my best friend” shit getting complicated?
“They go to Dickson,” Julia eventually answers. “Drew Bettencourt and Gregory Allister. They’re in Sigma Tau, and Drew was in calculus with me.”
I forget the names as soon as she says them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re Tweedle D and Tweedle-I-fucking-hate-him.
“And what are they doinghere?”
Julia laughs, unaffected by myfuck-themattitude. She’s used to my mood swings, my bluntness, my damn near inquisition. We’ve done so much together in our lifetimes, frankly, I doubt anything from me would come as a surprise.
Except, I suspect, my newfound undying, obsessive, completely soul-crushing love for her.Thatmight be a bit of a shock.
“What do you mean, what are they doing here?” she retorts, and one of those adorable snorts she always makes leaves her cute fucking nose. “Swimming. Hanging out. Like us. Greg’s dad owns that really popular kids clothing company now, and Drew’s family—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I interrupt. I don’t want to hear shit about those assholes. I don’t care about them or their hopes or their dreams. I care about Julia.MyJulia. “I meant, what are they doing talking toyou?”
She shrugs. “They just wanted to say hi. Recognized me. And Drew wanted to…” She sits up slightly, looping one arm around her knees and adjusting her sunnies on the top of her head. “He wanted to ask me out for tomorrow night. And, yeah…we’re going on a date.” She claps her hands like the news is something other than abominable. Like it’sgoodnews.
It absolutely, most decidedly, is motherfucking not. In fact, itfeels like someone just told me I have terminal cancer and have ten more seconds to live.
It feels like fucking dog shit.
“You’re going on a date? Withthatguy?” I scoff. “He looks like a douche, Lia. In fact, I can still smell the linger of Axe body spray and protein powder in his wake.”
“He’s a nice guy,” she contests with a roll of her eyes. “So what if he’s a little stereotypical? I could say the same for Scarlett, you know. Big, fake tits and a smarmy smile.”
“I haven’t talked to Scarlett in months,” I hedge.
“And what about Lacey?” She quirks a brow. “Or Kristen? Or Bailey?”
“Who the fuck are they?”
Julia rolls her eyes. “Oh, you know, just girls you were literally flirting with and talking to at the beginning of freshman year.”
“Jules, honey, if I can’t even remember them, I don’t think they count.” It’s a stupid argument, even I know it, but it’s all I have. As far as I’m concerned, there’s pre-epiphany Ace and post-epiphany Ace, and the two shall not mix.
“Yeah, well. Maybe in a few months, I won’t talk to or remember Drew either. But tomorrow night, I’m going on a date with him.”
“Whatever,” I agree with a pout and shove back into my seat. The only thing stopping me from throwing myself at her feet and begging her to reconsider is the deep, deep desire not to come off as an absolute lunatic. I mean, I’m trying to make her love me, not feel like she needs witness protection.
“Don’t be such a downer, Acer. We can still hang out during the day,” she tries to console, nudging me with her perfect foot. “The date isn’t until tomorrow night.”
I grit my teeth against seven different curses and take a deep breath. It’s not going to do me any good to make her angry. I need to be understanding, present…perfect. I need to be so good to her, all the other fuckers don’t stand a chance. Basically, I need to become the human version of a golden retriever with abs.
