“That’s my favorite of the movies, but the first book is my favorite of the novels.” Because my parents had originally read it to me, a chapter or two a night, snuggled up on the couch.
Gabi sighed happily. “I’ve seen the movies more times than I can count.”
“Me too! We should marathon them together sometime.”
We did that very weekend, laying the foundation of our friendship.
God, I miss her.
It’s after five when my stomach protests its emptiness. I throw my cover-up on over my suit, pack my towel and book, and walk down the shore to the stretch of restaurants that draw tourists. Usually I steer clear of them, but coconut shrimp sounds amazing, and I don’t feel like dealing with my sister.
I pick a sports bar, Blitz Brews. It’s been around a few years, though I’ve never been inside because I have no use for sports or bars. Tati’s eaten here, though, and she mentioned that it’s good. The hostess greets me, pulls a menu from her podium, and walks me toward a line of booths along a wall of windows.
Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I do a double take as I pass Henry, who I haven’t seen since my belly flop into the pool. He’s hunkered down at the end of the bar, face sunburned as hell, 100 percent engrossed in the book he was poring over before my impromptu swim.
He’s as amusingly dorky as my rose-tinted memory of him, and now he’s hot too. It was nice to hang out with someone who doesn’t know about my tragedy of a backstory or my recentscrew-ups. I consider saying hi, but I’m guessing he’s meeting his dad. Probably for the best; my imagination’s done a number on him over the years, shaping him into a romantic hero instead of a teenage boy. It’s probably wise not to clue him in to how bonkers the inner workings of my brain can be.
I take a seat several booths away, then peruse the menu, stealing glances at Henry every so often. He’s seriously fried. Has no one handed him a bottle of sunscreen since his return to Florida? He doesn’t look up as a waiter breezes by him and stops in front of me.
He’s the hunky windsurfer type, dressed in khaki shorts and a collared shirt with BLITZ BREWS embroidered where a polo horse might otherwise be. His name tag reads CLAY. Tati would say he’s too old for me, but he’s probably only halfway through a bachelor’s degree. I ask for coconut shrimp with fries and sweet tea with lemon. He nods, flashing me a catalogue-worthy smile before hustling toward the kitchen.
I’m taking inspiration from bookworm Henry and pulling my paperback from my bag when there’s a commotion near the entrance. I look up to find the source of the noise.
Damon.
My heart plummets.
He’s with Jayden and Hudson, guys I’ve known most of my life, guys I called friends up until the night everything fell apart. Before, Gabi and I were the sun of our own solar system, a sparkling supernova the boys orbited with enthusiasm. Now that I’ve been cast out, I’m not sure what they think of me.
Not that I want Damon to think of me—not now, not ever.
The hostess who seated me gestures for them to follow her. Though he’s only known Hudson and Jayden for a couple years, Damon’s the ringleader of their trio. He makes seating requests and shouts questions about which TV will air the Tampa Bay Rays game. By the time they’ve settled a few tables away from me, in front of the TV they’ve deemed best, I’m pretty sure I’ve successfully hidden behind my book, despite the dismal odds.
“Holy shit—Piper!” Hudson says, his voice carrying across the restaurant. Of the three boys, I like him most. He’s got a younger sister and a nice mom and a higher standard for manners than most of the guys I know, especially the wrestling guys. Right now, though, I hate him for calling attention to me. Because now Jayden and Damon are looking at me too, as is Henry, his expression caught somewhere between delight and surprise.
I force my distress down as Jayden calls out a hello. Damon says nothing, though his stare sends a tremor through me, rattling my facade of composure.
“Your hair looks awesome,” Hudson says, waving me over. “Come sit with us.”
I loop a dark curl behind my ear, then tuck in like a sea snail, rounding my spine, dropping my chin. Pointing to my book, I shrug like,Little ol’ me, reading alone at dinnertime.
My pass garners affable boos, plus a dickish eye roll from Damon.
Jayden and Hudson move on to their menus, but Damon isn’t done. He snares my gaze and holds it hostage. My facegoes hot, and my palms turn clammy. A lot of what happened at Gabi’s party is a boozy blur, but despite what she thinks she saw, I remember this: I felt worthless, powerless,afraidwhen I was alone with Damon. It’s the same now, even in a busy sports bar with Hudson, Jayden, Henry, and a whole waitstaff within shouting distance.
His stare grazes my mouth before falling to my neck, my shoulders, my sternum, bared by my flimsy sundress.
Goose bumps fan out over my skin.
He takes off his dingy white baseball hat, stained with a ring of sweat. He runs a hand through his flaxen hair, then repositions the hat backward, giving me full view of his face. He licks his lips and then, in a voice that projects, says, “I liked you better blond.”
I focus on the words printed in my book, which are starting to swim.
He won’t quit. “You look hot in that bikini, though.”
I look up and say, loudly and without thought, “Fuck you, Damon.”
“You wish,” he says, punctuated by a filthy hand gesture.
