He relented. “What do I tell them? I don’t exactly invite tons of girls over for dinner.”
“I’m sure you can think of something,” I echoed back at him.
“Hm.” He grinned down at me and my heart did a jump, skip, and hop.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stomp these ridiculous flutters out of my body? Why did they need to show up every time I was in the same space as Noah? Obviously Noah was horrible fling material, given how 1) our families were weirdly intertwined and 2) he had, in fact, already flat-out rejected me.
“Noah! My man!”
And lo and behold, as though summoned by my desire for an appropriate summer fling, a blond boy approached.
Noah and the boy hug-slapped each other’s backs. “Hey, man.”
“How’s your summer?”
“It’s good. Got here last month. You?”
“Just flew in this morning.” The boy was startlingly attractive, with hair like corn silk and the even, symmetrical features capable of landing a TV deal or a GOP endorsement. He flashed a blazingly white smile at me. “Hi. I’m Tyler.”
“Hi, Tyler.” I sounded dazed even to my own ears. “I’m Abby.”
They exchanged updates for a few minutes, and when their conversation wound down, Tyler turned his grin on me. “Nice to meet you, Abby.”
I watched him walk away, his long tan legs on display beneath his mint green Chubbies.
Noah took one look at me. “No.”
“What?” I snapped my attention back to him. “No what?”
“You don’t want to get involved with him.”
I smiled a little too sharply. “Don’t I?”
“Tyler wrecks girls.”
“How so?”
“He’s not serious about anyone, but people get serious about him. He breaks hearts.”
“I want a fling, not a boyfriend,” I shot back. “He can’t break my heart if I don’t let it get involved.”
He snorted. “Because you’re so good at not getting invested.”
“What do you mean?” Could he tell how, the more time we spent together, the more my heart rate rose around him, and I couldn’t stop looking at his arms, and sometimes at night—oh my god, of course he could, see:me throwing myself at him. Clearly, I had to act totally disinterested for the rest of forever to prove him wrong.
“You’re obsessing over a failed romance from fifty years ago.”
Oh. Right. “Because it’s family history. Besides, like I said, I want no strings attached.” So there.
“So you keep saying.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Seriously? That’s what you want?” His brows rose and he looked exceedingly skeptical.
My heart started beating very quickly. Maybe he was about to offer himself up. To sayIf you’re looking for no strings attached, hook up with me.
Maybe I read too many romance novels.
