Me:
Did you mistype pie or is the tech world trying to be cute
“Abby, right?”
I looked up. There, haloed by the sun, stood the beautiful boy from the rowing house. Blond and blue-eyed and glowing gold, he looked like he’d stepped out of a TV show.
“Hi!” I beamed up at him, pitifully grateful to have someone to talk to—and more than a little vindictively pleased it was a hot guy. Wow, my moral compass didn’t point as true north as I’d expected. “Yes. You’re Tyler?”
“Yeah.” He lowered himself to the sand beside me, running his gaze over me with evident enjoyment, before flashing a grin. “How’s it going?”
“Great.” A beat of silence followed, and I babbled into it. “Trying to get used to this much sun.”
He laughed. “This your first summer here?”
“Yup. I snagged a job at the Prose Garden.”
Look at me go. Actual words exchanged with a hot boy.
A fling-worthy boy, in fact. Who maybe only wanted to talk to me because of my boobs, but whatever. I’d take what I could get.
I took out my sunscreen and started reapplying. Was I being too obvious? God, of course I was being too obvious, this was so clearly a hint for him to assist. No, it wasn’t obvious, it was toosubtle—boys never picked up on anything.
“You want help?”
“Oh!” My voice came out high, which hopefully sounded like surprise instead of suppressed maniacal giggles. “Sure.”
I turned, gathering my hair on the top of my head with one hand. He smoothed lotion over my shoulders and I tried not to shiver at the touch. His hands were sure, and the sun warm, and the air filled with salt. A grin split my face. I felt like a girl in a teen movie. Could any scene be a more perfect summer stereotype? I’d achieved a level of basic-dom I hadn’t known was possible, and I was riding it high.
I looked up and made eye contact with Noah.
A wave of red-hot heat crashed through me, followed by freezing ice, the whiplash like a slap. I felt like I’d been caught doing something terrible. Noah held my gaze for half a second, his own still and unfathomable. Then he looked away, expression unchanged, as though he hadn’t even seen me.
I tried to regulate my breathing. Everything was fine. Why wouldanything not be fine? I wasn’t on adatewith Noah. He’d barely even spoken to me. I had nothing to feel bad about.
I wanted to throw up.
“There. Done.”
Right. Another boy currently had his hands pressed against my skin. I let go of my hair and turned back to Tyler, forcing a smile of thanks. Yet the possibility Noah might be watching made me feel awkward and self-conscious, like an actor forced to perform before she’d memorized her lines.
Whatever. I tried to shake off my awareness of Noah. I needed to remember how very not into him I was. I focused on Tyler and upped the wattage of my smile. “Want me to do you?”
He smirked. “Definitely.”
Why was it so easy to accidentally make innuendos?
He turned, and I poured a quarter-sized dollop of sunscreen into my palm, glad we were facing away from Noah. I could only see Tyler’s back and the glittering ocean as I smoothed cold lotion over his shoulders. “You’re super tan.”
More points in the Abby-for-a-Pulitzer-in-small-talk bucket.
“I spend a lot of time swimming.”
“Do you come to Nantucket every year?”
“Yeah, my parents have a house here.”
“Lucky. And where do you live again?”
