He gestures to my gelato-covered arm. “At least you have something to eat.”
“True,” I say, eyeing the last bit of the gelato I was finally about to taste again.
I run my tongue up the line of my thumb and suck it into my mouth, closing my eyes and groaning as the hazelnut and chocolate explodes on my tongue.
“Fuck, that’s delicious,” I say.
I feel a breath gust against the side of my head, but when I glance at Colton, he’s looking back down the street toward the gelateria.
I sigh. “I’m gonna head inside and clean off my hand.”
“I’ll get you another,” he says, his voice tight.
I smile and tap his chest with my clean hand. “See, this is why you’re my best friend. Always looking out for me. But I’m good. The students want to get home, so I’ll come back later.”
I flick my pointer finger with my tongue to get one last taste and moan.
“How is this so much better than everywhere else? I’m gonna spend the day pissed because I remember how good it is, but can’t have more. One taste isn’t enough.” I say before turning away from Colton and stomping off toward the shop.
He stays behind me, but I think he mumbles, “Nowhere near enough.”
8
QUINN
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
“The smell of garbage,”I say, opening my mouth to catch the M&M Colton throws to me.
I bought a bag for each of us so we could play the wonderful new game I invented called the Bitching Game. We throw one piece at each other for every shitty thing we list, until either the reasons run out or the candy does.
We spent the last twenty minutes listing everything we hated about Boston in minute detail. It’s late October, and between the stress of midterms and the excitement of our newfound freedom wearing off, we’re both feeling some serious homesickness.
“The crowds on Boylston,” he replies, opening his own mouth. The M&M lands with a satisfying plunk.
“How early the sun sets,” I continue.
“The way the Green line shrieks like a banshee.”
“The severe lack of high-quality barbecue.”
“The way people quack at you from those annoying duck boats.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. Hating public transportation’s one thing, but the duck boats are a goddamned institution.
“I love the duck boats!” I say. “They drive on landandin the water! It’s like a real-lifeChitty Chitty Bang Bang.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Seriously? Old movie with Dick Van Dyke? Car that can drive, fly, and float?” He shrugs. “The point is, the duck boats are amazing.”
He throws an M&M at my forehead. “We agreed, no negativity shaming.”
I sigh, trying to fight back my smile. “Fine. Fuck the ducks.”
He gives me a definitive nod, his own smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Anything else we hate?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, stroking my chin. “Have we reached our limit?”
