particularly difficult when my best friend is such a social butterfly,” I murmur. Allie is the life of every party, the star ofevery room she enters. I wouldn’t change her for the world, but I don’t always operate well when I’m pulled into her orbit of attention. “You and I could stick together?”
He cracks open one eye, glancing at me. I bat the biggest puppy-dog eyes I can muster, dramatically pouting my lips.
He groans, hiding a laugh as he runs a hand down his face. “Fine, Wills. You twisted my leg.”
I clap my hands together, grinning in triumph. “It’stwist my arm, by the way.”
CHAPTER 17
WESTON
Idon’t know what throwback lo-fi indie rock song is blasting through the backyard stereos right now, but it kind of sucks.
“God, Wills. Who made this playlist?”
She gasps, turning around to face me. “Weston, you cannot talk shit about Surf Curse around here. My dad isverypassionate about his music tastes.” She swivels her head around the backyard, even though nobody is out here but us. “You’d better hope he didn’t hear you.”
I can only smile at her, bemused. She’s still glancing around dramatically, before her gaze snags mine and she freezes. She tilts her head, the freckles on her nose dance when she grins, perplexed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re dorky.” I smirk, and when her mouth drops open, I add, “In a funny way. A good way.”
“Me?” she claims, placing a hand on her hip. “I’mdorky? You’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met in my entire life.” She flails her arms in the air, and the theatrical display of her reaction only proves my point further, causing me to laugh harder.
“I guess we’re in good company then,” I say, because I don’t think she’s wrong about me either. I also don’t think any otherperson I’ve known my entire life would describe me as dorky, and yet with Willow, it makes perfect sense.
I’ve never had the opportunity to be myself like this before knowing Willow—maybe I’ve been an undercover dork this whole time.
Her features relax, though her pert nose remains scrunched, dimples on display, and blue eyes blazing in the early afternoon sun. She tosses her long, loose braids over her shoulders, revealing the writing on her cut-off white tee:Baby, I’m your national anthem. Two red-and-blue fireworks are stitched into the fabric, right over where I imagine her nipples would be. My gaze glides down her body, over her high-waisted denim cut-offs, her hand still placed firmly on her hip, nails painted red, white, and blue. She’s wearing high-top red Converse painted with multicolored fireworks and... hot dogs?
The look is vintage and entirely Willow. She pulls it off flawlessly.
As I lift my eyes, they get stuck again on those two fireworks. Almost as if the shirt is taunting me, forcing me to ponder whether they’re strategically placed, and what may be underneath them.
Willow clears her throat, and my gaze snaps to her face. She smirks at me knowingly, then tosses her head in the direction of the big house’s porch. I follow the movement, gut plummeting when I find Leo leaning over the railing, watching me with a frown.
“Well?” he calls.
“What?” I ask, realizing if he’d been talking I certainly did not hear him.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes so dramatically I can see it from where I stand at the center of the yard. Willow giggles, slipping past me. My skin lights on fire when her shoulder brushes myarm. “I have to go pick up Allie. I’ll come find you when I get back.”
I can’t help myself from peeking over my shoulder to watch her walk away.
“Weston,” Leo snaps, pulling me back to him. “Can you help me with these ice chests?”
“Absolutely.” I salute him lamely, immediately regretting it when he only responds with a bewildered crinkle in his eyes and curl of his lip before beckoning me to follow him inside the house.
The entire propertyis teeming with people. From the back deck, it’s almost like a sea of them expands below me, all the movement like rippling water. I stick to Willow’s side like she’s a fucking buoy and I’m desperately holding on, waiting for the storm to pass.
She doesn’t seem to mind, though. She’s velcroed herself to me too.
We spent the first hour chatting with Carter and Penelope while most of the other guests arrived, and after briefly greeting Macie and Dom, Allie’s parents, Willow whisked me away. She turns from the drink table set up against the side of the house, extending a cup to me.
“Oh, I don’t drink alcohol?—”
“I know.” She snorts. “You’re a child. It’s soda. Sugar-free or whatever.”
“I turn twenty-one in three months, Willow,” I deadpan. “I don’t drink because I come from a family with alcoholism. I plan on never starting to begin with. But thank you for the soda. Sugar-free or whatever.” I wink.
