Alex rolls her eyes and leans back in her lounge chair. “We were literally just talking.”
“She was hanging all over you,” I point out.
“Yeah? So?” She closes her eyes and tilts her face to the sun.
“I was just wondering what the deal was, that’s all.”
“She’s single,” Chloe says when it’s clear Alex isn’t going to respond. “She and Elise broke up months ago.”
“I know,” Alex says easily, “she told me.”
“I didn’t know she was your type.” This seems to get Alex’s attention because she cracks open her eyes to pin me with a curious kind of glare.
“And what, exactly, is my type?”
“I don’t know,” I confess, running through the few girls Alex has shown interest in over the years and the even fewer she’s dated. I blurt the first name that comes to mind. “Sandy Peterson.”
Alex laughs. “Sandy Peterson? Jules. I was thirteen years old, and she looked like the lifeguard fromThe Sandlot. Whodidn’tlike Sandy Peterson?”
“Me,” I tell her deadpan, not finding any of this funny.
She sits up, the smile slipping from her lips, and this time, she definitely glares. “What’s your problem? I thought you liked Simone.”
“I do,” I tell her quickly because honestly, whatismy problem? It feels a lot like jealousy, but that can’t be right. I have a boyfriend who I love, who is still sleeping soundly to my right, completely oblivious. So, no, it can’t be that. I sigh, knowing that I’m being weird. “I do like her. She’s great. And if you like her, you should totally go for it.”
My encouragement doesn’t seem to get rid of the tension that’s rapidly rising because Alex doesn’t at all look convinced. “Really? Because it doesn’t seem like you want me to.”
“Nothing wrong with a summer fling,” Chloe supplies, clearly trying to defuse the tension.
“Except Alex doesn’t do flings.” It’s meant to be a joke, but even to my own ears, I can hear the bitterness.
“Maybe I do,” Alex fires back.
Chloe lets out a whistle, clearly impressed.
But I’m not. In fact, I’m not even convinced that Alex is telling the truth. I lean forward and narrow my eyes. “Since when?”
“Greece.”
The single word hits me square in the chest. It steals any kind of response straight from my mouth and leaves me stunned. Alex and I talked all the time while she was gone. Even if it was just a quick text to check in, we spoke every single day. Her two months in Greece last summer was no exception. I heard all about the food, her internship, her host family and the elderly couple next door that tried to fatten her up. She told me about the mopeds and the sunsets and all the ancient ruins.
What I didn’t hear was anything that could remotely be tied to why she suddenly likes flings.
I can feel Chloe watching us, but she’s silent, probably just as surprised as I am. But Alex doesn’t shy away. Instead, she squares her shoulders and stares right back, taking another long sip of water and arching a single brow in silent challenge. But I don’t even know where to begin. Or know what to say.
The whistle blows, signaling break, and the kids in the pool groan and take their time getting to the edge.
“Yo, Pestano,” Tyler says, the blow of the whistle acting as an alarm. He groggily motions to the now freed up basketball net. “Rematch?”
Without another word, Alex stands and removes her towel, tossing it back on her chair. “You’re on,” she says and dives into the pool, much to Tyler’s delight.
Chloe pops open two sparkling waters from the cooler and sits next to me, handing me one. “What do you think happened in Greece?”
We watch Alex sink a shot before Tyler even dives in the water. She looks back at us, and my chest tightens. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Four
Alex
