Page 44 of The Summer We Lie

Skye gets up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. "I'm going to get ready," she announces, her voice carefully neutral as she brings her plate to the sink while I make my way around the bar to sit. The distance she's maintaining is palpable, a wall between us made of last night's indiscretion.

Harper eyes me with undisguised amusement. "Skye made breakfast you should eat and just because you’re hangover is no excuse for getting out of today's fun because I've missed you all week." She takes a sip of her orange juice, the glass catching the sunlight. "Plus, Skye and I are going out tonight and we may stay out."

That gets my attention instantly, cutting through the fog of my hangover. "Where?" I ask, trying to sound casual but hearing the edge in my voice.

"We're going to a club in the city, so we'll probably just get a room," she says, and I look over at Skye automatically, my eyes drawn to her like magnets.

She's fixing a plate of food, her back to me, shoulders visibly tense beneath the thin fabric of her tank top. Is she remembering what happened last night too? Does she have any idea what I saw? The thought makes my heart rate accelerate uncomfortably.

"I don't know. You think that's a good idea?" I ask, hearing the protective father tone creeping in despite my efforts. "You should just come home, or I can pick you guys up."

"Yeah, just what I want—my dad picking me up from a night of clubbing," Harper says with an exaggerated eye roll that reminds me of when she was still twelve.

Skye approaches silently and sets a plate in front of me, then a glass of water, the ice cubes clinking against the sides. "You need to drink a lot of water," she tells me softly, still not meeting my eyes, before walking away.

Here she goes again, taking care of me when she's clearly upset with me. Why does she even care after last night? The question burns in my throat, unasked. I don't have time to dwell on it because Harper starts enthusiastically outlining our plans for the day, her voice bright and insistent.

Apparently, I'm spending the day on the beach with them under the merciless California sun, and then we're dressing nice and going out for an early dinner. All of this would sound perfectly pleasant if I wasn't nursing a pounding hangover and if I didn't want to bend her best friend over the closest surface and fuck her like a man possessed.

The graphic thought makes me choke violently on my coffee. I cough, reaching desperately for the water Skye left me, the cool liquid soothing my throat.

"You okay?" Harper asks, concern furrowing her brow.

"Fine," I rasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Wrong pipe."

I stare down at the pancakes on my plate—perfectly golden brown, exactly how I like them, with a hint of vanilla in the batter. Did Skye make these specially? Did she do this thoughtful thing for me after what happened between us? After what I watched her do? The domesticity of the gesture contrasted with my decidedly undomestic thoughts about her creates a dissonance I can't reconcile.

The idea that she's here cooking breakfast for me after I sat alone in my darkened room watching her pleasure herself makes something twist in my gut—something caught between guilt and arousal that I have absolutely no business feeling toward my daughter's best friend.

"So after you finish breakfast, meet us on the beach," Harper says, getting up and stretching her arms above her head. "Give you time to recover."

"Will do," I reply mechanically, taking another bite of the pancakes, the sweetness almost painful on my tongue.

Harper leaves the kitchen with a bounce in her step.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly, pressing my palms against the cool countertop. This is going to be a very long day. And the thought of Skye going out tonight to some club where men will be all over her—men who aren't me—makes my jaw clench so hard I feel the tension radiate down my neck.

I take another long sip of water, trying to cool the fire building inside me, knowing nothing will extinguish it.

I finish my breakfast, feeling marginally more human with food and caffeine in my system. The pancakes are perfect—of course they are. I find myself wondering how many other things Skye excels at that I haven't discovered yet, then immediately shut down that dangerous train of thought before it can fully form, like slamming a door on fingers already reaching through.

Back upstairs, I change into my navy swim trunks, the fabric still stiff from lack of use. My social life has dwindled to a predictable routine: work, occasional drinks with Ethan and Logan, and spending time with Harper during her visits. Beach days haven't exactly been high on my priority list for years. I grab some extra beach towels from the linen closet, their plush fabric soft against my fingers, and head outside. The California sun greets me with its brightness, not yet reaching the punishing midday intensity that turns the sand too hot to walk on barefoot.

Making my way down the steps to the beach, I see Harper and Skye already in the water. Their laughter carries across the sand, a melody of youth and freedom that makes something inside me both warm and ache simultaneously. I spread the towels out methodically, making sure they're perfectly aligned before lowering myself carefully onto the striped fabric. My head still throbs slightly at the temples, a persistent reminder of last night's overindulgence, but the fresh salt air is already clearing the last cobwebs.

I watch them splash and play in the waves, trying desperately not to notice how the water makes Skye's skin glisten in the sunlight, how her movements have a natural, unconscious grace even when she's just playing around. I'm supposed to be a responsible adult, her best friend's father, not... whatever this uncontrollable thing is that keeps pulling my eyes back to her.

My thoughts scatter when they sprint out of the water, sending droplets flying in their wake, heading straight toward me with purpose. Harper's familiar determined expression—so like my own—makes me brace myself for whatever she's planning. I try—and fail miserably—not to let my eyes linger on Skye in that little black bikini that clings to every curve, water droplets sliding down her skin like they're mapping territory I have no business wanting to explore.

"Uh uh, you're not being lazy today," Harper announces, standing over me with hands on her hips, dripping ocean water onto my legs, her shadow offering momentary relief from the sun.

"What? I was just enjoying the sun," I protest weakly, knowing it's futile to argue when she gets this way.

She laughs, making me realize how much I missed that sound. "Nope, you're coming in the water."

"I have a better idea," I say, inspiration striking suddenly, desperate for any alternative that doesn't involve me half-naked in close proximity to Skye in that bikini.

She looks at me in disbelief, one eyebrow raising in challenge. "What?"