I let him kiss me.
I let myself have this moment.
I let myself go a few endless moments without worrying, without overthinking, without second-guessing.
And then it’s over.
Thayer removes his mouth from mine, though his hand still lingers at my jaw and his thumb traces my swollen lower lip.
“Does that help?” he asks. “What do you think of me now?”
“Lila!” my grandfather calls my name from the direction of the dock, and the beeping of a boat horn follows. “Lila!”
“I have to go,” I tell Thayer, leaving him answer-less as I jog toward the dock.
A man in jeans and a dingy t-shirt is unloading boxes, and my grandfather is placing them in a crate attached to a four-wheeler. The boxes keep coming and coming, and I’m guessing this will take several trips. It takes a lot of food to feed almost a dozen grown adults three full-course meals a day.
I get to the dock and pray my lips aren’t red and the awestruck expression has left my face, and my prayers are answered when my grandpa hands me a box of groceries and turns to talk to the delivery man.
When the first load is packed, Grandpa drives it back to The Bertram, leaving me on the dock to wait for him. Alone. With my noisy thoughts and lips still burning from that kiss that ended way too soon and left me wanting more.
It was easier when I could deny the way I felt toward Thayer, when I could deny the blossoming crush and ignore the butterflies and chase those thoughts away like pesky gnats.
But there’s no denying I’m attracted to him, to his kindness and his stormy blue eyes and the way he says all the right things at all the right moments.
And then he had to go and kiss me, the bastard.
I take a seat on the edge of the dock, crossing my legs beneath me and watching the ripples on the water.
Screw it.
I like him.
I like him a lot.
Chapter 9
Thayer
It’s half past eleven when I check my watch. I’m not sure why I didn’t give up hope hours ago. It’s not like she’s going to magically emerge from the darkness that surrounds us and join our stupid little bonfire.
My head is dizzy and despite the fact that I’ve had an ungodly equivalent of vodka shots, I swear I can still taste her—spicy like cinnamon gum and its signature burn followed by sweetness.
Fitting.
“Thayer, do you remember when we snuck out of our dorm after curfew last year?” Ashlan asks with slurred words as she sways by the fire, a near-empty bottle of Grey Goose in her hand. Out of all of us, she’s hit it the hardest tonight, which isn’t like her. “And do you remember when campus police chased us on their bikes and we hid behind those statues outside the library?”
“Yep …”
She takes a swig before walking the bottle over to me.
“No thanks,” I wave it off.
She collapses on her knees in front of me, motioning for me to scoot over on my sand-covered blanket.
“Fine,” she says, crawling into my lap.
She didn’t even give me time to move …
“I’m so glad we picked the same school,” she says, leaning against me. “It’s almost like it was fate or something.”
More like it was Ashlan being obsessed with me.
Ever since we turned sixteen, something changed in her. She got clingier. Called more. Texted more. Followed me around more. When we were heading into our senior years, she found out through her mother that my first pick was Yale and that I was thinking pre-law, and magically she went from wanting to be a kindergarten teacher to wanting to be a lawyer.
Every girlfriend I had, every female friend or person of the opposite sex who so much as looked at me in a certain way always had her to contend with. She would always criticize them under the guise of “trying to protect me from crazy bitches,” but I always saw through it.
It’s only gotten worse since we went to college.
She made sure her dorm was in the same building as mine, and in addition to that, she made sure we had at least half of our classes together. I tried talking to my mom about it once, but she waved it off, saying I was reading into things too much and that I should be grateful to have a familiar face around.
I’ve made it clear to Ashlan on several occasions that I think of her as a sister, that I would never date her, but if anything, I think it only made her that much more determined to get what she wants—me.
I gave her a roadblock.
She saw a challenge and readily accepted it.
“Ashlan, get off me,” I say, giving her a gentle nudge.
She slides off my lap and cozies up beside me, taking another swig from the bottle.