Then why is it when we’re alone it feels so right? I’ve had friends come and go in my life, but none have been consistent with how much Mom and I have drifted. With Apollo, it’s easy when we’re together. It’s when the rest of the world starts pushing in around us that these thoughts rise up in me. I wonder if Apollo feels the same. If he’s always trying to be Mr. Perfect, it's really not going to work long term.
Emerson nods toward Apollo’s dad. “He’s always here, but I’m one to talk. I’m always here too. I mean, look around.” He wiggles his eyebrows at the men down by the water. They’re all shirtless, and some of them are wet.
“I suppose it is a nice view.”
“Better not let your man hear you say that. He’s the jealous type.”
“No he’s not.” At least not that I can tell.
“Sure, dollface.”
A whistle blows, and it draws my attention back to the water as they all begin. I’m surprised how much I’m into the races as the boats begin to compete. I’m also surprised at the jealousy I feel when other girls shout Apollo's name when it’s his turn. I think I might be the one with jealousy issues, and I hate it.
Before I can even understand what’s happening, it’s over. Apollo’s boat pulls into the marina, and I decide to push thoughts of jealousy away when he heads straight for me. He laughs as he lifts me off my feet and spins me around in a circle. He won, of course, but I’m not shocked by this.
“You were amazing,” I tell him when he finally puts me back down.
“You have no idea what happened, do you?” He smiles as he says it.
“You crossed the line thingy first. That’s something.” His chuckle is deep as he leans down and kisses me again.
“What’s up, Emerson?” Apollo says when he finally lifts his mouth from mine. For a moment, I completely forgot that there are people all around us. Most of them are looking our way and at how close Apollo is to me. “What were you two plotting up there in the stands?”
“Not much. Celeste agreed to be on the prom committee with me. I mean, she’s going with you, so it’s only fitting.”
“What?” I blink at him, knowing I didn’t agree to anything like that.
“You did?” Apollo eyes me with confusion, and they both wait for me to respond.
“It might be fun.” I shrug, thinking I might actually like it. I’m not involved in anything else around here, and Emerson is the only person besides Apollo who’s asked me to do anything.
“Lo, I need you over here. People are waiting to talk to you,” Mr. Crew says as he walks over towards us. I try to duck out from under Apollo’s arm so he can go, but he doesn't let me wiggle away. “They’re waiting.”
“I got your girl, Crew. Go do what you need to. We’ll meet you at the party, so she doesn't have to wait around like a groupie,” Emerson says, and I glance up at Apollo. He turns his glare from his father to Emerson, who only smirks. “I think you and everyone else knows she’s not my type.”
“She’s not a groupie.”
“That’s where we definitely agree.” Emerson smiles and nudges me with his elbow.
“Are you cool with that, Celeste? I don’t want you wanting around,” Apollo asks.
“Yeah, do what you need to. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. I’ll come straight there after I’m finished.”
“Mmky,” I answer before he leans down and gives me a quick kiss.
“Keep your phone close,” he says before finally releasing me and heading toward his father.
I watch him go, feeling my lips tingle at his touch.
“He’s gonna look back, I know it,” Emerson teases. “I got twenty on it.”
He isn’t wrong. Apollo glances back, and his eyes connect with mine. I can only think one thing as my heart flutters and I smile at him: That man is going to break my heart.
Emerson throws his arm over my shoulder. “We need food first, dollface. I’m thinking fries and ice cream.”
As he leads me to the parking lot, I laugh and agree. We’re almost to Emerson’s car when I see a guy leaning against it.
“Who is that?” I ask, and Emerson looks up.
“Oh shit,” he says quietly, and I feel him grab my forearm. “Just, um, be cool.”
We keep walking to the car, and the guy that’s leaning against his car pushes off and smiles at us. He’s big like Apollo, but leaner. He’s got on a tight T-shirt with the school's swimming logo on it.
“You must be Celeste,” he says as he tucks his hands in his jeans. The motion is meant to look casual, but there’s nothing about him that’s casual. “I’m Shy.”
“Ironic, isn’t it,” Emerson snips as he tries to move in front of me. “Excuse us, we’re late.”