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"See ya, Blondie," he says as he raises his hand to his face and gives me a childish wave. "Wouldn't want to be ya."
I march up the stone pathway to my house, done with Wilder and Cash. They can have each other. But then I hear a honk, and the part of me that's madly in love with Cash and not annoyed with Wilder looks over my shoulder. Cash is jogging toward me with a big smile on his face. I stop in my tracks, my heart clanging against my ribs.
"Hey," he says when he reaches me. "Where are you going?"
"Uh," I clear my throat. "I was going to check the time."
Cash laughs. "Babe, you could have just looked at your phone."
I nod, my heart warring against itself. I love Cash. I always have. I always will. But if he doesn't love me anymore—if he's going to forget about me when he goes to Baltimore—then I need to prepare myself. I know I won't survive the devastating heartbreak, but at least I won't be blindsided by it.
"Right," I play off.
"You ready?" He holds out his hand.
"Ready," I swallow hard as I weave my fingers through his.
"You look really nice," he tells me.
My heart melts like an ice cube under hot water. "So do you."
When Cash opens the passenger door to his truck, I'm surprised to see Wilder sitting in the back seat, his sunglasses on top of his head. Guess he really can see right through me, can't he?
"So," Wilder slaps the back of Cash's seat as he fumbles with his seatbelt. "Are you taking us to the Country Club?"
Cash laughs nervously. "Uh, no. I thought we could grab burgers at the diner."
I stay silent as Wilder smirks. "You embarrassed to be seen with us, Cash?"
"No," Cash sincerely replies as he turns the steering wheel, checking over his shoulder. "Just not my scene."
"Right," Wilder clicks his tongue. "Could have fooled me with the polo shirt and khakis."
"Don't knock the khakis," Cash chastises him. "I played golf earlier today with one of my dad's surgeon friends. Just trying to make connections."
"Yeah," Wilder huffs. "Cause that's more important than spending your last summer before college with your friends."
No one talks after that, and the awkward silence makes my palms sweat.
I wish I knew what Cash wanted to talk to us about. What if he's going to Baltimore sooner than he originally planned? He's supposed to leave in mid-August, but maybe he moved the date up by a week or two. I don't think I'm going to be alright if that's what he's decided. Cash is leaving. He's going to be miles from where I am. We only have the summer before he's gone, and long distance will either make or break us.
"You guys want to listen to something?" Cash asks as he turns the volume up on his radio, unfazed by the silence.
Wilder groans. "Anything but Smashing Trout. I can't believe you actually listen to that shit."
Cash chuckles. "It's upbeat and catchy. And they're a local band. Don't hate on them."
"I can play the guitar, too,” Wilder scoffs, “but that doesn't mean I'm going to record myself and make everyone within a twenty-mile radius listen to it."
"What would you recommend then?" I turn in my seat. "Ooh, let me guess. Your personal favorite, the vocal stylings of the one and only, Wilder Cox, sans guitar."
Wilder hides a smile. "You make me sound pretentious as fuck."
"Pretty sure you remember every word to 'Wild Cox Summer'. Or," I glance at Cash, "shall we bring out the video evidence?"
"I don't know what you two are talking about." Wilder crosses his arms and peers out the window. I notice the white material stretches along his toned chest. His very toned chest. Stop looking, Ingrid! But before my brain registers what's going on, Wilder notices where my gaze has landed, and, when our eyes meet, he raises an intrigued eyebrow.
"I think you do, Wild," Cash interrupts our weird moment. "You know we secretly recorded it."
