I stray my eyes from the road to Lennox when he asks, “What would you prefer, Sum? A tardy slip or wondering whose spunk you’re sleeping in if I didn’t get the last bit oftestosteroneout of my system before we went on the road.” He drags his sunglasses down his nose before peering at me over them. “The league doesn’t know you’re coming, remember? That means there will only be one bed.”
We usually spend summer breaks with our individual families. Lennox flies to whichever mega-mansion his dad isn’t occupying at the time, and I drive Cubie home. We Snapchat, call, and FaceTime regularly, but the entire ten weeks are spent apart.
This year, we’re doing something different. Lennox got an offer to play in a summer leg in Ravenshoe. His decision to opt-in three years ago didn’t weaken the MLB’s hope of signing him in the slightest. They’ve gone all out to showcase him during the summer leg of the competition. If he wows them as much as he has the NCAA coaches the past three years, he will most likely miss his final year of school so he can play in the big league.
Originally, the plan was to do what we’ve always done—use social media to stay in touch. But when I announced my utter jealousy about him spending the entire summer a stone’s throw away from Bronte’s Peak, one of the world’s best manmade marvels, he extended an invitation for me to join him. I’ve never seen the beach, and Lennox was adamant he wanted to be the first person to take me to one.
I told him his idea was crazy. For one, I couldn’t afford to fly to Ravenshoe, and two, the one-bed situation might prove more than our friendship can handle, but Lennox was adamant there wouldn’t be an issue. He cashed in his business-class ticket for gas money, then promised my father we’d detour past Buffalo, Missouri, on our way to Ravenshoe.
That decision was made three weeks ago, and I’ve been a bundle of nerves ever since. The one-bed situation is already daunting, but when you add it to the realization our private lives are about to interweave for the first time, it is extremely confronting.
Lennox wasn’t lying three years ago when he said we couldn’t be more different if we tried. We are polar opposites, and I am panicked those differences might be too hard to discount when they’re thrust into our faces twenty-four-seven for ten weeks straight. I hope I’m wrong, but that’s a rarity I’d never admit, even if it did occur.
I rezone back into my conversation with Lennox just as his debate comes to a close.
“So that’s why I went out with Bethany, so it wouldn’t make things awkward by bringing a date back to my room. I did what needed to be done. I took one for the team.”
“Or you could have just stroked one out in the shower while I microwaved popcorn for movie night like you did when Coach put the entire team on a sex ban before the elimination tournaments.”
“It’s not the same, Cocoa. We’ve discussed this.” He sits straighter in his seat before pulling his brows together. “Although, if you want to give self-pleasure a try, I’m down for helping you with that. Terrence told me about the going-away present Indigo gave you.”
I sock him in the arm, switching the lusty gleam in his eyes to humor. “I don’t need…a deviceto get me off.” His expression is unreadable when I add, “Besides, Paul texted earlier. He will be home at the same time as me, so he asked if I wanted tocatch up.” I express my last two words in a way not even a virgin could misunderstand.
Paul wants me—very much so.
“Is this Three Pump Paul from prom?” When I nod, Lennox gags. “You can’t ‘catch up’ with him, Summer.” His version of ‘catch up’ is much more repulsed than mine.
“Why not? He was my high school boyfriend—”
“Who came after three pumps! Enough said.” With a shake of his head, he sinks back into his seat. “If you go out with him, I’ll have to tag along. Especially if you’re planning to get around in that.”
My teeth grit when he tosses his hand at my outfit. “Overalls are very much back in fashion. I made them fashionable again.”
“Three years early is not a fashion statement, Sum. That’s a thirty-decade late bloomer. Kind of like your boobs.”
I hit him again. Harder this time. “Paul liked my breasts even before they filled a C cup.”
“Clearly. He did come afteronlythree pumps.” He chuckles about my narrowed eyes and snarled lip before he pops his glasses back on and folds his arms in front of his chest. “Wake me when we reach Nebraska. I’ll switch places with you.”
He’s out cold before my head completes one full bob.
“Are you sure you want to eat here, Sum? You know how your stomach gets when you eat mayonnaise.”
I stop pacing toward a Burger King restaurant on exit ramp 43 before spinning around to face Lennox. “It’s quick, and I’m starving.”
“And your ass thinks it’s supplying the water for Niagara Falls when you eat mayonnaise. We have two hours left to travel before we reach our first destination. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It will be fine,” I assure him, my voice a mix between mortified and pleased. I hate that he knows the annoying malfunctions of my body better than my father, but I’m also pleased about how close we’ve become the past three years. We’re not at the stage he’d wipe my butt if I broke both my wrists, but I think if push comes to shove, he’d let me pee with the door open. “But just in case, I’ll get chicken nuggets.”
Lennox wipes at his sweaty brow before increasing the length of his strides.
I cradle my sweat-drenched head into my hands when Lennox says through the door of a Motel Six on the side of the highway, “Sweet chilimayonnaise.” He says his last word super slow like the battered wood wedged between us makes me deaf. “How could you misread that, Summer? It’s written on the front of the pack.”
“I was hungry. No one reads labels when they’re hungry!”
“They do when they have the chance of taking out an entire city with the gas pluming from their backside. I drove the last thirty miles with my fingers shoved up my nose.” My whine shifts to a breathless giggle when he grumbles, “Do you have any idea how many people have shaped their noses off mine? Hundreds, if not thousands. I don’t see that being the case now, though. My nostrils are the size of Mount Everest!”
“It isn’t my fault you have fat fingers.”
