I roll my eyes. Abigail is thirteen, which means sometimes she’s a raging brat that I want to strangle, and other times she’s just a normal person I don’t mind being around. Today looks like it’ll be a normal day. That calls for a celebration I think, as I pour my coffee into a thermos. I reach into the fridge and grab a can of spray whipped cream, tilting it over the thermos and spraying some inside on top of my coffee. I usually drink it black, not because I like the taste, but because I’m too lazy to bother. But whipped cream definitely makes it better.
I screw the cap on and head out to my truck, where Abigail has already started the engine and is rocking out to some pop song from the passenger seat.
“Not happening,” I say as I climb into the driver’s seat. Immediately, I shut off that crap she’s listening to and put it on a rock station. “Passenger doesn’t pick the music.”
“But I love Selena Gomez.”
“Not in a million years,” I say. She crosses her arms and slumps into her seat, the angry little sister scowl she’s so great at appearing on her face.
We’re halfway to the beach when my sister stops playing on her phone and looks over at me. “So who’s the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The one you were telling Colby about.”
I stiffen, my eyes on the road. “How much of that did you hear, you little snooper?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she says, making this annoyed eye roll. “And I only heard a little bit. So who is it?”
“None of your business.”
“What’s her name?”
“Not telling you.”
She groans. “Well, I hope she’s not a bitch like Elise.”
“Watch your mouth. And she’s not.”
Abigail’s expression softens just a little. “Well she must be a bitch if she doesn’t like you. You’re a great guy.”
I look over at her and smile. “Thanks, Ab.”
***
The beach is calling to me more than ever. It’s a beautiful summer day, the kind that’s hot and sunny but nottoohot and sunny. Normally I can feel the call to go surf from deep in my bones, but today that’s not what’s making me want time to hurry up so I can get off work.
Today I want to see Bess.
And Abigail must know it because she keeps giving me these little knowing grins and side eye glances. It’s annoying, my little sister knowing that I’m freaking out over a girl. I’m supposed to be the tough big brother. Nothing is supposed to mess with my head.
Something Bryce told me yesterday has been bothering me as well. He’d said that I’m probably just upset because Bess didn’t seem to like me back. It’s hard to admit, but yeah, girls do often like me. I hang with Colby and Bryce and the popular crowd at high school.
And although high school is officially over, that kind of popularity stuff sticks with you, at least in a small town like Louetta. Although I’ve had my heart crushed by the three serious girlfriends I’ve had over the years, I can’t remember a single time I’ve been rejected by a girl when I first met her. I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but it is what it is.
Bryce thinks the only reason I’m practically obsessing over Bess is because she rejected me. To Bryce, dating is a game and girls are trophies to be won and then set aside on a shelf.
I hate that idea. Ihatethe mere thought of thinking that my fascination with Bess is just because she rejected me. That can’t possibly be it. I’m not some asshole who wants to add a ton of notches to my metaphorical headboard. (My real headboard is metal, and plus, my parents would straight up murder me if I carved a notch into any piece of furniture to keep track of how many girls I’ve slept with.)
I’m a good guy. I know I am. Abigail thinks so, too. I just want a real girl, a sweet girl, one to fall madly in love with and have forever.
I don’t just want Bess because she rejected me. I want to get to know her, see if she fits more items on my list. I want to feel her silky blond hair through my fingers and press my lips to hers.
I need to smell her floral perfume again, need to see her smile so bad it makes my stomach ache.
Although Abigail is legally too young to officially work at the shop, she pretty much runs the place when she’s there. She knows the register better than I do, and she can upsell every teenage girl on a pair of sunglasses and flip flops just by talking to them.
So when it’s half an hour until my shift is over, I find Dad near the wetsuits and ask if I can leave early.
