She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “Relax. I didn’t think you were such a prude. What—would you rather change in a porta-potty? Enjoy the shit sauna?”
I wince. She has a point. With a reluctant sigh, I peel off my plain V-neck, feeling far more exposed than she does.
The new shirt clings tighter than I expected, hitting high on my ribs and leaving at least three inches of my stomach bare above my cutoffs. I immediately wrap my arms around my middle, fingers tugging at the hem.
Lydia gives me a once-over, then beams. “You look so good. Definitely about to break a few cowboy hearts tonight. I find it hard to believe you don’t have a guy back home.”
“Nope,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and breezy.
“A girl?”
“Not my thing.”
She narrows her eyes, clearly not buying it, and grabs my old shirt, stuffing it into her tote. “Hm. Why do I feel like you’re lying?”
“Why would I lie?”
She shrugs, still studying me. “I don’t know. Just a vibe.”
I cross my arms. “Alright, fine. Therewassomeone. But he couldn’t exactly date me publicly. And now that I’m stuck here for the summer, he moved on.”
Her eyes widen. “Couldn’t date you publicly? Why?”
“His family,” I say simply. It’s the quickest way to sum up something that doesn’t make any sense, even to me.
Lydia tilts her head. “So you’re recently heartbroken. That explains the moping. And the locking-yourself-in-bedrooms thing.”
I groan, scrunching my nose. “Who told you that? I’mnotmoping.”
She smirks. “Nobody told me. You act like I haven’t seen you these past two days.”
I sigh and look up at the sky, the clouds tinged with a soft blend of dusky pink and golden orange, like the whole world is blushing.
“I’m not sad because some guy didn’t want me,” I say quietly. “I just…I don’t even care about it anymore.” A pause, my voice coming out soft. “Um—how much did Heath and the guys tell everyone about why I’m here?”
“Literally nothing,” she says, shaking her head.
“Oh.” I blink, surprised. “Well, um—basically, my dad made me come here for the summer. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, and I didn’t handle it well.”
I bite down on my lip. Hard enough to feel the lingering sting.
Lydia nods, her expression surprisingly serious. Then she bumps her shoulder into mine. “I think we both need a nice, crispy beer before we watch the guys try to kill themselves. What do you think?”
I huff a small, relieved laugh. “I can’t. I don’t have a fake ID.”
She gives me a slow once-over. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Lydia snorts. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be a problem. Plus, you’re with me. And I’mveryconvincing.”
She gives me a mischievous grin and bats her eyelashes. I can’t help the smile pulling at my mouth.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s go.”
She laces her fingers through mine and pulls me into the crowd without hesitation. When we reach the giant illuminated BEER sign, the whole thing feels ridiculous in the best way.
We find a gap in the bleachers big enough for the two of us. The seats are still warm from the lingering sun as we settle in, clear plastic cups in hand. I take a cautious sip. It’s lighter than I expected—cold, crisp, enough to feel grown-up but not gross.
