I’m not strong enough for this.
The guilt I have for bringing Bash into the shit-show that is my life is the loudest thing I hear right now. I mean, damn, he has his own struggles and his own pain. He doesn’t need mine too. Plus, he’s just simply too good for me. He shows up, he stays, he lets me push, and doesn’t make me feel bad afterwards when I want to lean on him. He’s gentle with me when I don’t deserve gentle. He’s patient with me when I’m overwhelmed. He’s protective when I’m self-destructive.
I feel things with him I’ve never felt before. Not with Eli, not with anyone else. With Eli, I thought I was in love. I fell for him because he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room, and I mistook a stupid spotlight for the sun. He hurt me and kept calling it love. I know without a doubt, there was no capacity for love in that relationship. There never could be. Neither of us knew what love meant or looked like. The only thing he knew how to do was ruin me, and the only thing I knew how to do was let him.
Bash doesn’t ruin me, doesn’t ruinanything.ButI feel like I’m going to ruin him, and I don’twantto ruin him. Which is probably why I’m out here…trying sohard not to ruin things, standing on a lawn that smells like freshly cut grass and too much sunscreen being rubbed and sprayed on all the girls. I’m out here letting the sun beam down on me and make me sweat when I hate sweating while a DJ with huge speakers pretends he’s headlining at some concert. It’s Field Day, College edition. People are racing with their legs tied together and not caring if they look cool or not, falling all over the place.
“Pick me as your teammate, and I can promise you that we’ll lose with confidence and in style,” I tell Bash, dead serious, because there’s zero athletic bone in my body and I won’t lie about it.
He leans down until his mouth is right above my ear. “Good thing I don’t like winning as much as I like watching you make a fool of yourself.”
He’s been…more recently, more handsy, more flirty, more attentive. Still careful, though, always asking with his eyes before he touches me. He’s following my lead, not rushing anything, not pushing for titles. But when he steals these quick, secretive kisses when no one is looking, it makes my whole body feel on fire. It’s really hard to resist him, to go slow, to not want to do something we’d regret.
“Okay, team,” Lani calls, clapping her hands to get our attention. “We’re up for the three-legged race. Erik, try not to cheat in any of the games.” It comes out a little spiteful and I bite back my grin.
“Good thing I never cheat,” Erik shoots back, winking at her.
Lani rolls her eyes and huffs something under her breath that I don’t catch.
I always feel like I’m missing important pieces when I’m around them. They have this tension that anyone can see from a mile away, but Lani is so closed off. She’s the life of the party everywhere she goes, and Erik is obviously drawn to her like a flame, but she keeps swatting at him. I feel bad sometimes.What did the poor boy do to her?
Simone is stretching, taking this way too seriously. She might be slightly more athletic than me…but not by much.
Mason hands her his water bottle without even looking, like they just stay in sync. She takes a sip, grimaces, hands it back, and he wipes the rim with his shirt like a gentleman who’d set the world on fire for her if she asked him to, then hands it back without a second glance.
I don’t know when my best friend suddenly got this boy wrapped around her finger, or how I missed it starting, but I love watching it.
I mean, I loved Tyler. We grew up together—I hate what he did to my best friend, but I loved them at one point—yet still, I never saw him treat her the way Mason does, and they aren’t even together.
“You two want a tether, or are you already permanently bound together at the hip?” Bash jokes with them, tying the band around our ankles. His fingers skim my calf, and I feel my pulse jump.
“We’re strictly professional acquaintances here to win,” Simone says, deadpanning, failing miserably to hide her smile.
“Uh-huh,” Mason answers, looking straight ahead at the chalk line, but his hand finds the small of her back for a second. A silent,veryobvious second.
The whistle blows, and it’s chaos. We sprint forward like a baby deer. Bash takes tiny steps so I can keep up, narrating the whole thing like a sportscaster who’s only talking to me.
“Left…left. We’re killing it, look at that form—Lydia House, unexpected natural athlete, sources confirm—”
“I hate you,” I laugh, then trip, dragging him down with me.
He throws an arm out under me, and we crash into the grass together instead of my face meeting the dirt. He’s breathless and grinning. I’m breathless andactually enjoying this.
“Ten out of ten fall,” he says. “Would tumble with you again.” Then he rolls on top of me, and I squeal from getting all muddy. Even though I’ll gladly take the muddy back in exchange for this view—his hands on either side of me, holding himself up, beautiful and sweaty, looking down at me like he could easily destroy meandtake care of me all at the same time.
“Get a room!” Lani yells, smiling. Erik cheers like we scored, and Lani tells him to shut up. Simone pretends to boo us while holding on to Mason’s arm.
We do sack races, ultimate Frisbee, dodgeball, and an insane version of Twister that should be illegal, or at least come with a medical waiver you have to sign.
I suck at all of it, but Bash keeps hyping me up anyway. Every time we sit, he tugs me a little closer. Every time someone makes a joke at my expense, he cuts them off with a look that’s more warning than words. I hate being watched…but with him, I don’t mind it.
The day flies when you’re laughing and out of breath from having fun. We all pile into the shaded part of a picnic area with a dozen other students. Sweat-slicked faces, grass-stained knees, laughter melting together and becoming lazy. I can almost forget the noise in my head with distractions this fun. I canalmostpretend it will stay this simple.
“Hey,” a voice says from a blanket beside us. A girl looks over with her blonde ponytail and sorority tank.
Her friends perk up behind her. “Is your name Lydia?”
I blink. “Yes?” It comes out like a question because I already feel the anxiety forming in my chest.
