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“I had my phone, you motherfucker!” another shouts. This is followed by a chorus of delighted cackling that echoes off the building. The pool area sits in a U-shaped courtyard created by the exterior walls of the hotel, with floors of windows that look down. I expect a set of drapes to slide open, or a parent or chaperone to appear with a stern warning to Behave Yourselves or Else, but it doesn’t happen.
Because they are clearly unsupervised, some form of boy wrestling ensues, complete with a few of the dirtiest words I’ve ever heard—and my dad worked construction, so I’ve heard them all. Splashes turn into waves that ripple to where my bare legs dangle in the water. The boys are slowly morphing from Kids on the Loose to Lord of the Flies, but the chaos out here is still preferable to facing whatever is going on inside.
My phone vibrates, and I look, reluctantly. I have a few missed calls from James. Nothing from Melly, but then, I don’t expect that until tomorrow. After a few hours to cool off—and with nobody else around to placate her—she’ll apologize in the morning, like she always does. I think.
But there is a message in my group chat with Peyton and Annabeth.
Annabeth
Checking in
I think about how to best reply here. Having to actually type the lie that everything is fine will make my head explode, but I can’t really describe what’s going on, either. Weirdly, the only person I think would truly understand is James.
And I can’t confide in him.
Carey
You know how parents tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?
Annabeth
Uh-oh.
Peyton
Mine never said that.
Annabeth
Because Liz and Bill Gibley live for the gossip.
Peyton
It’s true. They do.
Annabeth
Going out on a limb and guessing that the book tour is not off to a solid start, C?
What an understatement.
“Hey.”
I’m so startled I nearly drop my phone in the pool, and look up to see James hovering over me. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and it accentuates his forearms so nicely it’s enough to distract me from my morose mental bender.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your Funyunning.” He clears his throat, and I blink to focus, eyes scanning down his arms (he really does have very nice arms) to where he’s carrying a bag of Funyuns in one hand and a beer in the other. This makes him my current dream man.
With my own bag empty, my mouth waters immediately. From the Funyuns, not the forearms. I think. “Those for me?”
“I thought you might need them after …” He jerks his head back toward the hotel. “That. But I see you beat me to it.”
That.
Embarrassment washes over me again. Muttering a bleak thanks, I take the offered bag and look down; my hair slides forward, mercifully blocking his view of my flushed cheeks.
“Mind if I join you?”
I can think of at least twelve things I’d rather do than talk this out right now, but I motion to the ground next to me anyway. “Knock yourself out.”
He takes a moment to toe off his shoes and roll up the legs of his expensive pants before taking a seat next to me and gently lowering his feet into the water. He lets out a quiet, rumbling groan that sends a surge of goose bumps up my legs.
“It’s nice out here,” he says, surveying the patio and then the balconies overlooking where we sit. “My room has a view of the Hooters across the street.”
I laugh. “You’re probably the first straight man to ever say that and sound disappointed.”
“Never was a huge fan of the color orange.” When he grins wolfishly, I am reminded that he has lovely white teeth but very sharp—and oddly seductive—canines. They change his face from nerdy-serious to sexy-devious.
“A shame,” I agree.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a bottle opener and pops off the cap of the beer before setting the bottle on the cement between us. I manage to wait all of two seconds before carefully picking it up and taking a long drink.
I watch the boys roughhousing on the opposite end of the pool. For as long as I can with James, I want to ignore the shrill-voiced, platinum-haired elephant in the proverbial room. I open the fresh bag to reach for a Funyun, and my crunch is comically loud in the awkward silence between us.
“Sorry,” I say around the bite. James laughs and takes the bag, reaching inside for a few and popping one in his mouth.
“You been out here this whole time?” he asks. Since you got your head chewed off, he means.
“I had a really awkward trip to the convenience store on the corner. Who knew sobbing at the checkout while buying junk food would make the cashier so uncomfortable. I’m sure he assumed I was on my period.” I pause, adding inexplicably, “—I’m not.”
