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“I’m tired. Think I’ll let Reid know I want to leave.”
“If he’d rather stay longer, I could take you home.” He looks and sounds considerate. I assume he’s a good person if he’s Reid’s friend.
“Sure. Let me find out.”
I walk over to Reid and Bristol, mostly eager to know if they’re getting back together.
“Think it over,” Bristol slurs. “It could work better next time.” She tries to touch his chest, but he brushes her hand away.
His reaction incites a fit of celebratory laughter on the inside.
Geez. I need to diminish these emotions.
“You should go home,” Reid advises. “Your friend’s waiting.”
Bristol utters a whiny sound and cuts to me. “It’s you. He pushed me away right before you came here. You’re not his fucking cousin, are you?”
I flick to Reid.
He simply shrugs.
“Come on, Bristol,” her friend implores, pulling her. “Let’s go.”
“Wait...I’m still talking to Reid...” Against her protests, her friend tows her up the beach to the parking area.
“Is that true?” I ask. “Did you break it off right when—”
“Funny enough, I heard on Sunday night that you’re coming. That was after I ended things with Bristol.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you ask?” He edges closer, causing my heart to skip. “What does it matter?”
I wobble my head and snort to play it off. “It doesn’t. Mark offered to take me home if you want to stay.”
“No,” he rushes out. “I mean, we’ll leave together. I’m over it, anyway.”
“Okay.”
We walk to the car, knocking sand out of our shoes before getting in.
As Reid leaves the parking area, a question plays on my mind.
When he turns onto the road, I ask, “Why did you lie about playing video games with your friend? Is it because you met up with Bristol? Mark revealed the truth without knowing it. Cause apparently, you lied to him, too.”
He sighs before speaking. “I didn’t see Bristol. That’s definitely over. I had to…” He stops himself.
Lights from a passing vehicle allow me to make out a scowl on his face.
“Is everything all right?”
He groans. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on. You can talk to me. We used to tell each other everything.”
He looks over briefly. “Cassie, we spent seven years apart.” The statement triggers a sad feeling.
“Which translates to you don’t want to tell me because you don’t trust me.”
“Look, it’s—”
“It’s all right.” I turn to the window, adding, “I hope you’ll be able to trust me again by the end of summer.”
I shiver at the sudden feel of his hand on mine. He holds it, and I press my eyes shut to fight off the path my body wants to embark on as he traces my knuckles with his thumb.
We used to hold hands all the time as kids. There’s nothing wrong with that. Yet, his touch now is turning me slick between my thighs.
Oh god. I’m in trouble.
