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I grit my teeth and shove her from my mind. We’ve broken up twice before, but even with our on and off cycle, she’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had. It was kind of nice to have someone who wanted me for more than my body. Someone who wanted to talk to me and lean on me. Or so I thought, but she was only after the same thing every girl I’ve hooked up wants—my dick and the bragging rights for taking a ride.
Being needed felt good. Made it seem like I was doing something right when everything else was up in the air. It made me realize how much I want that for real, and it’s thrown me off my usual game since the start of summer.
Not wanting to think about any of it, I shut down that line of thinking to return later and haunt me when I’m laying in bed buzzed or baked to take the edge off. My advisor said there was time. Until then, my summer is going to be filled with time on my board in the ocean, hanging with my boy Jacks and our friends, and getting up to crazy shit as usual during the tourist season.
Jackson pushes his hand against the back of my head with a playful shove. I get him back by stealing the ball and pivoting before making another beautiful shot. I know it’s going in the net before it makes it, and Jacks knows it too, groaning as he slings an arm over my shoulder.
“I’m calling it,” he says.
“Aight. I’m heading in for a drink. It’s hot as fuck out.” He grunts in agreement while stripping out of his stretched out muscle tank. I jerk my thumb toward his kitchen door. “Want anything?”
“I’m good. I’ve got to shower, anyway. My shift at the Shack starts in an hour.”
Adjusting the bill of my favorite baseball cap, I shoot him a smirk. Everyone in our social circle, including his sister, works at the Tiki Taco Shack. The small beachfront shop is a staple in town.
“Later, man.” I give Jackson a fist bump.
“Peace and love, brother.”
He heads inside first, while I check my phone. No texts from Kayla. I didn’t expect any, and yet some part of me keeps hoping because even though she just likes to play games, we were together long enough for me to want it to be more. To be serious.
This is ridiculous. Why the hell am I mooning over her? I’m not a guy who does serious relationships. It’s how I got my rep as a player.
Whatever.
Music sounds from the house. The corner of my mouth lifts when I recognize it as one of Tatum Danvers’ playlists. I’ve grown up as their neighbor and Tate loves to play her music loud when she’s trying to get in the zone and hype herself up for whatever goal she’s chasing. She’s someone that always knows what she wants to do, plus the five steps that follow it. I admire that about her.
A familiar but unwarranted warmth fills my chest as I walk toward the door. It’s the exact opposite of how I should feel when I think about my best friend’s younger sister.
Sure enough, I find her in the kitchen with her phone on the counter blasting her Spotify playlist. She’s lingering in the fridge, half hidden and unaware of my presence. Swiping my tongue over my lip, I give in to the urge to peek at her playlist title. This one’s calledmain character theme music: the soundtrack of a bad bitch. An amused huff slips out of me.
Tatum gasps as if she’s been caught sneaking around, turning a wide-eyed look on me. “Hey.”
Damn, she’s cute. The only thing that’s kept me from resisting her is the fact I’m not allowed to want her.
“‘Sup.” I nod in greeting with my chin. “Psyching yourself up or something?”
“Or something.” The shy smile she offers turns determined, and she rakes her teeth over her lip.
I track the movement, mirroring it absently. Cheeks coloring, she clears her throat and turns away, messing around with her phone while I grab a glass from the cabinet. The cool thing about growing up as next-door neighbors with your best friend is how comfortable you become in each other’s house. Jackson is the same when he’s at my place.
Without asking, because I don’t need to when I know the answer, I get a glass for Tatum, too. I detour to the fridge for ice and the jug of fresh homemade lemonade Mrs. Danvers keeps full throughout the summer. Our glasses sweat from the chilled drink against the heat.
I add a splash of water to hers, because she always complains about lemonade being too sweet without cutting it. Weirdo. My mouth curves affectionately of its own accord.
“Here.” I hold the glass over Tatum’s shoulder from behind as I pass by, taking a deep, refreshing gulp from my own. “Goddamn, your mom makes the best lemonade.”
Her spine stiffens at my proximity, and she whips around, nearly knocking the glass from my hand. I set it down before she spills it and place a steadying hand on her arm.
“Careful.”
“I—sorry.” Tatum’s stare lifts from where I’m touching her to meet my gaze. “Thanks. For the drink.”
My thumb strokes her arm. She has nice, soft skin. “No problem.”
Those full lips tug into a smile that makes my stomach tighten. If only I could have something with her. We’d be great together. Unlike my other hookups, something with her would be more than physical.
Except that can’t ever happen. It’s a line I won’t cross. Her brother would end me for ever touching her—for even thinking about touching her.
