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“Aw, that’s so sweet, Masie,” I joked, mostly to annoy her, “But if you’re about to ask me out on a date, I’m going to have to decline. Not because I don’t like you and think you’re not pretty, but I just don’t swing that way.”
She sighed. “Oh, Alexis.”
She says that a lot when she's frustrated with me. She reminds me of my mom when she does, but if I ever told her that, she’d get pissed.
I swallow hard at the sudden thought of my mom. While I try not to think about her or my dad, sometimes thoughts of them sneak up on me. Which might sound weird, but after they died in a car accident when I was fifteen, I made a vow to not deal with the pain. And that meant not thinking about them. And that is part of the reason why “the wall,” as Masie calls it, was put up. That’s when I became more closed off. But it’s better that way. Easier. Because trust me, I’ve tried a few times to let the wall down, but the pain hidden behind it is too unbearable.
“Earth to Alexis.” Masie waves her hand in front of my face, yanking me from my thoughts. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Um, sure,” I lie, but she draws down her sunglasses and narrows her eyes at me . I sigh. “All right, fine, I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry. But I was just thinking about something.”
Her brow crooks. “About Blaine?”
“No.” It might be the first time I answered that question truthfully, since usually, he’s on my mind
A lot.
Okay, that was a lie. I think about Blaine about ninety-nine percent of the time. But hey, what else am I supposed to think about? Blaine is the easiest thing to occupy my brain.
“I’m telling the truth.” I flip the page of the mystery book I’ve been reading for the last hour while Masie and I have been sun tanning.
Or well, Masie has been tanning while I doused my body in so much sunscreen I feel like a greasy French fry.
Masie is the opposite of me, her tan skin glistening against the sun. Add that to her sun-kissed blonde hair and curvy body, and she’s practically a beach goddess. And then there’s me. Long, dark brown—nearly black—hair, pale skin and a few freckles here and there, tall and slightly on the gangly side. I look like I belong in the basement or a crypt. But that’s okay. The look doesn’t bother me. It used to, back in the day when I actually used to wear a lot of pink and glittery things. But after my parents died, I decided to hell with it and became a new person. A person who wears a lot of black and studded clothing and who would never, ever be caught dead wearing anything sparkly.
“You don’t belong in a crypt,” Masie says as she reaches for a glass of lemonade that's on the table between us.
“I didn’t mean to say that aloud.”
“Well, you did.” She takes a sip of the drink then sets the glass down. “You know, you talk to yourself a lot.”
“And you say that a lot.”
“Touché.” She grins.
I mirror her grin, but frown when the back gate to her house creaks open. Bolting upright, I rush to grab my towel to cover up. Because there is no way in hell I’m going to let anyone see this much of me.
“Don’t you dare.” Masie sits up and snatches the towel from my hands.
“Give me that back,” I growl, lunging at her.
Grinning, she jumps up from the lounge chair and skitters toward the diving board.
The gate is around the corner of her two-story brick house that she rents from her parents, so I don’t have a view of who’s coming back here. But the last thing I want is for her younger brother, the pool cleaner, the landscapers, or anyone else to see me rocking a two-piece. Granted, it’s a nice two-piece. Black with cute little boy short bottoms embroidered with stars. But my stomach, legs, cleavage—what I have anyway—and even the bottom of my ass cheeks are on display. And I’m not comfortable with anyone other than Masie—and even her I’m not that comfortable with—seeing me like this.
“Masie,” I warn as I hurry toward her. “If you don’t give me my towel back, I’ll…”
She hops onto the diving board with my towel in her hand. “You’ll what?” She inches toward the edge.
“I’ll….” I rack my brain for a nice, vicious threat, my gaze skimming the backyard, the pool, the lounge chairs. When I spot the high heeled, designer shoes she wore out here, an idea strikes me. I turn around, grinning at her. “I’ll throw your shoes in the pool.”
Her grin fades. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wanna bet?” I pad over to the lounge chair, pick up her shoes, and walk to the edge of the pool. Then I dangle her pretty footwear that I could never afford over the water. “Now, come on, give me my towel back.”
She eyes the shoes then sighs as she backs up. “Fine. But please just step away from the water. You’re making me nervous.”
I take a few steps back, but remain close enough in case she backs out of our agreement. Frowning, she makes her way off the diving board and climbs down the ladder. As her feet plant onto the concrete, the back gate intruder rounds the house.
Suddenly, her younger brother, the pool boy, or the landscapers doesn’t seem that terrible of options. Because the person that enters the backyard is none other than Blaine.
As always, he’s in full, sexy form; light brown hair, the most gorgeous blue eyes ever, a rock hard body, lean arms. He’s sporting board shorts and a green shirt, my favorite color on him…
