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‘Nope.’
‘Why not?’
I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Because he was Archer’s best friend.’
Her mouth pops open, but her eyes fill with mischievous delight. I’m spared from answering for a moment as I serve a customer, but as soon as the woman walks off, Emmy swivels my chair to face her. ‘Did you fuck him?’
‘No.’ But my face burns, my neck, myskin.
She puts a hand over her gaping mouth. ‘Oh my God, you really did.’
‘I didn’t. But we kissed a couple times.’
‘So he was your first kiss?’ She knows about Archer and hisno kisspolicy.
‘Whatever string you’re trying to pull, don’t. I’m not in the mood.’
‘But—‘
‘I’m with Archer now, Em. Whatever the hell Chase and I had doesn’t—‘ I cut myself off, but too late, because her eyes have already brightened. Suddenly she turns back to her computer, opens up her Facebook, and types inChase. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Last name?’ she asks without looking.
‘Oxymoron.’
‘Don’t make me look up British Gas and go through his friends until I find your One True Love.’
‘Mvrick,’ I mutter.
‘What?’
‘Maverick. His name’s Chase Maverick—‘
But Amelia’s already scrolling. I doubt he even has Facebook. In the days following his absence, I never looked him up. I thought about it, but the possibility of seeing his face and how happy he must be in his new life hurt more than the thought of never seeing him again.
Down she scrolls. ‘Michigan, Ohio, Shrewsbury, Birkenhead, France—?’
She knows I won’t tell her—which is why she looks at me, gauging my reaction as she reads off the locations of the different Chases’. She must sense the way my entire body goes still, the way I glance at her wordlessly, because she waggles her brows and clicks her mouse.
‘Ooooo, he’s very pretty,’ Emmy approves. ‘Is it him?’
What are the chances? AChase Maverickfrom France. It can’t be him. It won’t be him—but dread curdles the toast I had for breakfast, and my body starts to shake as I move my chair beside hers and peer at the screen.
Every thought eddies from my mind, and my mouth goes dry, and my heart is a hollow, beating drum in my chest.
It’s Chase—but it’s not him. Not the one I knew and loved. Gone is the reserved, mysterious boy I hated at school. In his profile picture he smiles broadly, showing white teeth, and his dimples are still there. But he looks… like a man. He must be just a shy older than Archer, but Archer looks like a teenager in contrast. Chase’s cheekbones are more prominent, as if he’s grown into his face, and stubble darkens his jaw—a jaw that seems sharper than I ever imagined it. Water sheens on his face, and his dark hair is soaked, and he’s—
He’s shirtless.
I don’t ever recall him being so ripped. Veins snake up his arms, his corded biceps, and those abs—they sink into a prominent V just above his black shorts. I swallow against the dryness in my throat as I take him in, his stupid tan and his water-spattered body and the sleeve of colourless tattoos up his arm: skulls and goddesses and mandala animals, all twined together with thorny vines.
He’s so tall he towers over the petite brunette tucked snugly into his side, his arm flung around her shoulders, her arm wrapped around his waist. She wears a bikini, and she’s beautiful, and she has tattoos of her own all the way down her thigh, and maybe I should have gotten tattoos, too, because that way Chase would have fallen madly in love with me, but maybe she isn’t his girlfriend at all, maybe—
‘He lives in…’ Emmy squints at the screen as she scrolls down his profile. ‘Provence? And he’s a race car mechanic? And he’s—oh, shit.’ She pulls back and bites her lip. ‘He’s in a relationship. I’m so sorry, Frankie.’
It’s okay—at least, that’s what I tell myself. He lives in Provence, home of rolling vineyards and lavender fields and pine forests, whilst I’m stuck here, in shitty London, afraid to leave due to lack of financial stability, afraid to be alone and start from nothing; the only thing I have is the racket outside my living room window and the smell of piss outside the apartment doors.
Archer was his best friend all the way through high school, but he didn’t let that friendship stop him. Maybe I did him a favour and gave him a reason to sever that connection, made it easier for him to walk away. He must’ve been terrified to leave, to start anew and meet new people and kickstart a new job, but he did it. He took that first step.
