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When I pull back and open my eyes, I lock onto Summer’s swollen mouth. I quickly slide my gaze to the table loaded with presents, because if I look at Summer’s lips for a second longer, I’m going to be sporting a hard-on in the middle of my birthday party.
I sling my arm around Summer and walk over to the dining room table, shaking my head in disbelief. “Shit, guys. You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Maybe not,” Rhys says, “but now that we did, when our birthdays come up, you do have to get us something.” He adds a wink.
Everyone laughs, and I join in.
“Mine first, mine first!” Tuck chirps.
I roll my eyes as he thrusts his surprisingly well-wrapped gift towards me. When I rip off the paper, my eyes go wide at what’s in my hands.
“Holy shit, Tuck! How much did this cost you?” He got me a vintage Toronto Maple Leafs jacket in pristine quality.
Tuck just slaps me on the back, a big smile on his face. “Let my dad’s credit card company worry about the dollar figure, bro,” he says.
Lane got me a really nice neck pillow, telling me I’ll be swearing by it just like he does once we’re up to our elbows in long bus rides when the season gets underway. Sebastian got me a book of short stories by that author he was talking about a while back, Jorge Luis Borges. Now that Summer’s got me more into reading than I’ve ever been, I’m actually excited to crack it open. Rhys got me a heated massage pad for my desk chair. “Wait until your body’s aching in the middle of the season but you still gotta sit upright at your desk to crank out an essay,” he says after I unwrap it. “You’ll be thanking me then.”
Then, Summer hands me her present. When I unwrap it, it feels like my heart trips over its own two feet. Hearts aren’t even supposed to have feet, but this girl just made mine grow a pair and trip over them.
“Holy shit,” I marvel at the watercolor painting of me playing with Salsa.
“You like it?” Summer asks eagerly, sidling closer next to me.
“Are you kidding? I love it!”
Summer makes a happy noise in her throat, jumping up and down at my side. She wraps her arms around my bicep. “I commissioned it from an artist online. I used a real picture I snapped of you two playing together.”
Earlier, the realization that I’ve been an ass to Summer hit me like a tsunami. This time, it hits me like a fucking meteor hurtling to Earth from outer space. While I was giving her the cold shoulder and being a jerk, she was commissioning beautiful, original art of me and my cat.
“I can’t wait to hang this on my wall,” I say.
“About time you put something up in there. Looks like a damn prison cell,” Tuck mumbles. I’d pay him back for his comment with a middle finger, but I’m too busy admiring the picture that Summer’s put in a beautiful brown wood frame.
The party disperses around the living room. Drinks are on hand, and there’s a meat and cheese spread for people to nibble on, not to mention a giant cake that people are helping themselves to.
I shy away from it. The regular season is right around the corner, and I need to get more vigilant about my diet, but it goes without saying that Summer won’t let me get out of taking a giant slice for myself.
After making the rounds to thank everyone for showing up—making the rounds at a party, that’s gotta be a first for me—I find Summer. We get some space for ourselves by the mostly ravaged cake.
“Thanks for everything, Summer,” I say. I put my heart into the words, because I mean them.
She smiles, a sweet blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And that’s after I’ve been a total asshole to you for two weeks.”
That gets me a laugh, but she shakes her head at the same time. “You haven’t been an asshole.”
“Bullshit again.” I don’t want to be let off the hook that easy.
“You needed your space. I get it.”
This girl puts up with me being a sullen grump after kissing her, plans me a surprise birthday party, and then tries to make me feel better about said sullen-grump era.
Space is what I thought I needed. To keep myself from falling for Summer, which I’d felt myself dangerously at risk of.
Truth be told? I still feel at risk of it. It feels like I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff by my fingertips, feet dangling over the vast expanse of Feelings for Summer Canyon, just one slip or slide of my fingers away from plunging into it.
But treating Summer like she doesn’t mean anything to me is one thing I won’t do again.
