One Hot Summer - Page 107

“No see,” I reply, my throat suddenly dry, and I have to cough to get my voice back to normal.

Noah hasn’t been around in a couple of summers, not since his sister’s boating accident. We must have been fourteen or fifteen the last time I saw him. I think his family still owns their old beach house, but it’s been shuttered for years now, and I never did find the nerves to ask Randy or any of his other friends where he’d been.

Noah bends down—significantly, as he’s grown about a foot since I saw him last—and presses a small kiss to my cheek. No hug.

“You’re back,” I comment.

“Just for a few weeks,” Randy interjects. “Staying with me at my crib.”

“You mean, your parents’ crib,” I correct him, teasing, and he grins again.

“Touche, Red.”

I self-consciously run my fingers through my hair, as if Noah didn’t already know I was a red-head, as if he hadn’t known since we were little kids, when it was far brighter, and he’d tease me about my freckled nose.

“Tell me you’re not with Jonah Berry anymore,” Randy jokingly begs, “please, I don’t think my heart can take it.”

I laugh, but can’t help but notice Noah’s eyes focus on mine with interest as they await my response. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. For some reason, though, I hesitate. I know what the answer is, but not for the first time, I wonder if it should be different.

“Yes, I’m still with Jonah,” I concede.

Randy flails his hand to his heart and shakes his head. “You’re killing me, girl.”

Vaguely I detect the subtle shake of Noah’s head, as if he’s disappointed. Not in general, but in me, and, weirdly, it stings. I don’t owe that guy anything. I don’t even really know him. Certainly not this tall, grown, built version of him. His hazel eyes are the same, that intent stare, but his jaw is more defined, his cheeks more chiseled. His lips are fuller, kissably so, and I swallow anxiously, guiltily, not quite sure where the thought even came from.

I guess childhood crushes die hard.

But I’m not a child, I’m eighteen, and my relationship is none of his, or anyone else’s business.

Noah just turns toward the entrance to Boardwalk Bagels, though, and mutters something about seeing me around, without so much as looking back. It shouldn’t bug me, but for some reason, it does.

Randy hurries after Noah, walking backwards to tell me that they’ll see me later at the beach, and to text him when I know where the party is. Because there always, always, is a party.

3

I’ve been best friends with Jillian Penn since we met on the beach when we were both eight. She is a rare hybrid, having begun life in Atlantic West as a summer person, only to move here full time when her parents divorced. She lives in the Estates full-time, in her beautiful Mediterranean style home, right on the beach, making it more than ideal for parties. Especially with her father in the city and her mom out of town for a good chunk of the summer.

It’s also convenient for me, as my mom can’t exactly give me a hard time about sleeping over my bestie’s house, and if she knows I’m sleeping out, I don’t have to worry about her staying up until the early hours waiting for me at home.

Jonah is drunk as usual, pressuring me to impress all of his friends with one of my “famous” keg-stands. Somehow, he has yet to notice that I haven’t done a keg-stand in probably two years, in favor of enjoying my drinks while standing upright—shocking, I know. After all, I haven’t been “famous” for anything of the sort since sophomore year of high school, a time Jonah seems to have trouble letting go of. Nor am I remotely interested in doing anything at all for the sole purpose of impressing his friends. Or anyone else for that matter.

I attempt to shrug off the strange, melancholic air that seems to thicken the mild, evening sea breeze. It’s become more frequent as of late, like I, too, am holding onto something I know I’ve been ready to move on from for a while now, and it’s not just my eagerness for college. I head out through Jillian’s family’s French patio doors, and beyond the pool full of drunk and high teens doing reckless flips off the roof of the pool house, others making out, heedless of the mostly disinterested audience. I make my way down to the sand, intent on letting my typically bare feet cool in the lazy surf.

“Hey, Red!” Randy’s familiar, happy-go-lucky voice rings out from behind me. I spin in place, and my smile falters briefly as Noah Reed’s massive, impressively forged body casts an imposing shadow at his side.

“Uh, hi, Rand.”

His goofy grin puts me at ease just as Noah’s inscrutable, vaguely unimpressed gaze gets my hackles up. But then his eyes rove my body, landing on my own, and there’s a flicker of something. Interest? Desire?

Whatever it is have my belly fluttering in a way Jonah never has.

Noah has always been smart and thoughtful in a way Jonah has always been reckless and uncaring. And for some reason, in this moment, their juxtaposition strikes me.

I purposefully shut down the unwelcome wave of discontent, the embers trying to kindle that awareness from not so deep within my psyche that whispers that Jonah is not the guy for me. Which is not to say Noah is. I mean, Noah is the kind of guy who’s for everyone. Let’s be honest, there isn’t a straight girl in town who wouldn’t take one glance at him and start drooling. For God’s sake, I nearly run my hand over my own lips to check for drool.

I side-step the two of them, gesturing for them to continue on into the party, as I continue on my way to the water.

Thirty seconds later I’m around the dunes and skimming the surf with my toes. I huff out a deep breath, letting the usual calming effect waft over me. There’s nothing on the horizon but the moon and a couple of freight ships, and the sight of it has always soothed me.

Tags: Heidi McLaughlin Romance
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