“I get it, they’re designer sweaters. But the whole point of spring cleaning is to get rid of stuff—and you haven’t thrown out a single thing.” I jab my finger at the meager pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. It’s the donation pile, and it consists of two T-shirts, a pair of jeans, and one cardigan.
“I have a hard time letting go of things,” she huffs, whipping her blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Don’t you have a walk-in closet at your place in Greenwich? And another one in Manhattan?”
“Yes. So?”
“So nobody needs that many closets, Summer! I get by with a handful of outfits that I rotate.”
“You only wear black,” she retorts. “Of course it’s easy to throw an outfit together when all you wear is black. You don’t give a shit about fashion—you put on a black shirt and black pants and black boots and red lipstick and you’re done. Well, black isn’t my color. It makes me look too BDSM. I need color, Brenna! My life is colorful. I’m a colorful person—”
“You’re a crazy person,” I counter.
“I am not crazy.”
“Yes, you are,” her boyfriend confirms as he waltzes into the room. Fitz’s full-sleeve tattoos ripple as he wraps his arms around Summer from behind, bending his head to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek.
“I hate you two,” I grumble. “You’re so disgustingly happy. Go be happy somewhere else.”
“Sorry, Bee, but we’re not going to hide our love from the world,” Summer says, and begins peppering kisses all over Fitz’s cheek, making loud smooch noises that make me want to vomit.
Well, not quite, but I pretend to gag because she is being ridiculous.
“What are you guys up to?” Fitz glances at me. “I didn’t even realize you were here.”
“You were sleeping when Bee got here,” Summer says. “We’re cleaning out my closet. I’m donating a bunch of stuff.”
He looks at the full closet and then the tiny pile on the bed. “Cool. Did you just get started?”
I snort. “We’ve been at it for more than an hour! In one hour she’s decided to give away a T-shirt.”
“It’s more than a T-shirt,” Summer protests.
Our voices lure Hollis in from the hall. He wanders into Summer’s room and flops down near the foot of her bed. He’s in sweatpants, a wife-beater, and when his bare feet knock over the meager donation pile, he doesn’t even notice.
“Sweet. Are you trying on clothes for us? When do we get to lingerie? Fitz, tell your girlfriend I require a lingerie fashion show as a reward for the emotional distress she’s caused me.”
“What are you babbling about now?” I ask him.
I’m at the head of the bed, so he has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. “Summer told me what you assholes did to me.”
I give him a blank look.
“My stalker?” he prompts. “I know you encouraged it.”
“She’s not stalking you,” Summer argues.
“Are you serious?” Hollis gapes at her. “She’s called me every single day since we went out for dinner.”
“You went out on Thursday,” Summer reminds him. “That was literally two days ago. Which means she’s called you twice. Chill the eff out.”
“Twice? I fucking wish! She calls at least three times a day.”
“Yeah, and you pick up every time,” Summer shoots back, “and talk to her for an hour, sometimes more.”
“I talk?” He rakes both hands through his hair. “She talks! That chick doesn’t shut up.”
“I assume we’re talking about Rupi?” I hedge, fighting laughter.
“Of course we’re talking about Rupi!” he roars. “She’s an insane person, you realize that, right? Are you sure she didn’t escape from a mental institution in Bali?”
“Bali?” I echo.
“She said that’s where her mom is from. She’s some movie star in Bali.”
“A Bollywood star.” Summer giggles. “That means India, not Bali.”
“Oh.” He thinks it over, then shakes his head. “Nope, that doesn’t make it better. She’s still nuts.”
“How did the dinner go?” I ask him.
He twists around to glare at me.
I blink politely. “Not well?”
His face is cloudy. “She talked the entire time, and she wouldn’t even let me kiss her good night.”
“Wait, you’re saying you wanted to kiss her good night?” Fitz speaks up. He’s leaning on the edge of Summer’s desk. His girlfriend, meanwhile, is back inside her closet, flipping through hangers.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Colin,” Hollis says haughtily. “Just because she’s crazy doesn’t mean I don’t want to make out with her.”
“Classy,” I tell him. “You’re a real romantic at heart.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Hey, the Hollis store is still open. Pop in whenever you want, Jensen.”
“Pass. Anyway, so no kiss, huh?”
“Nope!” He looks outraged. “She doesn’t kiss on the first date. She’s making me wait! Until date three.”
Fitz doubles over in laughter. “Hold on a sec,” he wheezes. “You’re going out with her again?”
I snicker. “Two more times?”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” Hollis moans. “Apparently I’m taking her to a movie on Tuesday.”