“Hello. Eyes. Open.”
Knowing I got lost in thought again, I grin as a contented sigh drifts from between my lips. My chin lowers, emerald eyes reopening, ready to join the conversation with a laughed, “What?”
Aubrey holds her phone to my face, showing me her Instagram feed. Ah, that’s what. There’s a photo of a senior she likes named Chase. His arm is wrapped around a girl she despises, named Chloe.
The caption reads: All my sunsets belong to you.
“Gross,” I answer like a good friend. “And ironic, since that photo was taken in the middle of the day. Sunset?”
“Exactly,” Piper adds. “You dodged a ‘dumbass’ bullet. He’s totally the kind of guy that doesn’t know the diff between your and you’re.”
We’re nodding as a hint of a smile graces Aubrey’s face before disappearing just as quickly. I frown down, sticking out my bottom lip, but she rolls her eyes, acting like she doesn’t care—even though she’s still scrolling.
Boys are dubious creatures. They always assure you that they mean what they say but never seem to do what they mean. Aubrey looks up, attempting to mask her feelings.
“Whatever. He’s a shitty lacrosse player anyway. And a terrible kisser. He basically tried to french my tonsils.”
Piper lies over my lap, propping her chin on her hand as we both watch Aubrey pull shades from her bag and squint into the sun before putting them on.
“Aubs—” Piper offers, extending her other hand, but Aubrey ignores the gesture, changing the subject.
“I’m fine. I’m so ready for a tan and for all the families that come to summer. I wonder if we’ll see those Hillcrest boys again? Which one did I think was cute?”
Piper glances up at me with a smile but answers Aubrey. “Um…both.”
Aubrey smirks. “That’s right. Choices are the key ingredient to a happy life. You can write that down.”
“Whore,” Piper mouths, eliciting a chuckle from me.
“I saw that. And speaking of whores.” Aubrey closes in on me, motioning with her chin over my shoulder and whispering, “Hunter’s here.”
Piper stands, looking behind me, but I don’t dare do the same. I can’t.
I know my cheeks are already red.
Hunter is that guy at St. Simeon-Burr Catholic Prep, Burr for short. He plays every sport and wins. Excels academically. He’s the one everyone listens to and wants to emulate.
And to add insult to injury, Hunter has flawless hair, a perfectly tanned six-pack, and is blessed with eyes almost as seductive as his pedigree.
He’s the All-American golden-boy type.
And last week, that golden boy called me Freckles.
It was a two-second interaction, but enough to be kind of memorable. I was on the field taking some last-minute makeup photos for the yearbook. One minute I’m hidden behind my camera, and then the next, he’s right there next to me.
“Want to take my photo?”
I keep my eye against the viewer, heart racing, trying to play it cool.
“I didn’t realize you were in Band too.”
He laughs, and I sneak a quick glance, still pretending to take photos. His thumbs are tucked under the straps of his backpack. And—Oh. My. God—he’s shirtless. I’d shake his parents’ hands if I could. Well done, Kellys.
“I’m not. I was at swim practice.”
Lacrosse, crew, swim—he really does do everything.
I don’t answer, clicking at nothing because what else am I going to do? Hunter doesn’t move or offer anything else as he stands next to me, making the butterflies in my stomach flutter like a tornado.
We may have known each other our whole lives, but I’ve never been on his radar, like ever. And I’m starting to feel grateful because I feel too nervous to speak.
“So?” he laughs, bumping my shoulder. “Are you going to talk to me or what?”
Swinging my camera lens toward his face, I click without warning, grinning when he jumps.
“Hey. No fair. You didn’t tell me to say cheese.”
I lower my camera and shrug, chewing the inside of my cheek. His smile grows, gleaming white teeth on display. Hunter steps in closer, crowding my space, but I don’t back away, feet rooted to the turf, lump in my throat.
He bends forward, his face so close that I stop breathing.
“Well, whaddya know? I like ’em. A lot.”
He straightens as he presses his thumb to his bottom lip and sweeps it across. My eyes obediently watch.
Hunter’s feet carry him backward a few steps before he turns to leave. When he does, my body finally unfreezes, heat burning my cheeks as I call out.
“Wait. What does that mean—you like ’em?”
Hunter looks over his shoulder, giving me a wink. “See you around, Freckles.”
Laughter from under a sprawling oak tree draws my attention, quieting the memory. A group of freshman boys in khakis are huddled together, playfully shoving each other while taking quick glances at some girls in tartan plaid school skirts like mine.
“Sut.” Aubrey nudges me. “Hunter’s so hot. You need to secure that boy.”
“Leave her alone. Maybe she’s not into him, Aubs. Not everyone wants to date a god.”
“Zip it,” I hiss, watching her wink.
Aubrey spins around quickly. “Oh my God. He’s totally looking over here. Smile at him or something, Sutton. Go. Do it now.”
I shake my head quickly. “No. Nooo. No way. That’s dumb.”
Piper speaks to my profile, keeping her lips together to pretend she isn’t talking.
“Just, like, look over your shoulder. Like in a movie, all slow and hair flippy. Give him a tiny smile. Trust me, it works in every Netflix movie.”
I take a breath, trying not to laugh. “Oh sure, if it’s good enough for Netflix. Because that’s real life. I mean, maybe if he were Jacob Elordi—”
“Get in the car, Elle!” Piper growls, quoting The Kissing Booth and making us laugh before adding, “Just do it, chicken.”
Aubrey pokes me. “Do it, ya dirty virgin.”
Ugh, she had to go there. It’s the equivalent of a double-dog dare.
A groan rattles my chest. “I hate you two so much. Like a tremendous amount of despising is happening inside of my body right now.”
“Yeah, but our hymens aren’t begging, pleading, to be broken.”
Piper laughs as Aubrey sticks her tongue out at me while I attempt to hide my smile.
I seriously dislike being the only one of the three of us with absolutely zero experience. Maybe not zero. Fingers, sure. Kissing, yes. Even a good dry hump has happened. But I’m sans all the rest of the goodies in the sex department. And it sucks. Times are starting to feel a bit desperate over here because, at this rate, I’ll be a forty-year-old virgin.
Then again, that almost seems like a better idea than flirting back with Hunter. Because Piper’s right. I am too chicken. Especially with Hunter—because, Jesus…he’s Hunter.
Rubbing my lips together, I hope for the bravery I need before steeling my spine. Another giggle escapes. This is so dumb.
My forefinger picks at the Tiffany blue polish on my thumbnail as I swallow and casually glance over my shoulder, trying to ignore Aubrey moaning, “Oh, Hunter. Yes. Right there. It’s so big. Put it in my butt.”