Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I realize his gaze hasn’t once drifted to my chest, though. Or if it has, he’s done it so smoothly and discreetly that I hadn’t noticed. His eyes remain fixed on my face, and for a moment I’m tongue-tied. I see attractive guys back in Boston all the time. My college campus is practically crawling with them. But something about this one is making me wobbly in the knees.
Before I can think of a witty response to his cute girl remark—or any response at all, really—my phone dings again. I glance down. Another text from Peyton. Followed by another one.
“Someone’s popular,” he teases.
“Um, yeah. I mean, no. It’s just my friend.” I grit my teeth. “She’s one of those annoying people who send, like, ten one-line messages instead of a single paragraph, so they just keep popping up and the phone dings over and over again until you want to smash it over their head. I hate that—don’t you hate that?”
His jaw drops. “Yes,” he says, with such sincerity I have to grin. He shakes his head. “I fucking hate that.”
“Right?”
A final ding sounds, bringing us to a total of six Peyton messages.
When I skim the notifications, I’m once again thankful to be in the dark, because I’m certain my face is even redder.
Peyton: How’s the party?
Peyton: Any cute guys?
Peyton: Who are we going to fling with?
Peyton: Try to snap some pictures of the candidates!
Peyton: I really want to be part of this process.
Peyton: I wish I was there!
I want to say that Peyton is joking. Alas, she is not. My main purpose for coming to the party tonight was to find a worthy candidate for my summer fling.
It’s been a while since I spent an entire summer in Avalon Bay, but I still remember watching various friends over the years fall headfirst into summer romances. Those passionate, giddy, exhilarating love affairs where you can’t keep your hands off each other and everything feels so urgent and intense because you know it’s only temporary. Every moment is precious because come September, it’s goodbye. I’d been so jealous of those girls, longing for a summertime love of my own, but it was hard to focus on boys and romance when my family was in constant turmoil.
After my parents divorced when I was eleven, Mom and I continued returning for the summers, at least at first. Mom’s side of the family, the Tanners, has a long history with Avalon Bay. My grandparents own a beach house in the more affluent part of town, and they expected us to make the yearly trip to visit them. Back then, Mom and Dad were still putting on the cordial pretense for my sake. Once Dad remarried, however, all bets were off. Mom’s anger and disdain toward him was out in the open now, and vice versa, which made coming back to the Bay an exercise in psychological warfare.
Fortunately, Mom remarried shortly after and announced we would no longer be spending our summers in the South Carolina beach town where I’d been born and raised. I can’t say I wasn’t relieved. It meant that when I did come back to visit, I could see Dad in peace and enjoy myself. Of course, then I’d return to Boston where Mom would interrogate me and demand to know every word my father uttered about her. Which was annoying and unfair, but still better than being trapped in the same town with both of them.
“Are you going to text her back?”
The guy’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. “Oh. No. I’ll answer her later.”
I hastily tuck the phone into my back pocket. If I thought hearing him get dumped had been uncomfortable, it’s nothing compared to the mortification I’d feel if he saw Peyton’s message thread.
He watches me for a moment. “I’m Tate,” he finally says.
I hesitate. “Cassie.”
“Are you here for the summer?”
I nod. “I’m staying with my grandmother—she has a house over on the south end. But I actually grew up in Avalon Bay.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. I moved to Boston with my mom after my parents’ divorce, but my dad still lives here, so I basically became a summer girl. Well, maybe not an official summer girl, since I usually only come back for a week or two every July. Except this year I’m staying till after Labor Day, so I guess I’m a real summer girl now.”
Stop babbling! I order myself.
“What about you?” I ask, desperate to take the focus off me and the fact that I must’ve used the phrase summer girl about four million times in one sentence.
“The opposite of you. I moved to the Bay at the start of junior high. Before that we lived in Georgia. St. Simon’s Island.” Tate sounds a bit glum. “I envy the Boston thing, to be honest. I kind of wish we moved to a city instead of trading one beach town for another. Do you go to school up there?”