Page 26 of The Summer of Wild

He's young, hot, and free.

Free from me.

Free to hang out with lots of girls.

All the scenarios racing through my head right now involve other women, of course. My mind can't help but go there. We were together for four years. Four years.

Unlike Wilder, Cash has only had sex with one girl. He's never sowed any wild oats (as Mom would say). He's never even kissed anyone else. Maybe he wants to.

Which leads me to the next horrible thought. He left me. Like it was easy or something.

How could he walk away after four years? Why didn't he fight for me? Did he just use his parents as an excuse to dump me? I mean, I know it's Europe. If Dad offered to send me on a sightseeing exploration for eight weeks, I'd probably go, too. The furthest I've ever been from home is across the state line to shop for a prom dress. And that's only because Mom got lost. She's not great with directions.

What if he left me because he wanted a free pass in Europe? What does that say about Cash?

Better yet, what does that say about me?

The app loads and I notice immediately that Cash has changed his avatar. New Cash apparently wears tank tops and sunglasses. The audacity.

Taking a deep breath, I click on his stories and lick my lips nervously. What I'm about to see, I'll never be able to un-see. I should probably do some deep breathing exercises but I'm not really in the mood to connect with my higher self right now. I prefer to view his unattached rendezvous through Europe as snarky, snide Ingrid.

The first story is a picture of Big Ben. Then, the London Eye. And finally, one of Cash standing in front of what looks like a museum. He's alone, but he looks... happy. Why does he look so happy?

My heart dips in my chest as I blink away tears. I was prepared to see girls all over him. I was prepared to see him partying. I was not prepared to see him doing fine without me. No, better than fine. Happy.

"Why are you staring at a picture of Judas?" someone whispers over my shoulder.

Frazzled, I fumble with my phone, nearly dropping it on the concrete below.

"Why do you always sneak up on me?" I hold my phone to my chest, my heart pounding a million miles a second.

"I like to keep you on your toes," Wilder winks.

"Well, don't," I snap.

Wilder points to the phone in my hand. "Why are you stalking him? And why are you doing it on Snapchat? He'll know. He checks to see who views his stories."

"He won't know," I say as my breathing evens out.

"Why won't he?"

I hold my phone up. "Secret account."

"You have a secret Snapchat account?"

I nod. "I do. Does that make me pathetic?"

"Depends on what your secret account name is."

"Pam."

"Pam?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, you are pathetic, Pam."

Well, at least he didn't call me Blondie.

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