Page 45 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I finish helping Bridget move the furniture and return to my place, collapsing heavily on the couch. The same couch upon which I was supposed to have manipulated an earnest conversation into sex with Emerson, apparently.

I pull out my phone, though I know I should not.

So apparently, the way to your heart is either by dating your mother or taking advantage of you during a flood.

The Princess

I have no heart. But those are the best ways into my pants. Not that you would care, as you’ve eschewed all premarital pants-entering.

I didn’t say I’d ESCHEWED premarital sex. And a guy named Harold Sossaman wouldn’t know what to do with your pants, much less what’s inside them.

He’s a doctor.

An orthopedist.

I’m sure there were female cadavers in med school.

What are you implying he did to the cadavers?

I just meant he was familiar with the parts. But your eagerness to discuss necrophilia with a relative stranger is a red flag. Maybe I’m glad you refused to fuck me in the bathroom at Beck’s.

1. You’re not a stranger. 2. You’re the one who brought up necrophilia, so that’s not on me. 3. I don’t recall you OFFERING to let me fuck you in the bathroom.

Well, I was but now I’m saving myself for Harold Sossaman. I appreciated what you said about meals versus snacks, however. I might even wait until we’ve gone through the whole stupid art exhibit before I let him have his way with me.

I’m even more frustrated than I was when I started texting her.

No, actually, Bridget was right…

I’m not frustrated. I’m pissed.

24

EMMY

Harold texts with details. He suggests we meet at his office rather than my mother’s house to avoid making her uncomfortable, which is disappointing, as her discomfort was the thing I looked forward to the most.

“You definitely sound like your heart’s in the right place,” Chloe chides later, adjusting me in tree pose. “Every ounce of excitement I’ve heard in your voice is related to how mad it’s going to make your mom when you use this guy.”

“I’m not using him,” I argue. “I’m giving him a shot. Maybe I’ll like him. And it’s not like he isn’t hoping against hope to use me right back. He’s in this to get laid—nothing more.”

“And I guess you’ll do it just so you can text your mom and rub it in her face?” Chloe asks, going into triangle pose.

“Think how much better every Disney fairy tale would be with that,” I reply, following her movements. “Dear Evil Queen, the prince just said I’m prettier and better in bed. Love, Snow White.”

“I don’t think Prince Charming ever slept with the evil queen,” Chloe says. “But I hate that you’re otherwise correct.”

The sun is setting as I walk back down Main Street afterward. Bradley is across the road, glaring at me as she climbs into her beat-up car. I give her the finger and smile as I continue on toward the grocery store, where Liam’s truck is now the only vehicle parked in front. I’d normally avoid being seen in my current state, but after an hour of exercise, I’m positively ebullient. I don’t care that I’ve sweated off my makeup, that my hair looks like crap.

I don’t even have an excuse to go see him. I’ll come up with something.

I push open the door and enter the store, which is growing dim in the dying light, to find him on the floor with a level and a tape measure.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I announce as I walk in and hop up on the folding table, “but I think you work too hard.”

His eyes flicker to my crop top and pants before he returns to his work as if I haven’t spoken.

I shouldn’t be in here and he is doing exactly what I’d theoretically want him to do, but the fact that he’s ignoring me is deeply annoying.

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