Page 64 of The Summer I Destroyed You

My stomach drops. It’s not too hard to picture a worst-case scenario here. Liam and I have had sex in the office twice now. Maybe he told his guys. Maybe we weren’t as quiet as I thought.

What are you talking about?

Chloe

Paul Bellamy just talked shit about you and Liam smashed his face into the bar. And then he said, and I quote, “You think this is bad? Say one more word about her, motherfucker, and you’ll see how bad it can get.” His friends had to pull him away.

Something warms in the center of my chest. It’s pretty easy to imagine what Paul said, and while I hate that Liam heard it, I love that he did something about it. I spent most of my adolescence with no one defending me. Bradley would make some crack about how my desk was creaking too much for her to concentrate and Mr. Green, our bio teacher, would snicker before he scolded her. When I got tripped walking to the podium at that awards ceremony and my dress ripped, my mother blamed me. “You were about to bust out of it anyway.”

No one ever took my fucking side, and finally someone has. For the first time in eighteen years, I long to be in Elliott Springs, just so I can show him how grateful I am. I suppose I’ll have to settle for texting him instead.

Hey.

Yard Boy

Wow. A text from you that isn’t pretending to be about work?

I can ask you if you got the fixtures in if that makes you more comfortable.

I liked it better the first way. What are you doing? Are you at your party?

I look around me. Damien Ellis and his posse are gone. It’s my big chance to press for the things I want. I know he’s going to hit on me and I’ll struggle to escape unscathed, but how many opportunities like this will fall in my lap? I press the button for the elevator to the penthouse.

I’m leaving now.

Yard Boy

If I promise that I don’t think I’m your boyfriend, can I call you?

It sounds boyfriend-ish. I’d probably bitch at you about the store just so you knew where things stand.

I would expect nothing less.

I press the button for the fourth floor at the last moment, and he calls just as I walk into my room. I put him on speaker while I kick off my heels and walk toward the sink.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m getting ready to brush my teeth,” I reply, squeezing out the toothpaste. “Tired Emmy is not my most exciting persona.”

“I’ll brush mine too,” he replies.

On the other end of the line, I hear the creak of a door hinge. An electric toothbrush turns on. “I always figured if we were going to be doing something at the same time over the phone,” I say as I brush, “it would be slightly sexier than this.”

“I can make this sexy,” he replies. His voice drops an octave. “I bet your mouth is so full right now, isn’t it, Em? Are you going to swallow it for me like a good girl?”

I laugh so hard I start to choke and have to spit the toothpaste out. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to swallow it.”

“It’s full of protein,” he says as he spits. “Just take my word for it the next time I tell you to swallow.”

I could easily make this conversation sexual—well, more sexual—but I don’t. I shrug off the rest of my clothes and climb into bed, unwilling to end the call just yet. I don’t ask him about what happened at the bar and he doesn’t mention it. Instead, we talk about a little of everything. About Mac’s wedding, about his sister getting pregnant at seventeen, about how weird and vague his friend Harrison’s been about some new mystery girlfriend.

He asks me about my dad—and I tell him about our secret missions, how we’d go for donuts or drive down to the wharf in Santa Cruz. How we’d watch Dr. Who and when I was terrified of the crying angels, my father helped me craft a plan to combat them if they ever showed up in real life. How for every ugly word he heard my mom saying, he’d find a way to make sure I knew she was wrong.

“He sounds like he was a pretty good dad,” Liam says.

“He was,” I reply, with a yawn. Those years with him were everything, and I don’t know how to reconcile them with the way he ended up leaving me behind. “Well, I guess I’d better get to sleep—”

“I want to take you on a date, Em,” he cuts in. “A real date. One you admit is a date before it begins.”

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