Page 80 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I take the guys to Beck’s after the wake and we have a somber beer in Mac’s honor. It still hasn’t really hit any of us that he won’t be returning next week with his dopey grin and those fucking Steelers jerseys he wore every fall just to piss us off.

And I don’t want to be here for even a minute of it. I tell them I’m calling it a night, and then I drive straight to Main Street because I have a feeling she’s still at work.

I unlock the store. “Put the scissors down, Em,” I call. “It’s just me.”

She walks out from the back, smiling but wary. “How was it?” she asks quietly.

“Hard.”

She steps into me and lets her head rest against my chest. “You’d probably be better off with a girl who’s pleasant and actually good in situations like this. Might I interest you in a sympathy blow job? I have no idea what to say to make it better.”

I laugh and cradle her head in my hands.

I don’t want a Cassie, and I’ve never wanted a Cassie. My favorite country, as it turns out, is one that goes from arctic to fiery without any warning. It threatens to kill the local rooster and babies the living hell out of a dog it purports to dislike and is awkward when it can’t take charge of the situation. I doubt it’s ever expressed love for another human being, but I suspect it could grow to love me if I just had more time.

And I don’t, but I’m not going to think about that now.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

She glances up at me, her eyes uncertain once more. “You mean just…riding? With no destination? Or is going for a ride some small-town euphemism for especially graphic sex acts?”

I kiss her forehead. “I just meant riding. Though given how open you sound to the idea of especially graphic sex acts, I’m probably going to suggest one on the way.”

We walk out to my truck. I help her climb in and then I turn toward the mountains and crank up the radio. I roll down the windows and she smiles as her hair starts to whip in the breeze.

“I feel like I’m in a country music video,” she says.

I reach out to twine her fingers with mine. “You love it,” I reply, and when she doesn’t argue, when I see her fighting a smile, I feel like a kid whose crush has finally looked his way.

That’s when I realize something I should have figured out long ago—it’s not a fucking crush at all. I’m head over heels in love for the first time in my life.

With a girl who’s only here for another few weeks.

39

EMMY

“You’re never going to believe who personally invited you to a gallery opening in LA on Friday,” Stella says.

“Damien Ellis?”

“I guess you’ll believe it after all,” she replies, disappointed.

I should be ecstatic. I probably am ecstatic—it’s just buried under an odd layer of unwillingness.

If I attend this opening, there’s a strong possibility that Ellis is going to ask me back to his room to discuss Inspired Building again, and there’s an equally strong possibility that I’ll go. Just because Liam continues to insist we’re dating doesn’t mean I need to feel guilty about whatever occurs. But I think I might anyway.

I feed Snowflake and go to yoga, where I ignore Chloe’s repeated request for details of a very graphic nature about Liam’s dick. I wander down to the grocery store afterward and Liam’s gaze brushes over me, head to foot, as he starts packing up.

“I’m not staying,” I tell him. “I need to shower.”

He rises and walks toward me, sticking his index finger in the waistband of my leggings to pull me his way. “I think you know better than to walk in here dressed like that and tell me you can’t stay. I have a shower.”

I smile despite myself. “Fine. I can’t stay long. I have to pack. Damien Ellis just invited me to a gallery opening in LA. It’s a good chance for me to push him into buying out Inspired Building.”

He stills. “Inviting you to a gallery opening sounds like a date, not a business meeting.”

I shrug. “These things tend to get a little blurry. It’ll become a business meeting even if that’s not what he initially intended.”

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