Page 1 of The Summer I Destroyed You

1

EMMY

I have a theory: the person you were in high school is the person you are for life.

That’s why the most popular girl in school still thinks she’s cute decades after anything cute about her has withered up and died, and why Silicon Valley billionaires still feel like geeks, no matter how many models they screw.

Donovan Arling was never a geek. He’s been a beautiful specimen his entire life and can’t forget it for a minute. Even now, while he fucks me, it’s not my naked frame beneath him he’s staring at lovingly—it’s his reflection in the mirror he can’t look away from.

Then again, I’m down here thinking about what an asshole he is, so maybe neither of us has our head in the right place.

“I love your arms,” I murmur, running my hands over his triceps. It’s not a lie—he really does have amazing arms—but mostly I just need him to finish so he gets the hell out of my apartment.

“Yeah?” he grunts, a tiny note of desperation in his voice.

“They’re so defined,” I moan. “Those triceps.”

“Oh fuck,” he says, and now his voice is all full-blown panic, a guy who knows the end is nigh whether he wants it to be or not. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

He’s busy now, with all the coming and whatnot, so I’m able to roll my eyes at a leisurely pace, knowing even as I do it that I’m being wildly hypocritical.

How many guys have I slept with solely to reassure myself I’m pretty? Many. But Donovan has always been beautiful, so it’s not like he’s got some kind of vacancy to fill—whereas mine appears bottomless.

If you were ever the fat girl, you will always be her inside your own head.

Donovan collapses on top of me. “Fuck, that was hot.”

“Cool,” I reply. “Now you need to get out of my apartment. I’ve got to pack.”

He flips onto his back, pushing his hair away from his face with a lazy hand. “Is that any way to treat the guy who made you come four times this morning?”

He didn’t make me come four times. I haven’t come four times total during all the weeks we’ve slept together.

“Sorry. Please get out of my apartment.”

He sits up, scowling. “Do you always have to be such a bitch?”

“No, I don’t have to be.” I yawn, waiting to grab my phone until I’ve heard the door slam behind him.

I’d intended to check on my flight, but I forget it entirely when a text from Liam Doherty catches my eye.

He’s the point of contact for one of my projects in Elliott Springs. And though I normally avoid friendliness with employees and vendors, it’s hard with him. No matter how awful I am, he winds up making me laugh. There is no amount of bitchiness on my end that dissuades him.

I scroll back through yesterday’s messages, fighting a smile.

I’ll be in the theater day after tomorrow. I want the ceiling tiles in by the time I get there.

Liam

That’s a full day’s work and I’m currently at the nursing home with my dying grandma.

That sounds made up.

I told you about this not five hours ago. It’s like you don’t hear me anymore.

I’m doing my best not to hear you. And unless she’s loaded, making me happy is the wiser financial decision.

And his reply, which I’m only seeing now:

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