Page 10 of Stolen Summer

Still no lights at the house next door.

“You got caught swimming fucking naked in Cole Riley’s pool, and you’re complaining about it.” Frankie Barlow shook her auburn hair free from the ponytail. Striking shades of deep red caught in the sun. “Why can’t shit like that happen to me? I’d pay to be in a pool with any of the Rileys. Cole specifically if given a choice. Crew gives me the shivers. He puts the hot in psychotic.”

I rolled my eyes at my best friend. My only friend. “Clever,” I retorted dryly. “I fail to see how being caught skinny-dipping in my neighbor's pool is a good thing.” We were sitting at the beach steps away from my house so Frankie could work on her summer tan.

Propped up on her elbows, she glanced at me as if she hadn’t known me since the fourth grade. “Cole fucking Riley. That’s how. You’re officially envied by every girl in the world.”

I sipped on my bubble tea, squinting behind my shades, the sun in full bloom above. My skin had a natural glow and tanned easily. Frankie wasn’t blessed with the same golden genes. Between the constant laying out and a spray tan, her usual fair skin shimmered in a California-girl glow. “I didn’t know you had such strong feelings about the guys next door.”

“You’re lucky it was Cole and not Crew.” Frankie was classified as a natural beauty, and when she applied even a small amount of makeup, emphasizing her attractive features, she became the girl guys dreamed about. She knew how to use her looks to her advantage. I never minded the attention she got. I preferred it. Being in the spotlight was the last thing I wanted.

My toes shifted into the hot sand, seeking the cool granules underneath the surface. “Whatever. I never want to see any Riley again. Cole or Crew.”

Frankie sat up and slipped off her sunglasses, her rosy lips turning down at the corners. “No, that won’t do. You have to go back. Better yet, bring me with you.” An undeniable gleam sparked in her eyes at her suggestion.

I groaned, swirling the boba at the bottom of my glass. Once Frankie got something in her head, it was impossible to get her to change her mind. “Just go yourself if you’re that infatuated with them. Leave me out of it.”

She snorted. “As if any of the Rileys would talk to me.”

“Since when do you have problems getting any guy’s attention? You’re Frankie Barlow. The town slut.” It was an inside joke, one of those “if you can’t beat them, join them” type jokes. I was the town trash. She was the town slut. Best friends for life, we were bound by the town’s hatred for us.

Frankie didn’t bat an eye. “I know,” she agreed with a pout. “There has to be something wrong with them.”

The ice in my boba had fully melted, no longer clanging against the glass as I snuggled it into the sand. “I didn’t realize how deep-rooted your obsession was.”

She wrinkled her freckle-dusted nose at me. “I’m not really. I just hate being turned down.”

Surprise widened my eyes. “No way. When? And why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t think you knew them well.” I tried to puzzle together the possibilities. The Rileys were only here a few weeks a year, and we didn’t precisely run in the same circles.

Frankie’s gaze flicked to my neighbor’s house before returning to mine, a frown marring her face. “It was last summer. You were working, like usual, covering the night shift at the diner.”

“Was this the night you begged me to call in sick?” I asked, searching my memory.

“That’s every night, Arie.”

True. I gave her a dry look and waited for her to continue.

“It was of the club’s beach parties. I swear the entire crowd went quiet when they arrived. By that time, I’d had a few rum punches, and the next thing I knew, Sam dared me to hook up with one of the Rileys.”

Sam was one of Frankie’s college friends. Sam and I were more of acquaintances. I liked her but didn’t know her well enough to call her a friend. Frankie had always been better at making friends than I had. It was impossible to keep track of the number of people she met and befriended daily.

“You know me. I couldn’t turn down a challenge.” Frankie loved a dare. She could be competitive, especially when it was something she was interested in, dating being very high on her list of interests. Boys or girls, it didn’t matter. She cared only about the person. If going out on dates was considered a hobby, it was Frankie’s favorite entertainment.

A shirtless guy jogged past us on the beach, and Frankie locked eyes with him, gracing the poor runner with her signature knock-him-to-his-knees smile. As anticipated, he stumbled a step in the sand, enamored by Frankie, but I had to give him credit. He regained his composure with ease, laughing at himself.

Frankie chuckled.

How the hell did she do that? Flirt with an utter stranger and make it seem so natural.

“I thought Brody and I were hitting it off, and I might have won the damn bet if Crew hadn’t gotten in the way. I never met more of an asshole, and I’ve met my fair share of pricks. Crew takes the trophy.”

“What did he say to you?” I inquired, feeling a bit defensive of my friend. If he hurt her, I’d find a way to hurt him back. If people wanted to take shots at me, fine, but don’t mess with the ones I cared about, as small as that circle was. Perhaps it made me even more fiercely protective of them.

She glared at the house again as if she could see Crew in a window and the sight of him drudged up a well of disdain. “The usual shit. But it was the way he said it.” She toyed with her untied bikini straps. An unsettled glint shadowed her eyes. “Let’s just say I don’t ever want to find myself alone with him. He has the eyes of a murderer.”

“Two minutes ago, you wanted me to take you to their house,” I pointed out.

“Uh, yeah, if Cole was home.” She dipped her glasses down the bridge of her nose and winked at me.

---