Page 72 of The Best Friend Power Play

"Don't apologize. This is fine. At least I'm not staring intently at a naked man and counting his chest hairs to make sure I paint the correct number."

Mrs. Ford turns around again with a big smile on her face. "Ah, yes. I heard about your life drawing class last week. Congratulations on getting commended by the teacher, Culver."

"His painting was amazing," Hannah says, placing her hand on my chest. "I'm going to get it framed."

"You are not."

"I've already sent it away."

I stare down at her sparkling blue eyes, and man, nothing tops the joy of seeing her smile.

"Ooh, I'm up," Mrs. Ford says. "I'll leave you smitten kittens to it." She goes up to register at the throne—sorry, I mean desk—where Doyle sits.

Hannah quirks a brow once she leaves. "Smitten kittens?"

"I know, right?"

I smile and try to make it appear I'm brushing it off as yet another instance of look, everyone thinks we're together.

When in fact, Mrs. Ford may have inadvertently stumbled on the truth.

I think I am smitten with Hannah.

It explains why I shot daggers at Slater when he mentioned she was attractive.

Why I endured a two-hour art class where I had to stare at a nearly naked guy—he wore a flowy kind of boxer brief that covered his nether region, thank goodness—because it was on her hot girl summer list.

Why my heart thumps faster in my chest everytime she wears one of my shirts around the house.

Why I'm having the best time I've had in a very long time just hanging out with her and doing our thing.

I can't believe we're halfway through the summer already. Time really does fly when you're having fun.

But I need to remind myself that everything that’s happening is because Hannah's in her hot girl summer era, and I'm simply helping out.

This isn't real life.

We're living in a bubble.

A fun, carefree summer bubble that involves kissing and foot rubs and nightly dinners and binge-watching reality TV and checking off items from a list designed to give Hannah the best time she's had.

This summer is all about Hannah.

Not me.

And not us.

Her.

Mrs. Ford walks past us. "I got in," she remarks dryly with an eye roll.

We're up next.

"All he needs is a throne and a crown, and he'd be in heaven," Hannah whispers as we approach the almighty desk of Doyle.

"I was thinking the same thing before."

He's flanked on either side by Ms. Patty, who runs the beauty clinic, and Wade Johnson, who used to be a nice guy until he sold his soul to become basically Doyle's right-hand man.

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