Page 74 of Getting Over You

Rory considers this. “You’re right.”

Of course I am. I understand Gigi Knox better than anybody else in this town, even her mother.

“Did I hear you tell him he was right?” Gigi asks Rory as she comes back. She hands me a beer, smiling sweetly. “I have to hear this.” I give her a look. “It’s incredibly rare and deserves to be celebrated.”

I guffaw. “You think everything should be celebrated, don’t you? You’re one of those?”

The slightest hint of a frown pulls at her perfect pouty lips, and I’ve never wanted to kiss a sad expression off of someone’s face until now. As soon as I notice it, she hides it away, replacing it with her normal, bemused expression.

“Maybe I am,” she says, flippant. “But that’s not something you’ll ever experience.”

“What are we talking, though, princess?” I ask, jutting my chin. “Do you celebrate every month? Every week? Like ‘oh,congrats, boyfriend, we’ve made it yet another seven days! Hooray!’”

Gigi rolls her eyes. “No, Cade. Nothing like that.”

“Maybe be thankful your commitment-phobia is keeping you unscathed,” Rory chides.

I chuckle, but it’s forced. I shouldn’t have made those quips at Gigi. And whether she’ll make it obvious, I burned her without meaning to.

Rory wanders into EJ’s room to ask if they can smoke a bowl from his window, leaving Gigi and me, her cross-legged on the floor, me above her, on the couch.

“Sorry about that,” I say softly. “I took it too far that time.”

She shakes her head, that soft smile still evident. “You’re good. You’re right, though. I do try to celebrate when I can.”

“That sounds like it would be special,” I admit. “Kind of cool.”

“For someone who likes pomp and circumstance, maybe. Not you. It sounds like your worst nightmare, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. What about artist guy? You celebrated two weeks yet?”

Gigi rolls those eyes. I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “No. If you’re going to start asking about him, I need more to drink.”

“I was expecting a helicopter ride over the city, at least.”

“Very funny.” She stands, rubbing her palms on the material of her shorts. “Refill?”

“I’m not even halfway through this,” I say. “Give me a minute.”

“Lightweight,” she declares, walking with purpose to the kitchen. “I’m getting you another. Keep up.”

Gigi is a few cocktails deep, but has been touching me since before she started drinking. If I move, Gigi’s dainty hand follows closely behind. I can’t say I mind, and it’s definitely not due to the beer or two I’ve had. This night is going perfectly.

She leans into me as we walk across the street to the public access beach. It’s just after sunset, and the sand is already littered with smatterings of people, families calling to their kids as they run in and out of the cool ocean waves. I have a blanket slung over one arm, and I’m supporting a buzzed Gigi with the other.

“Maybe we should have brought more,” she whispers to me as we reach the sand, referring to alcohol. “We definitely should have.”

“Neither of us need any more,” I tell her quietly. “Especially not you, princess.”

She pouts. “Cade. Unfair.”

“It’s not,” I tell her as we find a place over the dunes, nestled near beach grass and away from the crowd. I spread the blanket out and Gigi sits down with a flourish, still pouting. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ll thank me tomorrow,” I tell her. Feeling daring, I hook her chin with my finger as I sit down. “You look nice.”

She looks down at her jean shorts, her flowing black tank top, the strappy sandals I’ve never noticed before. “It’s just an outfit.” She’s smiling as she says it.

I nod, swallow hard. “It’s a nice outfit. You look good.”

Her cheeks go pink. “Rory picked it.”

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