Page 60 of The First Love Myth

He reaches for me, ringing his hands around my waist. “No, you’re not.”

“I don’t want you to be a summer fling either,” I say and melt into his embrace.

“Good.” He lifts my chin, and the tension in the air is thick and electric. If we kiss now, there might be no going back. There definitely won’t be a happy hour.

“I do think,” I say, resting my head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart, “that I’d like to be in love before I—before we—do that.”

His arms tighten around me. “Then come over tonight, finish this ridiculous show you got me hooked on, tease me to death with that kiss of yours, and then go home. Or bring your pajamas, and we’ll sleep. We have plenty of time to get to everything else.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m more than sure, Zee. There’s no rush.”

I meet his gaze, hoping that everything I feel in this moment is written across my face. The face he’s become so good at reading. I hope he sees the gratitude and trust, the almost love. Because it’s there but not quite, and I’m thankful that he doesn’t try to rush it. “Then I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

The party is a mistake. I knew it from the moment Becca suggested we go but could hardly say no to my best friend’s pout, considering it’s at her boyfriend’s house. But after the disaster that was Wildwood and the run-in at Mack’s, I’ve successfully avoided my two nemeses. And I feel it in my bones that tonight won’t end well. Something about being back home makes the triangle worse. It’s not the scene of the crime, but it’s the backstory, the history I can’t escape. At Bellewood, at least there’s a chance to make new memories and erase that one moment. But here, I feel defined by it. When you love as hard as Andrew and I did, people notice. And when it burns down, they shake their heads and bite their lips.They should’ve known better. High-school-to-college relationships never last. What a mistake to trust Claire with her boyfriend.I heard it all this summer in whispers and shouts. But somehow I rose above. I moved past Andrew and Claire and who I used to be.

Still, I don’t want to be at this party. But I’ll do it for my best friend. Becca didn’t come home a blubbering mess. She returned to Ardena on the arm of one of its most popular athletes. She’s reveling in her change, and there’s no fault in that. If I came home hardened instead of broken, maybe I could’ve done the same thing. But I didn’t, and it’s time to face the firing squad one last time.

“Thank you for doing this,” Becca says, wrapping her hand around mine. “It’s the easiest way to say goodbye to everyone, and this way, Ben and I can spend our last days together instead of hanging out with the guys.”

I refrain from asking if there’s actual best friend time mixed into these last Ben-filled days. There will be. It might be an up-all-night slumber party before we get into our respective cars to drive back to school, but it’ll happen.

“No problem.” I glance around at the people crammed into the backyard.

Beer pong and flip cup tables are set up on one side, a makeshift dance floor on the other. In between, everyone else loiters, drinks in hand. It’s a smaller party than most I attended this summer, but Ben has a smaller house. Maybe the selective invite list will make this party bearable. I doubt Andrew would dare come to Ben’s, knowing he’s Becca’s boyfriend. I spot my former teammates huddled together by the back door. Claire’s among them. I never went out of my way to alienate my teammates. There simply wasn’t time between Max and Liz and Becca and Haley. But somewhere in the last few weeks, I noticed them texting less and the invitations dropping off. Apparently, my silence meant they could take Claire back into their fold, which is totally fine.

“I’m going to find Ben and get drinks,” Becca says. “Do you want to come?”

I’m about to say yes when Claire locks eyes with me. My former best friend nods to the side of the house, where it’s quieter. This is such a bad idea. Everything that needed to be said between us has been said. There’s no going back. There’s hardly forgiveness, not that Claire ever asked for forgiveness.

“No.” I give Claire a nod of her own. If Becca notices, she doesn’t comment. “I’ll hang here. Meet you at the flip cup table?”

“Ugh, you know I suck at that game.”

“Exactly.”

“What if tonight we dance?”

I shrug. “Sure, but no twerking.”

Becca crosses her heart and dissolves into giggles. “Do we even know how to twerk?”

“Probably not.”

“All right. See you in ten on the dance floor!”

I watch her disappear into the crowd before I turn and walk in the direction Claire went. A few steps off the main yard, she leans against the side of the house. A floodlight illuminates a small firewood nook.

“What do you want?” I cross my arms impatiently.

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” Claire asks, her voice surprisingly contrite.

“What do you want?” I repeat, more harshly than intended.

“I want my friend back.”

This can’t be reality. Claire can’t really think we can go back. This isn’t some teen soap where the main female characters have to stay friends for ratings so they somehow forgive each other for constant betrayals.

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