Page 3 of The Sweet Spot

“Love you, too.” I disconnect and shove my phone back into the pocket of my shorts, allowing myself a short sulk.

This summer was supposed to be a fabulous, sun-soaked interlude between high school and college. Janya, Saira and I planned to start in Encinitas and work our way up the coast, stopping at a handful of chosen beach town Airbnbs. I’d been scrimping all school year, sticking to thrift shop clothes, saving the money I’d made from tutoring and my after-school job at the boardwalk, so we could have this summer.

But then May came. And the rent on my mother’s yoga studio skyrocketed without warning, thanks to our shitty, new landlords. As if that wasn’t enough, Mom’s elderly Corolla decided it needed a new transmission and just like that, her savings—and mine—were gone. She hadn’t wanted my money, but she’d needed it.

Who was I to argue with the universe when it was giving me such a big, flashing CANCELED sign?

Thankfully, classes start at UC Santa Cruz during the last week of August, and I’ve got a full ride. It’s the one bright spot in this dark cloud of blah, and no one can take it away from me.

* * *

Back at the Sweet Spot, the line is about eight deep and poor Sean’s up to his eyeballs in soft serve. Rodrigo’s nowhere to be found, but Ronnie’s back at the Icee machine, trying in vain to fix it.

“Thank God,” Sean says when he sees me, his cheeks red with exertion. “I need three chocolate dips and one regular chocolate with sprinkles.”

“Coming right up.” I throw myself into the fray, going deep into the frozen zone. I can’t say I enjoy slinging ice cream and churros, but time flies when it’s this busy.

Finally, the family we’re serving walks away with cones and smiles. Sean sinks against the counter. “I need a smoke.”

I tilt my head toward the back. “Go ahead; I’m good.”

“You’re an angel,” he mutters, pushing a hand through his curly, dark hair. He disappears out the back door and I turn to the counter, leaning on it.

A rogue breeze kicks up, sending napkins and straw wrappers flying down the boardwalk like confetti. My hand’s inching toward my pocket to sneak-text Saira when four guys wander up to the Sweet Spot.

The one leading the charge, a red-headed freckle face in a tank top, leers up at the sign and then at me. “Sweet Spot, huh? Does that refer to this place or you?”

It’s not the worst I’ve heard, but I won’t dignify it with a response. Biting the inside of my cheek, I take a step back and wait for him and his friends to either order or keep on going.

“You’re such a dick.” A built, happy-go-lucky blond guy in boardshorts elbows his buddy aside, grinning as he slides a crinkled ten toward me. He looks just a little stoned, and I swallow a laugh. “Can I get a cotton candy, please, pretty please?”

“Of course, you can.” Taking the money, I turn to make change at the register. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

“Yeah—your number, Sweet Spot,” the redhead calls out.

“Shut the fuck up, Matty.” This, coming from the tallest of the crew as he gazes impassively at the menu. He’s got wavy, brown hair and light eyes, but it’s the UCSC Banana Slugs t-shirt that catches my eye. That’ll be me in a few months. “Can I get an Icee?”

Straightening, I glance back to where poor Ronnie is still fighting with the stupid Icee machine. Either he heard the question, or he feels my stare burning into him, because he looks back and shakes his head.

“Sorry, but our machine’s been broken all day,” I say to the tall one as his eyes flicker away. I suspect he may have been checking me out. He’s good looking, albeit probably as high as his blond buddy, who’s really going to town on that cotton candy. “There’s a place down by the carousel that has them, though.”

“Nah, just gimme a Sprite.” He frowns, rustling through his wallet. “You want anything, Luca?”

I grab a cup and pause, waiting while the last of the foursome, another tall, dark, and handsome, stares down at his phone, thoroughly engrossed. He looks like the kind of guy that would spend an entire day on the waves.

“Luca,” Tall Guy drawls, exhaling an impatient, drawn-out sigh.

“Hmm?” Luca looks up slowly, blinking at his friend and then at me.

I see hot, fit guys all the time around here, on the beach and on the boardwalk, but this one’s something else. With his dark tan, light brown eyes, and a head full of silky, black hair pulled up into a bun, he’s not just hot. He’s justwow.

Then he smiles, just a little, and it’s like the sun coming out to play on an already gorgeous day.

Luca

Iglance up from my phone just in time to dodge a family led by an older, rather rotund gentleman in a Hawaiian shirt and Burt Reynolds sunglasses. He glares at my phone and then me, scoffing as he tugs his wife along.

Grimacing, I slide my phone into the back pocket of my shorts. I get the attitude, but it’s not like I’m some fourteen-year-old playing mobile video games—I’m waiting on an email from my father. He wants me to come to São Paulo, Brazil, for a summer internship. I’m already coming for fall semester, so summer’s not really in my plans, but Pai’s a hotshot in the software sector over there. If he wants me to head over a few months early, I owe it to him to at least consider it.

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