Page 87 of Summertime Friends

Exiting the bathroom, my hand still on the metal handle, the heavy door closing behind me, I run directly into something solid. I don’t need to open my eyes to know who it is. The aroma of cedar and vanilla filters into my nose, running through my veins.

I don’t open my eyes. I do not even bother to acknowledge him as I try to push past him, but he’s too sturdy.

I step back, flush with the door. Reluctantly, I lift my head to meet his gaze.

“Tell me you didn’t mean it.” Liam’s voice is desperate as if he doesn’t get the answer he wants, then he will explode. Strands of his hair are out of place like he’s been tugging on it.

“Mean what?”

“Cal. Me. Our first summer together. That you just got stuck with—did you mean it?”

“I don’t know, maybe I did. That was six years ago, can’t remember.” I let myself fall further into the door. “All of that is in the. . . past.”

“It’s not the past. Is it?”

“You asked me to look past it. I am.”

Liam growls softly.

“Am I missing something?” I ask slightly sardonically.

“Tell. Me.”

This is the second time he’s demanding answers from me. Answers and conversations I’d generally avoid. I don’t like talking about us. Then, because I was scared. Now, because the memories are ghosts that haunt me.

His gaze is hot beating down on me, making my thoughts and emotions revolve around him as if he is the sun.

His height is to his advantage.

Discreetly, I squeeze my legs together, trying to get rid of the heat that is gathering between them. I can’t bring myself to continue looking at his face, so I stare straight forward into his chest.

“No—”

“Full sentences. Please.”

“No is a full sentence. Didn’t you graduate at the top of your year?”

“Emerson. . .” I’m getting under his skin.Good.

“No. . . no, I didn’t mean it. You shouldn’t have to ask that if you know me.”

“Why say it? Why joke about us?” His right-hand touches the side of my face. Liam grazes it slowly down to my chin, holding it. “I do know you. . . more than I probably should. More than anyone, I bet. I shouldn’t remember you the way I do—your favorite color, your freckles that appear when you are in the sun, or the way you smell. How you sneak out of bed to brush your teeth becauseyou can’t kiss anyone in the morning because of your irrational phobia of morning breath. The small scar just below your right ear.” His hand touches it as I turn my head. “And I shouldn’t remember that all it takes to get your pulse racing is to put you in a position like this. We both know you love to be up against a wall.

“Your pulse is racing right now. I can see it—you’re simmering, thinking about the last time we were in a bathroom. How I pushed you up against the wall there, my hand covering your mouth so that no one else could find joy in your screams. You’re trying to resist us. You’re wondering what it would be like if you turned the knob that’s currently digging into your back, pull us inside, and lock it behind you.”

My eyelids blink in sync with my pulse. It’s unfortunate how right Liam is. “Curious if we are still just as good.” I swallow. Liam drags his head away from mine and watches how slowly it makes its way down my throat. “It would be. Wanna know why? Because I know you. And you know me. You know I’m thinking about it too,” he says, looking past my eyes and into all of me.

“That’s not what I’m thinking about.”

He laughs, and I want to smack the smirk off his face. Maybe I was thinking about it. Is that wrong?

Actually, yes, Emerson, that is completely wrong. You are thinking about him in ways you can’t think about him anymore. He hurt you. He hasn’t apologized. He is yourfriend. We don’t think about friends this way—except for Liam. You always think about him as more than a friend.

He was wrong about one thing, though.

I’m not curious if it would still be good. I know it would be. In this life, in another life, and in whatever life we found each other in, I know we’d be too good together. I’m not just talking about sex. I mean, in all facets of life, we would be too good together. Loving each other would have been too good, and that’s why we could never be together.

“Sure it isn’t. Then why’d you squeeze your legs, and your hands are clutching your skirt?”

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