Page 47 of The End of Summer

“Just one last question, and then I should really go.”

Please don’t go.“Shoot.”

“How come you took off the other day? After I broke your mask? Was that, like, the moment you realized it was me?”

I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “If we’re being honest, yeah. The mask was pretty hard to see through. I thought the shot girllookedlike you, but it was totally out of context. I recognized the fishnets from the day you came here to yell at me. And the hair color – because, well, I mean that’s kind of your signature thing.”

She nods, thinking. “So, why did you leave so suddenly?”

I shrug. “I was embarrassed. I wasn’t sure it was you, because you still had a mask on. But I thought it might be. And you could see me. Like,allof me.” I take a deep breath. She stands there, waiting for me to continue. “Also, I thoughtyou hated me.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” she admits.

“So I was scared that if it was you, and you saw my face, you’d freak out.”

“So you freaked out before I could?”

I chuckle. “Basically.”

I don’t say the rest of what’s spinning around inside my head. I don’t tell her that I can’t remember the last time I felt the kind of instant chemistry I found with her hands in mine, the way our bodies could have fit together like a glove, if we’d let them. How vulnerable I was, wearing basically nothing, shaved from the neck down, slathered in coconut oil, my pride and my anatomy on full display. And how every time I looked at her and she looked back, even through the stupid snake mask, it felt as if we connected on a visceral level. At least, that was how I experienced it. I don’t tell her that the memory of it all kept me up the entire night and almost resulted in the embarrassment of sticky sheets. Instead, I stay silent. Staring at her. Searching her face for clues about any impressions our encounter left onher.

I take a step towards her, slowly, tentatively. My gaze travels down to her mouth, and I notice the way her top teeth chew on the flesh of her juicy lower lip.

“Gretchen,” I whisper.

But she takes a step backward.

“I, um. I should probably go,” she mumbles.

I freeze. “Okay,” I reply begrudgingly. I can’t read the moment. I feel flooded – like I could just float away, and she looks at me like maybe she feels something similar – but, she’s leaving. Aching for her to stay, Ispit out more words. Anything to keep her here another minute. “I’ll come to the car thing with you tomorrow,” I say. “What time?”

“Oh. Um. I usually get there around three. Tomorrow, I have brunch in the morning with my parents and then I'll probably head straight there.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you.”

“Sure,” she nods.

“I scream inside my head.Sweet Jesus! You are the worst with women! Do something hot, for fuck’s sake!“Uh, Gretch?”

“Hm?”

I grab a pen out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, click it, and take her by the hand. I’m not sure what comes over me as I hold her, palm side up, and press the pen into her skin. “IOU 1 dance,” I write. She watches me, amused. I feel the warmth of her hand in mine. I lift her palm to my face and press my lips against it.

When I let her go, she looks at her hand. She blows out a breath – this is more than just an exhale. I’ve left an impression on her. I can tell. Then, she smiles – one of those expressions that transcends just her mouth and sets her whole face aglow. Without words, she burns her image into my brain, letting herself out of my apartment but locking herself in my thoughts. “See you tomorrow,” she whispers.

“Bye,” I reply, biting back a grin.

Fuck,I think.I’ve got it bad.

CHAPTER TWELVE

GRETCHEN

Okay, okay. You’re fine. Just breathe.

Holy shit.

Was Brady Hawthorne really looking at you like he wanted totakeyou?

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