Page 17 of Faking Summer
Boston was the wrong choice, a huge misstep. He was the kind of hurt I didn't anticipate because I believed he wasn't capable of inflicting it. He was the nice guy, yes—but the wrong one for me.
“Does that upset you?” I ventured, carefully. "I know she was with you last summer… and now she's with your brother."
His hand paused, the bottle neck halted halfway to his lips. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he took another long pull from it. There was a practiced ease to his nonchalance, but the tension in his posture betrayed him.
"Nah," Reese said finally. "Those two have always been together. Just took me a minute to catch on." My gaze flickered back to where they had been just moments ago as he continued. "Shit, I think it's taken them a while to realize it, too. But trust me, there was never any space for anyone else. You try to get in their way, it'll just end up backfiring."
"I mean it would have been nice to know that information last summer."
"Maybe," he said, raising a brow. "But then I wouldn’t get the pleasure of seeing you so miserable."
“Have I told you that I hate you yet?” I asked, leaning in slightly.
"You've mentioned it… why do you even hate me so much, though?"
I shook my head, feeling the past claw its way up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. He knew what he did in sixth grade—the whispers, the laughter, the humiliation that lingered like a stain on my soul. I let out a humorless laugh, one I had no control of.
"Is that a joke?" My words were a whisper, but they had an impact. "I've always just been a joke to you, haven't I?"
Viscous silence followed my accusation, wrapping around us likethe creeping ivy on my parents porch. Confusion flickered across his face, an expression I read as clear as day despite the dimness. He was either reveling in the cruelty of it and playing dumb or he completely forgot. Which would be even worse. The most traumatizing moment of my life—just slipped his mind.
"You've never been a joke to me.” He didn't flinch as he said that, didn't even have the decency to look away. Instead, he held my gaze, unwavering.
I narrowed my eyes at him, searching those fathomless green pools for a flicker of deceit. "Really?" I countered, folding my arms. "I always knew you were an ass, but a liar, too?"
Reese's gaze swept away from me for an instant, drifting behind him to where Crew and Sam were wrapped up in their own private world. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, turning back to face me, his green eyes sharp, searching for something I wasn't willing to give. "When have I ever lied?" he asked softly. That tone in his voice dismantled me. I wasn't ready to dissect this—not here, not now.
Setting my drink on the railing next to me, the words came out slurred and heavier than I intended. "I've had way too many drinks tonight for this conversation."
As I turned toward him, my elbow caught the edge of the seltzer. It slowly tilted, headed for a disaster. Time seemed to stutter as we both lunged, our bodies synchronized in desperation to catch the falling drink. But it was Reese's hands that closed around it first, snatching it from the air inches above the ground.
"Nice catch," I breathed, suddenly aware of how close we were—just inches apart, my hand gripping his elbow for balance, caught in a moment of accidental closeness.
"I'm a pitcher," he said, his voice dripping with that cocky edge, "you didn't think I'd be good with my hands?"
"You’re a pitcher?" I asked, sarcastically. "I had no idea."
"One of the best," he lifted his chin, "but that’s just one of my many talents."
"Don’t hold back now. Your modesty is so inspiring."
A single strand of hair blown by the wind fell over my face. Time seemed to slow as Reese reached out that toned, veiny arm of his. His fingers lightly brushed against my cheek as he tucked the stray hair behind my ear. "Being this humble is tough, but I manage." His eyes lingered on my lips before our eyes locked again.
That gaze of his, those vivid, almost magical eyes, drilled into me with an intensity that I couldn’t turn away from. I was caught in the gravity of him for a moment, I’d never anticipated that. He did something awful to me—I knew exactly who he was. This man should be dead to me, but that didn’t stop the pull. It was like being a kid again, staring at a rose covered in thorns, knowing it was dangerous but still dying to reach out. Too beautiful to ignore, too dangerous to touch but completely irresistible.
My hand had yet to release its grip on his elbow. The proximity was intoxicating, confusing. This didn’t feel like the Reese Carrington who had made me a punchline years ago. But it was, and it had to be the alcohol painting him in shades less cruel. Maybe he was just setting me up to be another pawn in some twisted game of his. Another girl to cross off on his Reese’d and Released list.
"I should go... check on Sam," I stammered abruptly, the moment shattering as I forced myself to retreat, to stand up straight and put distance between us.
eight
Reese
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I glanced down at the last text message, at the words from my birth mom on the screen.
Cindee
I’ll be at the diner again after the game this week. No pressure but I just wanted to let you know in case you're ready to talk. Always thinking about you.
