Page 8 of Faking Summer
I nodded at the waitress, a silent acknowledgment that I heard her, though understanding eluded me. Reese had never been one for random acts of kindness—not without a motive, a play for power. We’d spent the past how many years hating each other? What game was he playing?
four
Reese
The pom-pom hit my face with a smack, blinding me momentarily. Cheerleading could very well be the damn death of me. I blinked rapidly to adjust my vision, as I tossed my practice bag on the floor.
"You almost took my eye out, Lo!" I scolded my little sister, Lola. She ignored me, lost in her own world of chants and cartwheels. She had been practicing in the living room all day. She’d started before I left for practice, and when I got home she was still leaping and kicking with complete disregard for the innocent bystanders passing through the house.
"You’ve been at it for hours," I added dryly, sidestepping a discarded cheer shoe as I made my way to the kitchen.
She glanced at me mid-headstand. "Yeah, I’m panicking," she said, out of breath. “I have tryouts for Elite cheer in a few weeks. The only reason I didn’t go with mom and dad to the beach house this summer. I have to focus, and bootcamp is coming up next week."
I nodded, peeking back at her legs flying through the air again. "Well, I can’t stand the music. I'm gonna go meet the boys for a drink. Text me if you need anything."
She didn’t even glance back at me to respond. The door closedbehind me with a gentle click, sealing away the endless loop of cheer music.
The neon sign of Gin & Jerry’s Pub buzzed as I pushed open the door and stepped into its familiar darkness. My eyes adjusted, scanning for any sign of the boys, but of course—late as usual. I slid onto a barstool, catching the nod from RJ, a bartender I knew well. Middle-aged, with a long dark beard and a no-nonsense vibe, he barely paused before reaching for a frosted glass.
"Evening, Reese," he grunted, sliding my usual order across the bar.
"Hey, RJ." I returned a nod. The cold bottle touched my lips, and the first swig of beer was a bitter comfort.
As soon as I set the glass down, I felt it—a pair of gentle hands gliding across my shoulder blades.
"Mind if I sit?" Without even glancing over, I knew who it was—Blair. I would recognize that voice anywhere, and just like that, irritation clawed its way up my spine.
"Even if I said no, you'd sit there regardless, Blair.” My grip on the bottle tightened just enough to hide my irritation. Rather than sitting next to me, she slid right onto my lap.
"I like this seat better, and… I know you've missed me. Even if you won't admit it," she smiled softly, trailing her nails over the back of my neck.
With a flicker of a smirk, I took another pull from my beer. "If that's what you need to tell yourself.”
"We used to be so good together." Blair's voice softened, but it wasn’t genuine.
"Were we, though? And aren’t you with that old guy?" I couldn't resist throwing that dig, despite my disinterest.
"He's not old," she snapped back. "He's a yacht captain, and for your information, we ended things."
"Why? His wife finally caught on?" I tossed out, barely interested at this point, wondering why I was even still entertaining her.
"Can we just skip over this and get to the make-up sex part of the night?" she purred. "It’s been way too damn long.”
“This is getting old, Blair.” I took another sip, as I slowly scanned the bar wondering where the fuck my friends were. I could kill them right now.
"Remember that time I brought you to your knees, down into the dirt at the ball field?" Blair whispered into my ear. “You tasted so good.”
"Blair," I breathed, trying my damn hardest to push away the mental images resurfacing. I could still feel the roughness of the chain-link fence against my palms that day. The excitement of knowing we could get caught at any moment.
"I’ll never forget how your head rolled back." Her breath was hot against my ear, her tongue slowly stroking and nibbling.
"That was a long time ago," I managed to say, tilting my head away just enough to break free from the grip her tongue had on my ear.
"Why don't I remind you?" she suggested, lashes fluttering with hope. "In the bathroom?"
Fuck. Bathroom head? She was pulling out all the stops now. But this was Blair. If I gave her an inch, she'd take a fucking mile, and I didn't have a mile to give. This would lead nowhere good. Giving into Blair would end in disaster. I bit my knuckle, looking away from her, and carefully thinking about my next words, my next decision. Blair's fingers trailed down my shirt, making a path down from my chest toward the ridges of my abs.
Surprised by my own indifference, I caught her wrist gently but firmly, stopping her before she landed on her target. “I appreciate the offer. Tempting, but no," I said, and her eyes met mine with a mix of surprise and confusion.
