Page 11 of Faking Summer
For barely a moment, I found it almost endearing that he would come to me for his sister, which meant he must really care about her. But the thought of doing him a favor? That was about as exciting as getting an elbow to the face during a failed cheer stunt.
"Wish I could help," I said innocently, shrugging. "But since she’s related to you, I have to decline."
There was a subtle shift in his posture, a tightening around his eyes. "Oh, my bad," he drawled. "I was under the impression that you were one of the best."
"Your information is accurate. I am one the best—if notthebest," I shot back, pride fueling my words. "But you'll need to look elsewhere for help."
"Fine by me," Reese shrugged, unfazed. "Got a few cheerleaders in my DMs, all begging to do me a favor." He punctuated his words with a wink.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," I said under my breath, knowing all the cheerleaders swooned over him. Except Sam, of course.
"There’s a whole table back there with your friends, balloons, and everything anyone could ever want for their birthday. You might wanna ditch the ice queen act and, I don’t know, enjoy it for once."
"As soon as I’m no longer in your presence, my night will immediately improve."
"Enjoy your night then," Reese said with an arrogance that prickled my skin. "Because after tonight, you have to spend the whole weekend with me."
Annoyingly, he was right. He was referring to the away tournament. It was in moments like these that I hated being President of The Blue Devils Committee—a title that had once been worn by my mother like a crown. I had taken the job to impress her, to make her proud of me for once, but she wasn’t impressed. She also hated that I taught dance and cheer, and, well actually, it felt like she hated everything I did.
"Do your best to stay away," I said with a tight smile.
Reese's smile was slow, as if he savored the taste of my irritation. "Always do," he murmured before he turned and walked away, leaving behind the scent of his cologne—something woodsy and exclusive. The girl standing near us eyed him as she watched him go, her gaze lingering long after he'd disappeared into the crowd.
His cockiness gnawed at me—that lethal charm and the self-assurance with which he carried himself—as if he was the sole reason this world of ours spun around. He had this effortless power about him—probably a mix of old money and baseball—giving him access to people and places that only made his ego even bigger. Me agreeing to help him would mean that I'd also give in to that privilege of his that I’ve hated for so long. This small town might adore him, might lavish him with praise, but not me. He had everything at his fingertips, and I wasn’t going to give him another thing he wanted.
The further I walked away from Reese, the more the atmosphere shifted. I was entering a different world now—one with happiness and excitement. My friends were orbiting around the table with drinks and balloons. They were singing “Happy Birthday” as loud as they could. Sam reached me first, squeezing me as tight as shecould. For a fleeting moment, I could breathe, the moment sweet and untainted by the bitter aftertaste of speaking to that asshat.
And as I took in the faces of my friends, their smiles and happiness all for me, I allowed myself to absorb the warmth of their affection. There was no pressure, no stress tonight. I was simply Caroline, surrounded by love and laughter.
A shot glass was shoved into my hand, the clear liquid sloshing a tad over the edge. Tequila and I had a love-hate relationship. I was happy and alive while drinking it, but those nights were also best left forgotten more often than not.
"Come on, birthday girl," they chanted, their faces expectant.
With a resigned breath, I tilted the glass to my lips, the liquid fire trailing down my throat, searing a path of warmth that settled uneasily in my stomach.
"Caroline," Sam nudged me. "Were you over there talking to Reese?"
My gaze flickered involuntarily toward the bar, where he was back with his friends. Even from this distance, I could see the casual way he leaned against the counter, like he didn’t have a care in this world. But why would he? His life was perfect. I quickly averted my eyes, not wanting to betray any more of my turmoil.
"Unfortunately," I admitted, annoyed I was forced to think about him again.
I could feel Sam's gaze, heavy with questions because she was the only one here that went to middle school with me and Reese. She knew how much we hated—no,despised—each other.
"We had to suffer here staring at The Blue Devils while we waited to sing you “Happy Birthday." My friend Paisley said, swiveling on her stool at the table with a glass of wine cradled in her hand. Her red lips curved into a pout.
I slid onto the stool next to her. "You were suffering, huh?" I retorted, playfully. "That sounds awful."
"Not really," she murmured, her gaze drifting towards the bar. "Ifeel like every year they get hotter. And Reese has that new tattoo sleeve this summer... game over."
I couldn't help but cast a glance toward him, hating myself for knowing she was right. Why did everyone keep bringing him up? I wished the bouncer would yeet him out of here.
"Nah," Sam responded, eyes narrowing in thought as they scanned the dark bar. "Lately, Crew has been kind of doing something for me. He always looks like he just walked off the beach. I bet his skin is even salty."
Paisley's laughter was light. "You take Crew, I'll take Reese," she declared with a conspiratorial wink. “I’d never actually hook up with Reese, though.”
"Why not?" I managed to ask.
Paisley leaned in so the others around us couldn’t hear. "Haven't you ever heard what Blair has said about him? Or Wren, from my sorority?"
