Page 6 of Faking Summer
I inched closer, the hallway suddenly feeling like the narrow confines of the mound with everything riding on my next pitch. A half smile played on my face, as I let one corner dip just enough to flash her a dimple.
"I'll stay away, Chaos," I murmured, "if you stay out of my parking spot."
She straightened up, her grip tightening on the straps of her pom-poms. "Never having to speak to you again might be worth the extra walk," she retorted. "I'll take it into consideration, but no promises because making you miserable is also quite satisfying."
And with that, Caroline spun around and walked away. I leaned against the lockers and watched the space Caroline had just vacated, as if her fiery spirit had left an imprint. She was theonly girl in high school who seemed to draw a line in the sand with me, the only one who didn't try to erase it, who didn't scramble to stand at my side.
I couldn't understand why she hated me, but there was something about her resistance that intrigued me. Most girls fell at my feet, eager for any attention I might give them. But not her. Never Caroline.
three
Caroline,5 years later
The pinch was as familiar as it was painful, Yaya’s grip so tight it was like she thought someone might steal me from her. "Asteri mou," Yaya cooed, pink lipstick smeared on her teeth. "I can't believe you're twenty-two, you are beautiful." Yaya was still stunning in her old age. Her jewelry was always on point, but her lipstick never stayed in the lines. She had been married to my grandfather for forty years before he passed away, and then she left Greece to live close to us. "But when I was your age, I was married with four kids already. Do you still like men? Because I don't care about your preference as long as you’re married.”
"Yaya, I—" My voice came out muffled and strained as her fingers held firm. "Yes, Yaya, I like men," I managed to blurt out, the words barely escaping the confines of her affectionate torture. "I just haven't found the right one yet."
I knew the concern in her voice all too well. "Do you need me to set you up? What about that nice man who sells insurance?" Her eyebrows arched in anticipation, as if the mere suggestion could script my future. "He has a great wealthy family."
"Yaya, no," I began, the protest rising from my chest, but before Icould finish, her hand shifted. She turned me sharply to the side, and with a pinch to my ass said, "You have such a tight bun, I don't see what the problem is."
Heat surged through my body, my face red with embarrassment. The parking lot suddenly felt like a fishbowl, and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone had just caught Yaya getting a snag of my behind. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe it.
"Caroline, we need to get in line now or we're never going to get a table." My sister Charlotte interrupted. Grateful for the diversion, I composed myself and followed her lead.
The line for the restaurant filled the waiting area. I fell into step beside my sister, the burn of Yaya's pinch lingering, an unwelcome reminder of the unfair expectations that my entire family had on my love life.
I trailed my sister to the hostess stand, the scent of garlic and oregano overwhelming us. The hostess—her attention shackled to a tablet—barely glanced up as she delivered the verdict: an hour wait.
"An hour?" The words slipped from my lips, shooting my sister a sidelong glare—who'd assured me all was arranged for my birthday dinner. "I thought you had it handled."
“They don’t take reservations!” she hissed, rolling her eyes.
"We’ll just wait," I murmured, accepting our fate.
Once dinner was over with, I could get to the real fun. I knew my friends had planned something epic tonight for my birthday—plans a world apart from cheek pinches and insurance salesmen.
My family and I stood in line. My parents chatted while my sister and her fiance exchanged stolen glances, their hands subtly entwined. My brother was on his phone, exuding detached interest. His wife, who also happened to be a gorgeous model, stood behind him.
We had been waiting to be seated for nearly fifteen minutes when the heavy wooden door swung open, and in walked Reese Carrington along with his family. The moment Reese strutted inside the restaurant, all heads turned his way. He was in a black dress shirtthat hugged his athletic frame, his dark hair tousled and falling in messy perfection. I caught sight of the cuff adjustment—a subtle but deliberate motion that drew attention to his newly ink-stained skin beneath. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo, which I’m sure was some act of rebellion.
He approached the hostess stand, all eyes still on the bad boy who played life like a game only he knew the rules to. The hostess herself seemed momentarily disoriented. It was almost comical the way her jaw fell open, like Harry Styles had just walked in.
And there I was, rolling my eyes at this disgusting spectacle.
The hostess, the one who had barely acknowledged us, now paid no attention to her tablet. Her demeanor shifted instantaneously from polite indifference to eager accommodation.
"Right this way, Mr. Carrington. We have your favorite table ready," she said, abandoning her post to lead them through the maze of tables.
Reese's little sister scurried after the hostess. His stepmother, a striking woman with an air of polished grace, and his father who was on the phone and wearing an expensive looking suit, also made their way to the table.
Reese and my brother locked in a handshake and patted each other on the back, tied together through the baseball world.
As Reese passed me, he caught my eye and flashed a roguish wink. I clenched my jaw, keeping my voice low.
"Entitled ass," I whispered, my gaze tracking Reese's confident stride. "How? They don't do reservations."
My brother raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at my barely contained irritation. The faint echo of Reese's laughter mingled with clinking of glasses, as they were seated swiftly. They didn’t bother another glance back at those still waiting.
