Page 240 of Hell Hath No Fury
After saying hi to Jill, I hang outside with my iced latte and nosh on a bagel ball as the boys wait for their food order, letting the ever-warming sun chase away the last of my goosebumps from the ocean.
It’s then that I see the first summer person I know pull into the small, awkwardly spaced parking lot. His window rolls down, his aviators hiding mischievous brown eyes I’ve known since our camp days. “Lizzie girl!” Randy shouts as he exits his jeep, not bothering to lock it or even close his windows.
“Ugh, you again?” I tease, and he grins widely, long, lanky arms flinging around me and lifting me into a bear hug.
“Damn straight, girl,” Randy replies. He always was one of the nicer kids, always up for a laugh, always down for a party. “That’s it, it’s time for summer to officially commence.” He takes a big, dramatic breath. “I’m here,” he says dramatically, as if the entire town was awaiting his presence before summer could actually begin. He always did make me laugh.
“Is that so?” I ask him.
“Hell yeah. Where’s the party tonight?” Because there always is a party in the summer, every night.
It’s then that I hear what must be his passenger side door slam shut, and I jolt, not having realized there was anyone else in the car with him.
A tall—well over six feet—boy, or man, lean but built in ways his tank top does everything to compliment, struts to join us, in no particular rush. I frown, because I know everyone in this town, even the summer people, and while there’s something deeply familiar about him, I can’t quite place him. That is, until he pushes his sunglasses up over his head, and then my goosebumps return with a mocking vengeance.
Noah Reed.
“Hey, Liza.” His full lips quirk into a small smirk. “Long time…”
My reply gets caught in my throat. Noah hasn’t been around in a couple of summers, not since his sister’s boating accident. We must have been fourteen or fifteen the last time I saw him. I knew his family still owned their old beach house, but it’s been shuttered for years now, and I never did find the nerve to ask Randy or any of his other friends where he’d been.
Noah bends down—significantly, as he’s grown nearly a foot since I saw him last—and presses a small kiss to my cheek. No hug.
“You’re back,” I comment.
“Just for a few weeks,” Randy interjects. “Staying with me at my crib.”
“You mean, your parents’crib,” I correct him, teasing, and he grins again.
“Touche, Red.”
I self-consciously run my fingers through my hair, as if Noah didn’t already know I was a red-head, as if he hadn’t known since we were little kids, when it was far brighter, and he’d tease me about my freckled nose.
“Tell me you’re not with Jonah Berry anymore,” Randy jokingly begs, “please, I don’t think my heart can take it.”
I laugh, but can’t help but notice Noah’s eyes focus on mine with interest as they await my response. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. For some reason, though, I hesitate. I know what the answer is, but not for the first time, I wonder if it should be different.
“Yes, I’m still with Jonah,” I concede.
Randy flails his hand to his heart and shakes his head. “You’re killing me, girl.”
Vaguely I detect the subtle shake of Noah’s head, as if he’s disappointed. Not in general, but in me, and, weirdly, it stings. I don’t owe that guy anything. I don’t even really know him. Certainly not this tall, grown, built version of him. His hazel eyes are the same, that intent stare, but his jaw is more defined, his cheeks more chiseled. His lips are fuller, kissably so, and I swallow anxiously, guiltily, not quite sure where the thought even came from.
I guess childhood crushes die hard.
But I’m not a child. I’m eighteen, and my relationship is none of his, or anyone else’s business.
Noah turns toward the entrance to Boardwalk Bagels and mutters something about seeing me around without so much as looking back. It shouldn’t bug me, but for some reason, it does.
Randy hurries after Noah, walking backwards to tell me that they’ll see me later at the beach, and to text him when I know where the party is. Because there always, always, is a party.
CHAPTER THREE
I’ve been best friends with Jillian Penn since we met on the beach when we were both eight. She is a rare hybrid, having begun life in Atlantic West as a summer person, only to move here full time when her parents divorced. She lives in the Estates full-time in a beautiful Mediterranean-style home right on the beach, making it more than ideal for parties. Especially with her father in the city and her mom out of town for a good chunk of the summer.
It’s also convenient for me, as my mom can’t exactly give me a hard time about sleeping over my bestie’s house, and if she knows I’m sleeping out, I don’t have to worry about her staying up until the early hours waiting for me at home.
Jonah is drunk as usual, pressuring me to impress all of his friends with one of my “famous” keg-stands. Somehow, he has yet to notice that I haven’t done a keg-stand in probably two years in favor of enjoying my drinks while standing upright—shocking, I know. After all, I haven’t been “famous” for anything of the sort since sophomore year of high school, a time Jonah seems to have trouble letting go of. Nor am I remotely interested in doing anything at all for the sole purpose of impressing his friends. Or anyone else for that matter.
