Page 19 of Like You Know

“You ready?” Harlow asked, dropping her headphones on the bed before slipping her flip-flops on. She couldn’t exactly have brought her ex-teacher boyfriend on our spring break trip. Turner didn’t really know the rest of our group, so he hadn’t joined Mena. And I was single, so the three of us were sharing a room. We were having a barbecue and a bonfire on the beach tonight. Mena had already headed down there.

“You go ahead,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll catch up.”

I put my focus back on getting my winged liner to match on both sides.

Harlow’s grinning face appeared above mine in the mirror. “Why are you putting makeup on?”

I’d hardly worn any since we arrived. It was too hot and humid and messy with all the sand and constant layers of sunscreen.

“I just feel like it.” I shrugged but narrowed my eyes at her.

She hummed, tapping her chin and squinting at me suspiciously.

“What?”

“I don’t suppose you might be making an extra effort for a certain someone who you spent half the day splashing around with? Maybe someone named after an extremely fast aircraft?”

I burst out laughing at her dig at Jet’s name but still waved her off. “As if. I’m not going to change any part of myself for any guy. I wear makeup because I want to.”

“Naturally.” Harlow dropped her hands on my shoulders. “I’m just saying—it would be OK if you wanted him to notice you. You deserve to be happy, Amaya. With or without a man.”

I blinked at my friend in the mirror, the eyeliner hovering in front of my face.

Had I really felt as though I didn’t belong with my girls? I swallowed around the lump in my throat and forced the emotion down. I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. I also was really shit at talking about emotional crap. I blamed my two absent parents.

But of course, Harlow knew that.

“I’ll see you out there.” She gave my shoulders a squeeze and kissed me on the top of my head. “Love you.”

“Love you,” I whispered into the mirror, but she was already out the door.

I pushed the tricky thoughts and feelings away and finished my makeup. Halfway to the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and decided I looked hot. My long, straight black hair was half up, my simple white slip dress fit me perfectly, and the eyeliner was precisely even on both sides. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d managed that feat on the first try.

I meandered up the path from our room, taking my time and enjoying the moment of peace in the dusk. All the rooms were set among lush, tropical gardens, connected to the communal parts of the resort by artfully manicured walkways. Cicadas sang loudly as rich colors shifted in the sky above.

My phone vibrated in the little crochet bag crossed over my body. A treacherous part of me immediately thought it might be Mom remembering she had a daughter that needed to be checked on, and my stupid excited hand reached for it immediately.

Of course, it wasn’t her. My heart sank a little at the realization, but I opened the DMs responsible for the notification anyway.

I replied to a few messages, reported and deleted a dick pic, and scanned through the comments of my latest post as I walked. Habit made me turn left at the end of the path, toward the resort restaurants. I was halfway to our usual dinner spot before I remembered we were all meeting at the beach for the barbecue. Tucking my phone away, I decided to cut through past another row of rooms rather than go all the way around.

A distinctly male voice mingled with the ever-present buzz of the cicadas just before I rounded the bend in the path. It definitely sounded like Jet, but I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying over the noise of the insects.

I slowed my steps and peeked around a palm tree. He stood in front of the door to one of the rooms, his phone held to his ear. He was facing away from me, so I moseyed a little closer. It wasn’t my fault he wasn’t paying attention. I just happened to be coming past here, and if he wanted to keep his conversation private, he should’ve taken the call inside.

Not that I could hear much anyway.

“... that’s enough yet,” he said, sounding more serious than I’d ever heard him. He listened to whatever the other person was saying for a few seconds. “Yes, if I can find a way to access the ...”

The stupid cicadas got louder, and I missed the end of what he said. What was enough? What was he trying to find access to?

I was barely a few feet away from him when he hung up and tucked the phone into his pocket. He leaned sideways, planting one foot in the garden bed. He looked as if he was inspecting the window. Had he locked himself out of his room?

I glanced at the number on the door—308—and frowned. I could’ve sworn he was bunking with Drew in 312.

Stopping next to him, I crossed my arms. “What the fuck are you doing?”

CHAPTERSEVEN

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