Page 1 of The Problem with Perfect

chapterone

Bellamy

I stroll through the small group surrounding the fire, my hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket to ward off the light chill that clings to the air. It’s the first bonfire night of the summer, the weather still a little crisp in the evenings and the crowd thin since not everyone has finished up the semester and traveled home from college yet. At the height of the summer season, there will be over a hundred people here, cars lined all down the dirt path leading into the closed-down campsite. But tonight, there are only about 20 or so folks scattered about, drinking and listening to music and reveling in the feeling of summer just on the horizon.

To be honest, I’m not really sure why I decided to come. I guess I feel bored…maybe a little impatient. It’s this unfamiliar feeling that’s been skittering beneath my skin recently, a sense of not knowing exactly what to do with myself. It’s as if I’m just sitting around, waiting for life to happen.

Normally, I’m fairly relaxed, so this sensation is very unlike me. That’s why I’m here, trying to find something to do, someone to talk to, something to take my mind off this feeling of stagnation.

My eyes scan the attendees littered around the gravel and dirt circle, taking stock of everyone and trying to decide who to approach. Unsurprisingly, most of the people here tonight are locals who graduated a few years before or after me. Familiar faces from around town, people I know of but don’t really know.

Until my eyes halt on a familiar old Chevy Blazer in red with a white cover.

“What areyoudoing here?” I ask, my voice light and teasing as I approach the broad-shouldered back of a man I’ve known almost my entire life. “Aren’t you too oldto be at one of these things?”

Rusty pins me with an unimpressed look then returns to whatever he’s doing at the tail end of his car. “I’m not here to party, Bellamy. Those days are in my past.”

I snort and shake my head, watching as he tugs out a box of beer. “I didn’t think you were here to party, Rusty. Besides, how long has it been since you graduated high school? Twenty years?”

He pauses and looks back at me over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Fourteen.” Then he gives me his back again.

“Same thing.” I lean against the Blazer and kick one foot over the other, tilting my head up to look at the sky, the stars slightly obscured by the smoke rising in the clearing between the trees.

I hear Rusty snort. “It is most certainlynotthe same thing.” He passes by me and thunks a box onto the hood. “I thought you were supposed to be good at math.”

I ignore his comment.

“So, what exactlyareyou doing here tonight?” I ask. “Because it looks like you’re planning to dole out booze to Cedar Point’s youth. Does Boyd know you’re selling your product at the bonfire?”

He lets out an irritated sigh. “I’m notselling beer to Cedar Point’syouth, Bellamy. Everyone is of legal age. A sale is a sale, and someday, when you’ve moved out of that plush house your parents own and you actuallyneedthe money you work for, you’ll see what I mean.”

I roll my eyes, not surprised by his bristly attitude. Rusty’s always been that way—angry at the world. I don’t make that statement with judgment; it makes sense considering the shitty hand life has dealt him. Still, it’s rare for me to see him talk to anyone without a scowl on his face, besides his younger sister, Abby, and my brother, Boyd. The two of them have been friends since they were really young, which is why I’m not intimidated by his irritable bear act the way everyone else in town is.

That doesn’t stop me from noticing what a dick he can be sometimes.

“You know, you have a way of being incredibly condescending.”

Rusty heaves one of the boxes up on his shoulder then grabs the other and slides it forward until it’s tucked against his hip.

“Idoknow. I figure it’s the best way to keep you from annoying me with your jabs about how old I am.” He starts walking away, heading over to where Corinne Paulson is standing with a group surrounding her dad’s Saab.

I glare at his retreating form, cross my arms, and watch the slowly growing crowd. I’ve been here all of five minutes and it’s easy to see that coming tonight was a mistake. Instead of chitchatting and laughing with friends to distract myself, I’m stuck volleying insults with a guy who barely tolerates me.

Sighing, I push off of Rusty’s car and round to the back, nosily eyeing the contents in the trunk: a few more beer boxes, what looks to be a box of tile samples, a flannel blanket, and—I huff a laugh.

A box of condoms.

Classy.

I snag the box and glance inside, unsurprised when I see there’s only one left. If I know anything about Rusty Fuller, it’s that he is a man about town, and if I put stock in town gossip, it seems like he mostly gets his kicks with tourists passing through and looking for a good time with a guy who looks like a lumberjack.

Gross.

I could never sleep with someone like that—without emotion, without connection. Sex is special, something to be shared with people who mean something.

I glance back over to where Rusty is still talking with Corinne and roll my eyes at myself. Clearly it’s time to leave. Standing around, snooping through the back of Rusty’s Blazer isnotwhat I had in mind for the evening. I should have just stayed home and done absolutely anything else until it was time to leave for my late shift at The Mitch.

Part of me thinks I should wait to say bye to Rusty, though I doubt he even cares. When I walk around to the front of the car, giving one final glance to the crowd before heading out, I hear my name in a familiar voice that has my heart swooping down into my stomach before launching itself into my throat.

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