the main room, but has walls covered with hand-drawn maps, signed in a clear, careful hand: CRS.
Cass is lying on his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow like he’s hugging someone close. His hair’s all rumpled and his mouth a little open. The sheet comes to his waist, his back is bare, and I hope to God he is wearing some pink boxers under there. I start backing to the door, just as Fabio charges into the room and lands on the bed, and Cass’s butt, with the kind of flying leap he hasn’t been able to manage at home for about four years.
Spence bursts out laughing and Cass jerks his head up, big-eyed. Then he sees me, and Spence, and they widen even more.
It is also the first time the three of us have been in any close proximity since that party.
“What’s going on?”
“Dude, definitely your color.” Spence points to the pillow-case, which is also pink.
“What’s going on?” Cass repeats, looking back and forth between us. He pulls the sheet more tightly around himself and there are no creases or folds and I don’t think there is anything under there besides Cass. Fabio licks his shoulder, that embarrassingly intent dog-licking thing.
“Nothing. I was just leaving.” I grab the end of the leash and pull, but Fabio plants his legs more firmly and slobbers on the back of Cass’s neck. Spence laughs, goes over, and gives my treacherous dog a gentle shove onto the floor.
“No need to rush outta here,” he says. “Chill, Castle. We could probably all use a beer. I know I’m getting one.”
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naked Cass and Fabio, who chooses this moment to mark his territory.
On the bottom of the bedpost.
Like it’s a fire hydrant.
Or a lamppost. Outdoors. Far away. Where I wish I was.
I cover my eyes, groan, hear the sheet rustle and Cass say, “What the—oh!”
“I’ll get a sponge. Take care of that. No problem. He just likes to pee on things he finds, um, interesting. It’s a bad habit—he’s old and he has no manners. Or you know, bladder control. I’m so sorry. Can I die right now?”
Cass’s laughter drowns out the last few words of my sen-tence.
“Don’t,” he says, after a moment. “A corpse on my floor would be way worse than this.”
My fingers are still shielding my face. “I’m sorry my dog has no . . . self-control,” I repeat.
“Well, it would be bad form if I did that. But it’s pretty normal for a dog,” Cass says. “You ever gonna put your hands down?”
“I’ll have to if I’m going to clean that up.” I turn away, pulling at Fabio, who mercifully yields and follows me as I bump into the doorjamb, then pull the door shut behind me.
“Here,” Spence says, trying to hand me a beer.
“Last thing I need.” I push the frosted bottle away and look around for paper towels. But there are none, because Cass is seventeen and Nic would never think to buy any either. No dishtowels, of course not. What now? In one of Mom’s (or Mrs.
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off a bit of her petticoat. But this would never happen to one of Mom’s heroines because this is the sort of thing that only happens to me.
Spence scratches his head, takes a pull of beer. “Aren’t you all supposed to be the wild island kids? Doesn’t anybody get hammered around here? Ol’ Nic Cruz is like a Boy Scout or something. And your friend Vivien—I’ve never even seen her at a party.”
“She and Nic pretty much like their parties private,” I say.
“It’s not as if you and Cass are draining the kegs all the time either.”
In the end, I settle for toilet paper, knock firmly on the bedroom door. Spence, apparently losing interest in the whole drama, turns on some basketball on the small TV.
“C’mon in.”
Cass has his back to me, pulling on well-worn jeans, but-toning the fly. How well they hug should be the last thing on my mind right about now. And yet. God.
I mop up and then keep scrubbing the nearly dry floor because I am now so embarrassed I don’t know what to say.
He’s also quiet and I can’t see his face and that makes me even more nervous, so I do that thing I do and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Were you wearing anything under there?”
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Chapter Nineteen
“Okay!” Viv calls, pulling over to the side of the road as I’m walking home from the Field House of Humiliation as the sun is finally sinking into the sea. She’s leaning over to whip open the passenger-side door. “Enough’s enough. Get in the car.”
“Is this a kidnapping?”
“Yes. In. Now.”
I jingle Fabio’s leash. “You sure?” Vivie knows all about Fab’s bad habits.
“I think he’s into marking wood and fabric. Not vinyl.
And besides, I just delivered twenty pounds of spicy mussels in garlic broth and chorizo in this car after getting stuck at the bridge for forty minutes beforehand. Fabio can’t make the stench much worse. Get in now before I have to get forceful.”
I slide in, studying her sideways. “Do you have a weapon?”
The brakes squeal as Viv backs up, too fast, then charges forward, even faster. “My weapon’s my driving, and we both know it. I’m going to drive around with you until you tell me what the hell is going on between you and Cassidy Somers. I thought he was going to throw you down on the pier.”
“It’s not like that. Jeez, Vivie, slow down.”
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“Gwen, it is like that. That guy looks at you as if he’d like to spread you on toast.”
I start laughing. “Toast? What?”
Vivien chuckles. “Okay. That was random. But I work in catering—we think in food. You know what I mean, though.”
She shoots me a squinty-eyed look. “Because you’re doing it right back at him, baby.”
“Well, he jumped in the ocean to rescue a stuffed animal.
Most guys would have shrugged. I was grateful. He was being nice.” I kick my feet up on the dashboard and the faulty lock on the glove compartment flips it open. At least eight speeding and overdue parking tickets tumble out onto the already clut-tered passenger seat floor.
Vivien shakes her head, short, tight wound pigtails whip-ping against her cheeks. “Nico keeps telling me and telling me he’s going to fix that thing.”
“You’d be better off fixing the tickets, pal.”
She shifts in her seat, staring me down. “Yeah, no changing the subject. Nice? First off, that wouldn’t be the first word I’d pick for the way you guys look at each other. Also, you’re deciding not to hate him now? When did that happen?” She lowers her voice to a dramatic pitch. “And exactly how? Details, Gwenners. You’re totally breaking the friend code.”
I see the opening I’ve been waiting for and pounce. “Maybe you better recite that code for me one more time.”
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about your love life. How else am I supposed to know when to come over with a bunch of Ben and Jerry’s and when to take you lingerie shopping?”
“Ugh,” I say. “Count me out of that one. I’d rather face a firing squad than the mirrors in Victoria’s Secret.”
“I hate it when you down yourself, Gwen. You’re changing the subject and missing the point. I’m your best friend. I must know all.”
I fold my arms. “Must you, now?”
“Totally.”
“Is that supposed to be mutual?”
“Of course. Since when haven’t I told you every little thing about me and Nic? He’s still pissed off that I told you about that thing he does with his thumbs.”
“Gah, I could have done without knowing that. Jesus, Vivie . . .” I play with a stray thread at the bottom of my cut-offs. “Ring shopping?”
Pink slowly floods her cheeks, then moves down to the base of her throat. “I was wanting to talk to you about that.”
“Well, why didn’t you? I’m right here! We see each other every day! You couldn’t have said, ‘Hey Gwen, pass me another brownie and FYI I’m engaged to your teenaged cousin’?”
Viv shifts lanes without signaling, prompting a violent round of honking from the car behind her. “I . . . thought you’d think it was weird.”
“Well, it is weird. But what’s weirder was you not saying anything! And Nic not saying anything!”
“What about you not saying anything? How long have you known, anyway?”
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