He turns toward me. “They were fun.”
I give him a play-exasperated eye roll. “My reaction to that comment wasn’t because I didn’t have fun. I’m not angry that he said it about me, or that you have one-night stands or even that you agreed with Daniel. I mean, it embarrassed me, yeah, but I got over it.” He winces apologetically, and I lower my voice so he doesn’t feel berated. “I’m annoyed that guys talk about women like they’re snacks. Like they’re disposable or easily replaceable when something more appealing comes along. So yeah, things between us stopped after that, because I don’t even want casual sex with someone who has such prehistoric views on women. But I hadn’t expected it to turn into more anyway.”
Pink colors the apples of Luke’s cheeks and he looks down, nodding. “Well, you’re not replaceable,” he says. “I just want to make sure you know that.”
Butterflies invade my chest, and I swallow, struggling to push them down. “I appreciate that, friend,” I say.
The word elicits a wry, perhaps wistful smile from Luke, but after a second he says, “What were the other reasons?”
I blink, having lost the beginning thread of the conversation.
“The other reasons why you didn’t want to see me—romantically,” he clarifies.
“I mean, that’s the main one,” I say, drawing a spiral in the sand with my fingertip. “I’m not sure I want anything right now. I’m sort of distrustful in general, and you’re not exactly easy to trust . . .”
He’s quiet beside me, picking up another shell and turning it over in his hand, looking at it. Waiting for me to continue.
“Harlow freaked out a little when she found out that we . . .” I trail off.
“I could tell.” He drops the shell and brushes the sand off his hands. “She’ll get over it.”
Looking at him, I ask, “Why does everyone say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Luke shrugs. “It’s just Harlow. She burns like paper, not wood. The fire will be out before you know it.”
His casual confidence is exponentially more reassuring than a roomful of nervous Lolas, Olivers, Finns, and Ansels. “You sound pretty confident.”
He smiles over at me, but it’s actually a little sad. “I was with Mia, but Harlow and I were really close. Lola, too,” he adds, “but my friendship with Harlow was different. Tighter. Lola was a little more reserved emotionally. Harlow”—he laughs—“Harlow not so much. I was more brother than friend to her. I wonder whether part of her feeling prickly about this is because it makes her realize we aren’t all that close anymore, and haven’t been for a while. It’s certainly the way I felt when I found out they’d all gotten married and I had no idea.”
I’m not entirely sure what to say in response to this, so I just nod, listening.
Luke squints as he looks out across the water. “Anyway, I assume she worries Mia is fragile about anything related to that time. And she probably is, but I bet not as fragile as Harlow suspects. Harlow is a Mama Bear.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” I ask him. He turns and looks at me. “That Mia knows we slept together?”
His eyes narrow in a way that tells me he thinks I’m being a little silly. “No . . . ?”
“Okay. Good.”
He turns and slowly grins at me. “I’m hoping that our deal still stands.”
I search my memory before realizing what he means. “You held up your end of the bargain,” I say. “I wasn’t lying, you did great.”
“Thanks,” he says, smiling proudly. “And despite everything I said just now, I really do mean it about the ‘just friends’ thing. I wanted to be up front about where I stood.”
“Thanks for telling me.” The sun has shifted lower in the sky and I don’t need a watch to tell me it’s time to go. “I should go, though.” I stand and brush the sand from my legs.
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
He bends to lift his board. “My sister is seriously going to lose her shit when she finds out I went in the ocean.”
“I had fun.” I drag my board up the beach and begin to towel off. “You did so much better than I expected.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” he says, and pulls his T-shirt on. I almost whimper as all those muscles disappear beneath the cotton.
“Sorry, I just meant most first-timers aren’t great.”
He smirks, letting this opportunity roll. “I’ll text you and we can figure out Six Flags.”
My shoulders slump and I groan. “There has to be a loophole in there somewhere.”
He shakes his head, grinning. “I’m going to be a lawyer; you think I’d have made that deal if there was some way out? No way. But we can go this summer. Let you work up your nerve a little.”
I watch as he bends and straightens his flip-flops to step into them. He’s so sweet.
He’s so genuinely good.
“Are you even going to still be here this summer?” I ask. And with that realization, my heart pistons into my throat.
“Oh, right.” He shrugs, giving me his sweet, eye-crinkling smile. “I guess we’ll see.”
Chapter TWELVE