Summertime Friends (Close To You)

Prologue

Liam

One Summer Ago

My muscles gripe as my shoulders shake from the breeze blowing across my back. When did it get this cold out?

It dropped to the twenties on previous nights, but it feels at least ten degrees colder than that. When dressing earlier, I knew I should have exchanged my short-sleeved cotton ribbed henley for a long-sleeved shirt. I'm sort of a baby when it comes to the cold.

The temperature is abnormally low for June. I think we’ve been spoiled during the day with cloudless blue skies and highs of 40°C. We came in from surfing midday for lunch and overheard strangers mention that a cold front was coming from the north. They spoke confidently as if they were meteorologists or above-average pros at the weather app.

Security takes an extra moment to check my ID before letting me in the pub. He’s probably not used to seeing a London ID in downtown San José, Costa Rica.

I can barely take a step in here without colliding with someone. It’s packed.

Callum and George are already here. They secured a circular booth in the back corner of the place. They texted me earlier to let me know. Moments later, they sent a kind follow-up text, including a photo of a girl on Callum’s lap—no surprise there.

We’ve been here—this pub, this table—every night since we arrived four days ago. On our first night here, we stumbled by, had a proper good time, and have been back every night. No surprise again.

I nod to my best mates as I walk up to the table. They’re in a chat with two women, too preoccupied to even notice I’ve arrived. A brunette with dark brown eyes sits next to George. The other, a redhead with hair bobbed at her shoulders, has her hand caressing Callum’s upper bicep. Her bright pink nails clash with his orange polo, which unfortunately appears straight out of the fifties.

“Oi.” George finally recognizes that I’m here. “This one’s for you,” he tells me immediately, thumb-pointing to the brunette to his left.

I slide into the booth, the faded maroon linoleum creaking underneath me. The brunette, Mila, I learn her name is later, edges closer to me.

She’s hot, not oblivious to that. And unlike her sister, she seems gentler and not as much to handle.

I don’t make a move to get closer or talk to her.

Usually, I’d devour this. The attention. The feel of her touch.

Usually, I’d read her intentions, calculate my every move and word to make her sweat for it, egging her on until I get to reward her later, on her back or all fours, panting for more. There’s an art to a hookup, and any other night, I’d be up there compared to Michaelangelo.

George tosses me a glance. I shrug.

“Li!” Callum slurs. He only refers to me as Li when we’ve been out drinking. “About damn time you showed up.”

“About damn time you come up for air to notice,” George jokes, playfully patting Callum on the arm.

“Where have you been?” Callum asks me.

“Had to take a call.” It comes out extremely matter-of-fact. My eyes meet with George and then Callum. A warning within them that says it all—‘do not ask me again.’

She never sets me off like this. Shit, she hasn’t set me off in years .

She didn’t even do anything tonight to set me off. I did.

With only a few more days left of our holiday in Costa Rica, the idea of being in the same city as her again looms over me.

We took our annual summer holiday early—June instead of July. After seven days here, I’ll fly to Chicago to spend the summer. Hayes Hotels, my hotel line, is expanding to the States. After years of establishing myself in the Greater London area, I’m ready for this.

Expanding to the States was always part of the plan. At first, New York was our initial choice, but that changed after my summer with her.

She lived in Chicago. She lives in Chicago.

So, Chicago became the five-year plan.

I was on the phone with my realtor in Chicago before coming out tonight. Elizabeth, a commercial agent, had called me to confirm showings for next week. We reviewed my budget and timeline for locating an office. Elizabeth is also helping Callum and me find a long-term place to live. Hotels are incredible, but I didn’t want to be living out of one for months at a time. Plus, if everything goes as planned, we will split our time between Chicago and London.

She found a place in the Loop. I had to hang up on her quickly, my brain tuning out everything she said about the place and area. I had never been, but I knew the area. I asked her to email over the details, and I’d get back to her.

The next hour was a blur. I slumped in the chair behind the desk I’d been working from.

I wondered if she still lived there—in the Loop, not Chicago. I knew she still lived in Chicago. At least, that’s what her social media showed the last time I checked before I unfollowed her. Seeing her in my feed hurt. I’d fixate on her smile and remember that, at one point, I was the reason she smiled—and the one that caused her to stop. She looked happy, which made me happy, but also jealous that she was no longer smiling because of me.

I sat there, letting myself stew in the memories, trying to decide whether I should contact her to tell her I’d be there. Ultimately, I decided against it, instead working up the energy to go and meet the boys. I might have let her down, but I wouldn’t let them down.

George and Callum don’t ask about her anymore. I think she lives in the past for all of us as a faint summer memory. But she isn’t only in the past for me.

And I know they pick up on that tonight.

“Negroni with an extra shot of gin, man,” I order from the waiter when he circles back to take orders. “Thanks.”

I’m hopeful that this will help turn my night around.

It doesn’t.

Two more rounds of drinks don’t help either.

I sat there like a scene out of a movie. Everyone around me moving fast while I’m frozen in slow motion.

George leans over the table and claps his hands.

“Alright, ladies. It’s been beautiful, but it’s time to go. Put your drinks on his tab.” George points at me. “And have a lovely evening.”

Their amusement drops, cross about the end of whatever they assumed the night would go. With a few huffs and sighs, they exit the booth. George and Callum don’t move as the women climb around them, but I slide out of the booth to let them exit.

“Now tell us. What’s wrong?” Callum asks.

“Is this about Chicago?” George asks, narrowing Callum’s broad question.

They both stare at me, already knowing the answer.

I nod.

“Do you still love her?” they ask in unison.

“I think I always will.”