Chapter 5
Ace
The pool shimmers in front of me, water lapping at the edge and flickering in the overhead sun.
It’s three o’clock, and Julia and I have been at Manhattan Elite Swim Club for an hour.
I’m in the pool, and she sits on a lounger under a cabana canopy twenty feet away.
Her skin is still dewy with undried pool water, and I do everything in my power to keep my tongue in my mouth and my dick—constantly threatening to salute her—within the confines of my trunks.
I haven’t gotten a hard-on in public in five years, let alone for my best friend, and the feelings of pubescence, I have to say, are not a comfort.
Her skin is tanned, and her legs are long, just like always. And yet, today, I can’t seem to make myself look at anything else. There are other girls here. Hell, there’s one five feet away who’s been doing her best to grab my attention, but all I can see is Julia.
Jules.
Lia.
My best fucking friend and, evidently, the love of my life.
Fuck.
When I woke up this morning, I tried to tell myself I had just lost it a little last night and what I thought I was feeling for Julia was, like, temporary confusion or misplaced feelings or a non-life-threatening stroke.
But then I went to her parents’ house in Jersey to pick her up, and I caught sight of those big blue eyes of hers and heard her gorgeous fucking laugh and I couldn’t bullshit myself into thinking my feelings for her weren’t real.
They are real. Too real, if I’m honest.
Of course she wanted to do something in a bikini today. Of course. Only thing worse would have been a nude retreat, and with the minuscule size of her orange-and-white cheeky bottoms, I’m not entirely sure we’re not on one.
But seriously, why does her ass have to be so…perfect?
I bite my lip and swim over to the edge to get a little closer, but she’s just out of range, behind another couple of rows of busy chairs and a mesh curtain she’s just rolled down from our poolside cabana to keep more of the sun at bay.
Our parents have been members of this club for as long as I can remember, and the perks are awesome.
A running tab to get food, all access to a private pool, and some of the finest sporting equipment in all the city are always at our fingertips.
I know we’re a couple of spoiled rich kids, but I try to use it to my advantage for other people too when I can. Just today, I invited Finn and Scottie to come with us on our guest passes, but they both declined, citing plans to hold hands and kiss or some shit.
Lucky, reciprocated-love bastards.
I sigh, putting my cheek down on the hot, wet concrete and willing myself to calm down and come back to center. This is Julia.
My Lia.
Yes, she’s hot. Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she’s smart and funny and interesting and amazing in all the ways that count.
But she’s also my pal. She’s the person I can trust and have trusted my entire life.
She knows all my secrets and faults and failures.
She knows the best of me and the worst of me, and she knows that they often come in tandem.
She knows me. She’s always known me.
And I know her.
She’s not different, we’re not different—even if it feels like I am—and if I’m going to be a good friend, I need to keep the space between us unbetrayed by my sudden crush. She needs me to be steadfast. She needs me to be reliable in all the ways I always have been.
I can do that. I can handle that. I am peace. I am calm. I am rationality.
And if I can just get my dick under control, I can go back to being her pal.
I pick up my head again, dunking it under the water and coming up renewed. My chub is only at half-staff, and I can think thoughts again, and pretty soon, I’m going to be good as new.
I’m strong. I’m adaptable. I’m—who the fuck is that?
Two guys fill the space on the lounger next to Julia now—my fucking lounger—leaning in close and chuckling at something she’s just said.
Her big, obnoxious sunnies she got on our last trip to Fifth Avenue block her eyes, but her body language is open and inviting and turned toward them.
My brain buzzes with dangerously loud white noise, and I lift myself up and out of the pool in one smooth motion.
The girl behind me still tries to get my attention with some kind of laugh and throat-clear-led boob hoist, but I pad on hot, smoldering stone toward Julia without looking back, ignoring the sound of singeing skin coming from my screaming feet.
My territory is being invaded, and with war comes pain.
Prick One and Prick Two have smiles the size of Texas as they get up and exit the cabana, and Julia lies back, her stomach stretching out to toned and flat again.
I should go gently. I should lead in like a Roman or a Victorian or whatever the fuck the dudes were on that show Bridgerton that Julia loves so much. Because the cold hard facts are that as far as Julia’s concerned, I don’t have fuck-all reason to be in a piss-poor mood.
Sadly, I don’t listen to my own advice. I steamroll in like the New Yorker I am.
“Who the fuck were those dudes?” I ask, sitting down on the lounger next to Julia.
She sighs before opening her eyes and pulling her sunglasses off. She leans forward, closer to me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to glance down at the way her perfect breasts are being pushed out toward me like they’re on my own silver platter.
Fuck, is it just me, or is this “I’m in love with my best friend” shit getting complicated?
“They go to Dickson,” Julia eventually answers. “Drew Bettencourt and Gregory Allister. They’re in Sigma Tau, and Drew was in calculus with me.”
I forget the names as soon as she says them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re Tweedle D and Tweedle-I-fucking-hate-him.
“And what are they doing here?”
Julia laughs, unaffected by my fuck-them attitude. She’s used to my mood swings, my bluntness, my damn near inquisition. We’ve done so much together in our lifetimes, frankly, I doubt anything from me would come as a surprise.
Except, I suspect, my newfound undying, obsessive, completely soul-crushing love for her. That might be a bit of a shock.
“What do you mean, what are they doing here?” she retorts, and one of those adorable snorts she always makes leaves her cute fucking nose. “Swimming. Hanging out. Like us. Greg’s dad owns that really popular kids clothing company now, and Drew’s family—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I interrupt. I don’t want to hear shit about those assholes. I don’t care about them or their hopes or their dreams. I care about Julia. My Julia. “I meant, what are they doing talking to you?”
She shrugs. “They just wanted to say hi. Recognized me. And Drew wanted to…” She sits up slightly, looping one arm around her knees and adjusting her sunnies on the top of her head.
“He wanted to ask me out for tomorrow night. And, yeah…we’re going on a date.
” She claps her hands like the news is something other than abominable. Like it’s good news.
It absolutely, most decidedly, is motherfucking not. In fact, it feels like someone just told me I have terminal cancer and have ten more seconds to live.
It feels like fucking dog shit.
“You’re going on a date? With that guy?” I scoff. “He looks like a douche, Lia. In fact, I can still smell the linger of Axe body spray and protein powder in his wake.”
“He’s a nice guy,” she contests with a roll of her eyes. “So what if he’s a little stereotypical? I could say the same for Scarlett, you know. Big, fake tits and a smarmy smile.”
“I haven’t talked to Scarlett in months,” I hedge.
“And what about Lacey?” She quirks a brow. “Or Kristen? Or Bailey?”
“Who the fuck are they?”
Julia rolls her eyes. “Oh, you know, just girls you were literally flirting with and talking to at the beginning of freshman year.”
“Jules, honey, if I can’t even remember them, I don’t think they count.” It’s a stupid argument, even I know it, but it’s all I have. As far as I’m concerned, there’s pre-epiphany Ace and post-epiphany Ace, and the two shall not mix.
“Yeah, well. Maybe in a few months, I won’t talk to or remember Drew either. But tomorrow night, I’m going on a date with him.”
“Whatever,” I agree with a pout and shove back into my seat. The only thing stopping me from throwing myself at her feet and begging her to reconsider is the deep, deep desire not to come off as an absolute lunatic. I mean, I’m trying to make her love me, not feel like she needs witness protection.
“Don’t be such a downer, Acer. We can still hang out during the day,” she tries to console, nudging me with her perfect foot. “The date isn’t until tomorrow night.”
I grit my teeth against seven different curses and take a deep breath.
It’s not going to do me any good to make her angry.
I need to be understanding, present…perfect.
I need to be so good to her, all the other fuckers don’t stand a chance.
Basically, I need to become the human version of a golden retriever with abs.
Which, thankfully, good genetics, good nutrition, and the occasional workout already have the abs issue under control. I just need to figure out how to make her love me.
“That works,” I eventually say, taking the calm, cool, and collected approach. “We’ll do something fun, then. Maybe make a quick trip down to Ocean City for some crab or something.”
“Oh my God!” she shouts, jumping up and spinning toward me. “I was just thinking earlier that you were going to end up taking us down there for crab today!”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Yes,” she agrees, shaking her head. “We’re starting to get too in tune, Acer.” She taps her temple. “I don’t know if the world can handle that level of friendship.”
“It can,” I assure. “If it can handle what happened at the paint-and-sip my mom signed us up for when we were sophomores in high school, it can handle anything.”
“Oh my God! I almost forgot about that. You got so drunk on wine before your mom even realized we were drinking something other than grape juice.”
“She claims she had no idea she was condoning underage boozing, but I’m not sure what to believe.”
Julia snorts. “You got so wine-drunk that you tried to turn your butterfly into Batman halfway through.”
“Listen, I maintain that was a creative pivot.”
“Your butterfly had one normal wing and one that looked like it belonged to a melting spaghetti noodle.”
“Hey, limp wing is still better than limp…” I trail off, waggling my eyebrows.
“Oh God, please.” Julia slaps her hand on my thigh with a playful roll of her pretty blue eyes. “Come on, let’s go in the pool again. I’m getting hot.”
I agree easily, straddling my chair to climb to my feet and offering a hand to steady her while she gets up.
I walk behind her to the pool, keeping an eye on the fucks who stare a little too long at her ass, and hold her hand while she climbs down the steps at the side, before following her in.
She dunks under the water and comes up with her hair slicked back, and I immediately post up behind her to smooth it out of her eyes.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, turning to look at me over her shoulder as my hand grazes her shoulder.
I smile. “Of course.”
I want to lean down and kiss the water-dotted skin, but I don’t. Not that I wouldn’t normally—our friendship has always crossed societal boundaries—but with the way I’m feeling inside, I’m not sure I would survive it.
Julia spins in the water, her fingertips dancing on the surface, and then leans onto her back to float. Her feet kick up in front of me and land on my shoulders, which she uses to glide herself back and forth.
Her feet are so dainty, her toes long and pink-tipped with magenta polish. I grab on to both, my thumb working subconsciously over the freckle on the top of her left big toe. In a vast expanse of perfect tanned skin, this one freckle stands out like a landmark of our lives together.
She ab-curls up, her thighs pressing against my chest until she can replace her legs with her arms, hanging off me in a hug. I hold my waist back, careful of my newly renewed fucking rager.
We’re the same. This is how we’ve always been. Close. Easy. Effortless.
Except, at the same time, I can tell this is the beginning of something different.
Now I’m on the edge of a cliff, staring down at what I can’t have. This, for better or worse, is the beginning of my ruin. Because, unlike before, my mind races at every touch, analyzes at every moment, and obsesses over her wildly.
Because I love her. I love Julia Brooks.
And tomorrow, she’s going on a date with another dude.
Fuck.