Chapter 20 Playlist Hot Girl Summer
EVEN THOUGH I’D STILL be asleep if I were at home, I’m awake and buzzing with energy now.
I love being out on the boat.
The wind in my hair, the spray of water on my skin, and the endless expanse of blue sprawling in every direction. And Myles’s dad doesn’t hold back. He revs the engine and puts the powerboat to good use.
Myles catches my exhilarated smile and asks his dad to go faster.
No one talks much while we zip across the bay, but when we slow and the roar of the engine dies down, the questions start.
I don’t know much about Myles’s parents, but I’ve gathered that he feels some pressure to perform and succeed, and the high expectations of the Ford household are quickly put on display as questions about colleges and career plans start.
It’s probably why Myles quickly asks his dad to anchor so we can get off and swim.
Neither of his parents gets into the water, so jumping in is a reprieve from his mom’s inquiries about my life plans and his dad’s comments comparing Myles to his brothers, which usually come out sounding like Myles is the disappointment.
The first spot we try is a little choppy, so we move farther inland and find a calm area near a beach.
Myles dives in with a perfect arc, and I can’t help but call out, “Seriously, Myles. Is there anything you’re not good at?
You’re already everyone’s favorite at the restaurant, and everyone at school wants to either be you or be your best friend.
Now you have to show up my mediocre diving skills, too? ”
I glimpse a small, secret smile on his mom’s face as I pull off my T-shirt and shorts and go in after him, so maybe she’s not that bad after all.
When I surface, Myles is treading water, waiting for me with a grin. He’s opening his mouth to say something when his brother Matt slices through the water to his right.
“Race you to the shore,” Matt calls out, and takes off in a freestyle.
Apparently even I can’t distract Myles from a direct challenge like that, because he turns wild eyes on me and asks, “See you at the beach?”
I nod, laughing. “Go.”
Myles lurches to the side after his brother, his powerful shoulders and legs propelling him forward.
I admire his form for a moment, then remember that his parents are right behind me on the boat, and fall in line behind them at a leisurely pace.
I don’t swim as much as I did when I was a kid, but I love this feeling.
The ocean is so vast, and when I’m in it, I feel so small—but in a way that makes me feel lucky to be here.
Moving my body through the water brings me a special kind of joy.
I know this area—it’s a small cove that’s sort of hidden and doesn’t have much beach traffic because it’s only accessible by boat—but I’ve never been here.
The beach itself is narrow, backed by vegetation-covered dunes with a few outcroppings of large rocks on one side.
I float a little and swim a little, and when I’m close enough to stand with the water lapping around my torso, Myles is by my side again.
“Who won?”
“Me,” Myles says. “But only because I was dead set on impressing you.” His smile is disarming, and the way his eyes dart down my body leaves my knees a little wobbly.
I opt not to tell him I wasn’t watching the whole time, and we keep walking. When we make it to only ankle deep, Myles reaches over to grab my hand. I think it’s just a brief touch, like that time at the bonfire, but his fingers slide between mine and he doesn’t let go.
“Thanks,” he starts. “For what you said back there.”
I lift one shoulder, struggling to think about anything but the feel of our palms pressed together.
Who knew such a tiny part of my body could make me feel so much?
“I thought maybe your parents could use a different perspective. Hear what other people think about you.” I give his hand a light squeeze.
“Because you’re pretty great. I’m sure they know that, even if they don’t say it. ”
“They definitely don’t say it,” he says. He gives my hand a gentle tug to pull me closer, and our arms press together. “But it means a lot coming from you.”
I think of how proud my parents have been about all my accomplishments, even the mediocre ones, and I hate that Myles doesn’t have that. “Well, anytime you need a reminder, I’m here.”
His grip tightens, and he smiles.
I’m not sure where Matt disappeared to, but Myles and I walk along the surf toward the rocks.
I tell him all the beaches I want to visit before I die, and he tells me everything he wants to do in California during his upcoming vacation.
We approach the rocks, which are bigger than I thought from a distance.
One of them has to be at least seven or eight feet tall.
“Think anything’s behind that?” Myles asks.
“Don’t know.” The words are barely out of my mouth when I’m being tugged around it. I shoot Myles a confused sort of grin at his sudden desire to explore. “What were you expecting to find?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, stepping closer. His gaze darts between my eyes and my mouth, and my stomach drops into a free fall. “I just wanted to be able to do this.”
He lifts his free hand and touches my face. His fingertips are gentle as they slide across my jaw, and that point of contact becomes my sole point of focus. My eyes drift closed on their own, like it’s a natural human reaction to another person’s lips erasing the space between theirs and yours.
In the split second before he kisses me, I internally panic about my breath situation. On the boat I drank his mom’s lemonade, which was fresh and sweet, and I think I’m okay with tasting like that.
Oh my God, Myles Ford is about to taste my mouth.
And then it’s happening, soft and tentative.
A few errant thoughts try to barge in on the moment: that I’m too stiff and awkward or that my lips are too dry.
But Myles doesn’t seem to mind—on the contrary, now his body is pressed against me and his other hand is on my bare waist—so I let my body guide me and wrap my arms around his broad, warm shoulders. After a long moment he lifts his head.
“Amelia?”
“Yeah?” It comes out all breathy.
“I like you.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “I uh… I sort of got that.”
His grin is adorable, his eyes dazzling and happy. “Well… good. I just… After what you said earlier, I just wanted to make sure you knew.”
Emboldened by his sweet earnestness, I rub my thumb across the back of his neck. “I like you too.”
His lips cover mine again, firmer this time, and I’m not sure how long we stay like this, kissing and sighing, with fingers traveling across exposed skin and into each other’s hair.
But at some point, minutes, hours, days after he first tucked me away behind this rock, a sharp whistle forces us apart.
Myles twists his head around, and I peek over to find Matt a few feet away, grinning like an idiot. He gives us a slow clap. Heat rushes to my face, but Myles just sighs and mutters, “Go away.”
Matt lets out a guffaw and starts walking away. “All right, lovebirds. You’ve got five more minutes. Then it’s time to go.”
Myles seems different after we swim back to the boat, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
He’s more relaxed, flirty, and drapes his arm over my shoulders as we motor to the next swimming spot.
Later, on the way back to the marina, Matt tries to goad him by sitting so close to me that not a single molecule of air could pass between our thighs, but Myles just rolls his eyes and tugs at Matt’s leg hair until he moves.
Myles quickly takes his place.
In the car Myles takes my hand and rests our forearms on the center console, and I don’t stop smiling for the entire drive. When he pulls to a stop in front of my house around four in the afternoon, he puts the car in park and turns to me.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” I ask. I figure I’ll ride a unicorn or sprout wings and fly, to cap off the absolute dream this day has been.
He makes a face. “Laundry and packing. Our flight to California’s pretty early in the morning.”
“You’re gonna have the best time.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “I’m really glad you came today.”
“Me too.”
“Would have been better if Matt wasn’t there. Or my parents, actually.”
I just grin at him, amazed that he would want to spend an entire day alone on the ocean with me.
“So,” he starts, gripping the back of his neck with his free hand, “when I get back from California, would, um… would you go on a date with me?”
He looks so serious. And almost nervous, despite the fact that I enthusiastically made out with him on the beach a few short hours ago. “Of course I would.”
His answering smile is like a blooming sunrise, and he leans forward to kiss me one more time before I get out of the car.
I walk on unsteady legs to my front door, and lean against it once I’m inside.
I lightly touch my fingers to my lips, still tingling as I remember his sliding against them.
I can’t wait to text Shelby and tell her—but first I have to see Fiona and the kittens.
My mom sent me three more pictures while we were on the water, so I know the final count is five.
I go into the garage and kneel down a few feet from the box. Fiona eyes me but doesn’t seem upset that I’m here. The kittens are curled up against her belly, as if they just ate and passed out. Two are black, two are gray, and one is black with white spots.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I murmur. “Look at them. You did such a good job.”
She lets out a mewl, and I assume she’s letting me know how exhausted she is. I take out my phone and snap a picture of the whole group, then shoot off a text to Gregory as I head back inside.
Me: Tell Waffles he’s officially a father!
I grab a soda before climbing the stairs to my room, Margarine at my heels. As soon as I step inside my room, I go rigid.
Because there, scattered across the wall where they’ve always been, are dozens of photos of Kat. Smiling at me from the beach, in front of a sunset, from the school cafeteria. Reminding me of our shared history and everything we’ve been to each other.
Only, now it feels like they’re judging me, staring me down. It’s so brutal, this reminder of my betrayal, that I immediately turn on my heel and head in the other direction.
Margarine follows me, confused but apparently up for anything, and I ask if she wants a walk. She bounds down the stairs ahead of me as soon as the words are out of my mouth, and she bounces around near the hook with her leash.
Once we’re forging our usual path along the sand, I still think about Kat, but at least I’m not surrounded by the history of our friendship while I do it.
Now that we’ve kissed and Myles has declared that he wants to date me, it’s alarmingly clear that if I want to keep our friendship alive, I should have been honest with her from the start.
Because if I’d kept her up to date on the inevitability that he and I would get to know each other at work, and the friendship we’ve built over the last several weeks, maybe she’d understand.
She’d understand that these things aren’t always planned, and that when we made the pact, we were young and really didn’t know anything about relationships or real feelings.
Hell, we didn’t really know anything about Myles, either.
She’d understand that while she was nowhere to be found, I got to know him in a way I never expected.
But I didn’t keep her up to date, and I haven’t been honest. I intentionally kept her in the dark about Myles and made it sound like we’re basically still acquaintances who cross paths at work.
I never told her that he asked for her number, or that I started talking to him instead and that texting has turned into a daily occurrence.
Maybe I shouldn’t care, because she hasn’t made me a priority this summer. But despite how much has changed, I’m not sure I’m ready to completely give up on us just yet.
Eventually Margarine and I arrive at Mr. Autry’s house and stop for iced tea and dog treats. I’m so eager for a distraction from my anxious thoughts that I spend a half hour on his back porch listening to his stories about growing up in the sixties.
Margarine and I meander back to my house, and after I’m finished showering and changing, Gregory finally answers my text about the kittens.
Gregory: that’s cool
I frown at my phone. That’s it?
Me: are you at work?
Gregory: yeah
I should probably leave it at that, but something about his replies eats at me.
My mom thinks I’m making it up, but you can totally tell someone’s mood from a text.
I once spent a solid twenty minutes explaining to her why “k,” “ok,” “okay,” and “okay!” mean very different things.
I look over at the selfie pinned to my wall a few feet away.
Gregory’s smile is so infectious, my lips curve up.
My face falls when I look back down at my phone. Something’s wrong, I know it.
Me: Everything ok?
Gregory: yeah
That’s it. I get to my feet, head downstairs, and pull on my tennis shoes. I kiss Margarine on the head on my way out the door and hop onto my bike, feeling the summer breeze on my face as I take off down the street.