2. Summer #2
I’m not sure what color his eyes are, but they aren’t simply green. They’re so, so much better. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my belly.
I stare at him, wordless, and he stares right back.
Oh my God. I must look like a complete idiot sitting here in my ratty sweats, hair tossed up in a messy bun, clutching Mom’s guitar that’s older than me.
When he doesn’t move, I swing my guitar off my lap and make to stand when he strides forward, flinging an arm out to stop me.
“No!” He rushes, and I pause. “Please. Don’t stop. Not on my account.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I was out back cleaning the grill when I heard you.”
I blink at him once. Twice.
Say something Summer. Anything.
He scratches at his jaw. The movement draws my attention to his corded forearms.
“You go to my school, right?” he asks.
I nod, still mute, surprised he noticed me. Students usually whiz past without acknowledgment, which is how I like it.
“I knew it was you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his eyes lock on mine again, and it’s as if someone lights a match deep inside my chest. “You’re good.” He gestures to my guitar. “At playing, I mean. Really good.”
I swallow a lump clawing its way up my throat. “Thanks.”
“Ah.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “She speaks too.”
“Of course I speak.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, hoping my hoodie is covering the flush working its way up my neck.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice low and certain.
“Summer. Summer Hayes.”
“Summer,” he repeats, like he’s swishing it around his mouth. His hand presses gently to his chest with a small, playful smile. “Chase. I live next door.”
I know. He moved in last month.
I’ve seen him on the bus and in the hallways at school.
He’s the new kid from Dallas. The star linebacker everyone’s been losing their minds over.
Not that I can blame them—I can see why the girls whisper about him in the bathrooms and class.
Heads turn whenever he walks into the cafeteria with the other guys, like he’s a deity.
You’d have to be living under a rock to not know who Chase Whitmore is.
I drop my gaze.
“Okay …” He palms the back of his neck. “Well … I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah,” I manage. “See you around.”
He spins on his heel and disappears into his house. I wait for the snap of his screen door to close before releasing the trapped air in my lungs.
I couldn’t understand why I felt so wound up by the interaction. It wasn’t until much later that I realized my body knew before I did—everything would change after that day.
I’m yanked back to the present when a car door slams somewhere down the street.
My fingers rest against the strings and I look up, spotting Chase taking out the trash.
He turns, steps faltering when he sees me. A slow, lethal smile stretches across his perfect face, left dimple popping, as he moves toward me.
He jogs up my front steps and leans against the porch railing, folding his arms across his chest and crossing his ankles.
“Hayes.”
My lips quirk up. “Hey, Whitmore.”
“How was the beach?”
“The usual. Salty. Wet.” His eyes flash with amusement, and I rush to correct myself. “No! I didn’t mean it like that.”
I feel my cheeks turn beet red as I’m assaulted with the image of Chase drenched, hair tousled.
“It’s all good.” There’s that damn dimple again. “I know what you meant.”
I strum a lazy chord, trying to look unaffected.
“Your dad’s out again.” It isn’t a question.
“Yup.” I emphasize the P.
“I didn’t see him at the ceremony yesterday.”
“Yeah. He, uh … he didn’t go.”
His face scrunches. “Why?”
Because he doesn’t care.
“He was working.”
Lie.
I came home to find him passed out on the couch. I tiptoed past so as not to wake him, escaping to my bedroom before he stirred.
Chase nods, accepting my answer. “You coming to Xavier’s party tomorrow?”
I huff. “Addie already gave me the hard sell.”
“And?”
“Have you ever known Addison Walker to take no for an answer?”
“Hold on.” He uncrosses his ankles and his whole face lights up like he wasn’t expecting that response. “You’re actually coming? I don’t think you’ve ever come to a party.”
He’s right. I haven’t.
My eyes lower. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
Except it kind of is. Chase and I don’t do whatever this is. We don’t exist in the same spaces around other people. He has his world—football, teammates, parties, girls—and I have mine.
Tomorrow will be the first time I see him in his element outside school walls, and I have no idea what that will feel like.
“Relax, Hayes. I’m just happy you’ll be there.”
My stupid stomach somersaults.
“Well.” He pushes off the railing. “I’ll let you get back to your song.”
I prop the guitar against the bench. “It’s okay. I was just messing around.”
He gestures vaguely at my face. “Nah. You’ve got that look.”
My brows furrow. “That look?”
“You know.” He flicks his hand. “The one you get when you’re about to figure something out.”
“Oh.”
Really, Summer? That’s all you can say?
He slips his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His smile turns soft. “’Night, Hayes.”
I watch as he crosses the yard back to his house and try to squash the excitement blooming in my chest. We only exist in the quiet confines of our own making. Porch steps and late nights. We don’t go farther than the space between our two houses.
And come early September, he’ll be gone.