A dangerous image that would require use of the dark corners of my mind, so I stepped away from talk of spanking.
Lest it lead to something just like that.
Instead, I cleared my throat and answered her earlier question. “Holding a wedding on a Sunday is throwing in the towel. It says you’re going to bed early. It says you’re waking up and heading to the gym the next morning. It says you aren’t committed to lasting all night long.”
“What’s wrong with going to the gym in the morning?”
“Nothing, as long as it’s not the morning after your wedding night.”
“How do you know they aren’t staying up all night long?”
“Because it’s Sunday.”
“So are you telling me that you’ve never stayed up all night long on a Sunday?”
“I have, but I doubt Drew the third has my stamina,” I said, as I made sure our bodies didn’t sway too closely. I didn’t need another brazen image of her lodging itself where it didn’t belong.
“You are so cocky.”
“But it’s not cocky if it’s true.”
She tapped my shoulder. “Just because you and your cousin have this saying doesn’t make it right.”
“But you know what is true and right?” I asked, spinning her and enjoying the way it made her laugh.
“What?”
“Me stepping in as the future Douchey Ex Number Four. Because now you’re not thinking about your Douchey Ex Number Three breaking the rules of common decency by inviting you to his wedding, are you?”
Her smile lit up the entire dance floor. It was all the twinkling lights in the reception hall. It was the stars in the night sky. “Not at all.” She took a beat, as if stripping away the sass and teasing that were the hallmarks of our friendship. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“It was my pleasure, Summer.” And it was. The night had been fantastic. “Just like it was with the guy from the bar. Remember that night at the Lucky Spot?”
“I do. You pulled me onto your lap and played with my hair, really selling it to the jury.”
“It worked. He sulked off,” I said, but I wasn’t thinking of the ex. I was thinking of her hair, grateful she wore it up tonight, so I wouldn’t be tempted.
Summer glanced around, as if surveying the success of the wedding ruse. “And on that note, has anyone told you you’re the best fake boyfriend around?”
“Why, yes. It’s going on my business card.”
“Oh, good. Now I feel special.”
“You should always feel special,” I said, conveying that in my tone. I wanted her to know that. Wanted her to feel it. Because her role in my life and the immeasurable levels of special she brought to it were the reasons I didn’t want to get any closer to her.
“I should?” Her question came out a little tentative, a little surprised.
I met her gaze, making sure she saw that I was being honest. “You are special, Summer.”
She’d been one of my closest friends since I was old enough to need someone to turn to.
She’d been there for me the entire time my sister was sick when I was in high school, and when Phoebe died, she’d been there for me too.
Always.
And I always wanted her in my life, and to be in hers, not on a list of mistakes.
That was why I laughed it off when Jason or Logan hinted about us becoming more than friends.
We were an us because we didn’t ever let us become anything else.
10SUMMER
Present day
Stella answers on the first ring. “Let me guess. You’re in jail, and you need me to bail you out.”
“As if I’d call you first,” I say indignantly.
“Who would you call?”
I consider this from bed, staring at the ceiling. “Logan probably. He can talk his way out of anything.”
“Sweetie, it’s money you need for bail. Not talk.”
“But maybe he could talk his way out of the bail,” I suggest.
Stella yawns so savagely you could drive a semitruck through it. “Anyway, why are you calling at ten at night if you’re not in jail?”
