Safe Bet (The Rules #4)(62)

But it was forgotten. Kid stuff. Until last spring when we were at a party, got drunk together and started making out. Next thing I knew we were slipping our hands down each other’s jeans, getting each other off. It happened again—and then again, right before I left for my dad’s. I had to push him off of me before we took it too far.

I can still remember the pained expression on his face, and the memory of that night hurts my heart.

The memory also makes my heart flutter with excitement. Even though he’s my best friend and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we really were together. I trust Dustin. We’re close without being in a relationship-close. I can also admit—only to myself—that Dustin is a good kisser. And he knows what to do with his fingers.

My cheeks are hot just remembering.



Where are you?

In bed. Naked. :)

Dustin…

I know. Sorry.



I chew on my lip, mad at myself for looking like a prude via text. The problem with messing around with your best friend who happens to be a boy is that they form certain expectations. We’ve crossed the line. In his eyes, there’s no going back. He wants more. He wants it—me—all the time. I think I want that too, but I’m not sure.



What’s Emily’s surprise?

I can’t tell you.

Why not?

I was sworn to secrecy.

Come on D. :(



He doesn’t answer and I don’t push. But I’m frustrated. Being stuck at my dad’s for the summer is the worst. Mom and Dad split when I was eleven and at first, being divided between two homes was awesome. I went to Dad’s on the weekends and it was like one big party. We went out to eat, he bought me whatever I wanted, took me on trips. Summertime was even better. We’d go on vacations to the beach, or Disneyland, wherever I wanted to go. Birthdays I got twice as many gifts and the same with Christmas.

Mom’s house, where I’m at most of the time, is the drag. Homework. Clean my room. Help out since she works and isn’t always home to cook a decent meal. It’s like a cycle set on repeat. Do your homework, clean your room, do your laundry, help me, help me, help me.

Dad’s house was my escape. Until it wasn’t.

He moved from California to Oregon for a new job and met and married Christine, who’s much younger than my dad. Christine convinced him they should try for their own family. Now I have a little brother and sister named Dakota and Sierra—I know, I know, they sound like national parks—and trust me, they are a pain in my ass. Always getting into my stuff, always extra loud way too early in the morning.

No more epic summer vacations. I’m stuck in Oregon from mid-June to early August, where Dad works all day and Christine is at home, staring at me with obvious disappointment every time she spots me. So I hide away in my room, counting down the days until I can go back to Mom’s.

At least at home, Mom doesn’t really care what I do. As long as my room is clean, I help with chores, the homework is done and I come home by curfew, I can do pretty much whatever I want. She’s rarely home anyway. Between her job as a nurse and her new boyfriend, she’s busy. We talk on the phone once a week while I’m at Dad’s and we occasionally text, but it’s not the same.

I miss her when I’m not there and she drives me crazy when I’m home. But at least she’s around more than Dad. He can’t give me any time. He’s too busy working or with Christine and his new kids, the better kids, the ones he wants to stick around for. Playing family man like it’s some sort of show he’s putting on for whoever’s watching. I don’t even know why I come here anymore, but Mom put a guilt trip on me, claiming this would be my last summer visiting Dad before I graduate high school.

She’s right. So I’m suffering through one more summer before I can end this charade once and for all.

My phone buzzes and I grab it, reading the text from Dustin.



Check out E’s IG.



I do as he says, scrolling through my feed. I’ve ignored Instagram pretty much the entire summer because looking at it makes me sad. Pics of my friends having fun back home while I’m stuck here with no social life? No thanks. I don’t need to rub salt in the open wound.

But maybe Dustin’s right and his request is a clue. Maybe Emily’s account will show me the surprise.

I scroll and scroll, finally finding a photo of Emily with Dustin and another guy. A guy I don’t recognize. Emily’s standing in between them in a tiny lime green bikini, her skin red from the sun, chin-length dark brown hair tucked behind her ears and her lids lowered over her eyes at half mast, like she just took a hit or maybe she’s drunk, the sloppy grin on her face confirming it. Probably both. She has a cup in her hand and the guy I don’t know is looking at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Huh. More like he’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

The caption below the photo says:



Summer daze make me feel good. #justfriends #friendzone #zoned #owned #relationship #lies #heartbreak #friends #bullshit



I stare at the photo for a long time, then click on Emily’s user name—crazysexycool4uuuu—so I can check out her other photos.

And there are a ton of them. The ones from late June show her in various swimsuits. Considering her parents are rich and she has her own credit card with a huge limit, she buys what she wants and damn the consequences. She looks good. Em’s not curvy, but she’s fit. In the eighth grade she played volleyball and softball. Gave that up once we got into high school because, and I quote, “I don’t want anyone to think I’m some lezbo jock.”