Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(42)

A few of us gasp at the revelation that we’re standing in a boutique owned by an alumna of the very program we’re in. Yes, she had to continue studying after high school, and this seems impossibly far away. But it’s within reach.

I think about all the dresses in the shop. Cute, beautiful, and completely my style, but decidedly off-the-rack. Something that wouldn’t show well on a runway at all. What would Noelle, or any of my classmates, have said about her designs—or hell, even her finished products?

She takes us on a tour of her facility, and the pieces start to fall into place. I see myself studying at a design school in New York, honing my point of view, then opening my own shop someday.

A spark lights a fire within me, and it’s something new—something like … inspiration.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HEATH

Friday nights used to be sacred to the four of us. Sure, sometimes I’d have an away baseball game, or one of us would be sick, but with the exception of one brief group FaceTime, we’ve barely gotten to keep up the tradition. This Friday is no exception.

Gabriel, or “Gabe” as he goes by now, seems to be fitting in well, but I get the feeling he spends more of his time talking to Sal on the side and less time confiding in all of us, which is such a twist from how things normally go. Reese is five hours ahead, so he’s in bed by the time most of us are free to flood the group chat. And Sal has almost evaporated from the chat entirely. He wasn’t the chattiest of the bunch, but he used to be around some of the time.

I’m not alone here, thankfully, but it does get lonely sometimes not to have that constant group by your side. I think I’m fully settled, or at least as settled as I’ll get. After a few training sessions, I’m really getting the hang of things at the arcade. I know how to fry corn dogs to perfection, I know how to pour beer (though technically I’m not supposed to be serving it, so I have to keep this skill a secret until we’re really slammed), and I also know how to clean up messes. And there are so many messes.

I’m also getting much better at Skee-Ball, for what it’s worth.

My first real shift is tonight, and I’m actually excited about that. Jeanie’s paying me seventy-five dollars for a six-hour shift, all under the table. It’s good pay, compared to what I’m used to getting in Ohio, and I’ll be able to build up some savings. Maybe even fix my car, so Reese doesn’t nearly fly out the window every time we hit a bump.

That is, if he even wants to ride with me anymore after his big Parisian trip.

“You’re sulking,” Diana says as she throws me a bottle of water. I twist off the cap and consider dumping the whole bottle over me but figure I can throw myself into the ocean if it gets much hotter.

As weird as this trip is going to be, one thing’s for sure: when I’m back in Ohio, I will seriously miss sitting on the beach every day.

“Sorry, Di.” I shake my head to snap out of it.

“Still missing your friends?” she asks, and there’s a hint of sadness in her voice.

I shake my head. “Kinda. I knew they’d be too busy to talk this summer, but I don’t know. Guess it’s just hard. I’m worried we’re drifting apart, or something. It’s only been a week, and we can barely have a full conversation—what’s it going to be like at the end of the summer? Or during college?”

She shrugs and gives her bracelet a slow twist. “Everyone grows apart eventually. But I doubt you guys will. It’ll be all back to normal once you’re back, except everyone’s going to be hella jealous of your tan.”

“Ha, yeah,” I say. “Reese doesn’t tan, but he sunburns, like, instantly. He came to one of my games once and forgot sunscreen, and he was bright red for weeks.”

“Risking skin cancer just so he could see you play,” she says, a snarky note in her voice. “That’s a really good friend.”

“He was fine.” I roll my eyes. “But for the record, he is a good friend.”

I feel a slight tug of jealousy in my gut when I think of his new life, and the boy who gets to show him how to sew and sit next to him every day and eat with him at Parisian cafés. But I shake it off. Reese really needs someone now. I just wish that someone was me.

She pulls out her phone and flips to Instagram. She quickly taps to my profile and scrolls through the photos. “Which one is he?”

The picture she’s looking at is one of my all-time faves. It’s from early spring.

“The one with the glasses,” I say. “I love this pic. We were supposed to go to a party that night, but we started streaming this old season of RuPaul’s Drag Race and we were so invested that we stayed up until four finishing the entire season.”

We all shoved ourselves into the couch in Reese’s den. I’ve never felt so close to them, literally and metaphorically, so I snapped that selfie of us all on the couch.

“Looks like a double date to me,” she says. “These two are always touching, aren’t they?”

I laugh. “Yes, they are definitely close. Which leaves me and Reese together by default. He really gets me. Like, when I’m with him I get that best-friend feeling, like, all the time.”

“Welp, I guess I need to step up my game if I want to get the honor of being your best friend,” she says with a laugh. “Or do I automatically rank higher because I’m family? Blood over water, and all that?”