Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(43)

“See, this is why I don’t pick favorites. Everyone gets jealous.”

“You know, I think you’re his favorite too. He looks so happy to be next to you, doesn’t he?”

She zooms in on the photo so it just shows the two of us, and Reese’s arm is casually draped across my neck, his cheek pressed into mine, and he’s got this smile that’s so sincere and vulnerable. He so rarely shows it to anyone, but god, when he does …

A sensation passes through me, a lightness that fills me completely, and reminds me of our last time saying goodbye before we left. How I just wanted him to stay in my truck, how I wanted us to just stay there in that moment forever. And I knew he wanted that too, but who knows what he wants anymore.

“He does look happy,” I finally say. “With me.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

GABRIEL

“I hate this,” Tiffany says as the sun beats down on the two of us. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate th—Hi, sir! Do you have a second to talk about saving Boston’s beautiful parks?”

“Hi there,” I say to a woman who’s walking down the street toward me. “Boston’s parks need your help! Do you have a second to … aaaand she’s gone.”

Tiffany sighs and puts her head on my shoulder. This week has been utter hell, but at least I have a partner through this. I’ve been doing this for weeks, and most days I’m lucky to get anyone to let me give them half of my spiel.

“This nightmare just won’t end,” I say.

Tiffany nods. “I have never resented an experience as much as I do this. These people hate us.”

“I have a feeling Save the Trees is starting to hate us too. We’ve made a whopping zero dollars so far. Maybe we should watch Matt and Art sometime. They’ve made so much more money than us.”

We take a seat on the bench outside the bank. We’ve been assigned this corner. It’s actually the third location they assigned us—we started outside these hugely trafficked areas, and as the others started to succeed and we started to panic, we got pushed to slightly more obscure areas of the city. There’s still a ton of people here, but it’s clear this isn’t the best spot. We’ve gotten no donations, but what’s worse is we haven’t even gotten anyone to sign up for their mailing list.

That’s how bad we are at this.

“Let’s take our lunch break,” she says. We only work about four hours a day, so we’re supposed to alternate our breaks so one person is always out there to catch unsuspecting passersby who just can’t wait to give us all their credit cards. But she’s right, we won’t be missing anything.

We decide to grab a salad at one of the chain chopped-salad places, a splurge for us considering our meager stipend. After, I head back toward our bench, our bank, our corner, when Tiffany stops me.

“It’s only three blocks to where Matt and Art are.” She smiles. “Want to do some spying?”

I laugh. “I would do anything to not have to sit on that sad concrete slab we call a bench.”

My tight chest loosens as we leave our cursed street, and I feel my mood lift as we get caught in another conversation about our home lives. Tiffany is fascinated about my close group of friends back home—mainly that we’re all in competition for the top of our class yet we’re best friends. And she talks to me about her normal summers in the mid-Atlantic, eating crabs with her family at a beach house, and how she’d do just about anything to be there right now.

“This volunteer thing isn’t what I expected,” I admit. “But if for nothing else, I’m glad I’m finding my own friends here. I love my friends back home; they’re my family. But we’ve only got a year left together, and college is going to change everything.”

“It does,” she says. “At least that’s what my brother says. He’s a senior at Howard, and I think he’s lost touch with all his high school friends at this point. Except for the occasional like or comment on social media.”

“I’ve been worried about making friends without them,” I admit. “But this has been good for me, I think.”

“Well, thank god I jumped in front of you at that first party.”

We make our way to Quincy Market, this giant food hall with shops that sits in the city center of Boston. Eventually, I find Matt talking animatedly with a tourist about the foundation. They’re laughing and smiling, and I feel my cheeks lift up along with his.

“How is he the most charming human in the world?” I ask, which makes Tiffany snort laugh. “What? He is.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. I see that look, though—don’t be crushing on him like that. You’re just jealous he’s able to hold a conversation with a stranger.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Not when we only have a couple of months left here.”

Her words settle in within me, and I nod. It is silly, but it feels special that I am crushing on someone who isn’t Sal. Even if it’s just secret envy of his conversational skills, it’s a first for me.

Matt keeps talking while the man takes the tablet, fills out his information, and swipes his credit card. They talk a bit more, and there is something captivating about the way he talks, the light and kind way he approaches the conversation. He’s so happy. I envy that joy, and I know part of the reason I’m not like that is my anxiety, but there’s got to be a way I can do this, even if the thought of going back to the bank corner makes me actively want to die.