Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(46)

I make my way down the beach and spot Cole immediately. Things are good, I think. Things are weird with Reese, and Sal might as well be in another universe, but I’m getting a little closer to Gabriel, and I’m getting to know Cole better too.

“Hey, Heath,” he says. “Diana bail on us?”

I laugh. “Nah, she’s talking with Jeanie.”

“Gotcha. Thought we’d finally get some alone time.”

I blush as I lay out my beach towel. I strip off my tank, and for a moment, I think I see Cole’s eyes sweep over my body. But then he stops, and I’m left to wonder about exactly what passed during that gaze.

He puts his shades back on and goes digging through his tote, and I lie back and close my eyes for a bit. A part of me feels awkward, and I can’t fully put my finger on why. I guess people never really look at me like that. At least, guys don’t.

There’s something captivating about Cole, and I’ve been good at ignoring it. That is, until now. He grabs a semifrozen bottle of water out of his bag and takes a sip. The condensation drips onto his chest, and I find myself watching it slide down his stomach. He pulls the bottle from his mouth, and my gaze snaps to his lips. And … now I feel like a creep.

I’ve never even kissed anyone, but yet … there’s this attraction here.

“I come bearing gifts,” Diana says as she returns. She takes her seat between us, and I breathe a sigh of relief as she throws a Gatorade at me and sets out a paper tray with three corn dogs.

“After this trip, I’m never going to be able to eat one of these again.” I dunk the tip in mustard and take a bite. “Okay, that was a lie. These are so good, oh my god.”

Not even two minutes later, we’ve devoured our food. It seems wild that this is my life right now.

“This is the life,” I say. “I miss Ohio, and I miss my other friends, but this? This is perfect.”

“You haven’t even been to one of our beach parties yet,” Cole says. “Now, those are perfect.”

“He’s right,” Diana adds. “We have a friend who has a little private beach that we’ll go to at night, set a fire, and get a few drinks. You’d love it. It’s like one of those, um, farm fires that you do sometimes.”

“What?” I ask as she tries and fails to remember the word.

“Barn fires?” She flicks my bracelet and points to the charm. “I don’t know, this thing.”

“Oh, right. Bonfires.” I look at the charm, and a hollowness grows within me, thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve spoken to Reese. The best I get nowadays is the brief moment when I’m getting off work at two in the morning, he’s just waking up, and we’re able to text. About the projects he’s working on. About how he’s learning to sew. About how these accelerated classes are really getting to him.

We’ve got a little tradition going, though, sneaking texts between time zones, and I like that.

I look to Cole and think about how easy it would be to be with him this summer. About how there are moments of obvious attraction. How if I asked if I could kiss him, I somehow know his answer would be yes.

What I have with Reese is less obvious. So much less obvious that I can’t even be sure it exists. But it feels real, and safe, and it’s what I want.

But then again, Reese isn’t here. And Cole is.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SAL

My body is not cut out for ten-hour workdays.

I’m shaky all the time, either from the caffeine or lack of sleep, my feet are always sore, and my mind’s so frazzled I keep making small mistakes. Though the small mistakes are getting bigger: first, a typo in an email, then forgetting to double check the senator’s gluten-free meals at his last event, and earlier today I had a ten-minute conversation with a constituent about how Wright supported the Green New Deal when, officially, he doesn’t.

April’s and Josh’s comments have become more pointed lately, and April sarcastically calling me “boss” still stings.

I want to pull them into a long talk and explain everything, but I haven’t had the energy to address it, because I’m so strung out, I can barely find time to eat unless I’m at an event and Meghan forces me to take a break. At least she appreciates me. She’s started to bring me iced coffee to start every day. I know I’m making a great impression, at least.

I can do this. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, I know I can do this.

I only have nine weeks left, and I want to know that I’ve made a mark when I walk these halls for the last time.

Some days I walk into the Capitol with such pride, such confidence. Other days? I can barely convince myself to get out of bed.

I’m fully lost in one of those stare-at-the-wall reveries when April puts her hand on mine, just lightly. I snap my attention to her and pull my hand away.

“Wow, sorry. I’ve been zoning out a lot lately.”

She smirks. “Well, it’s Friday at four thirty. I think that’s expected.”

“What’s up?” I ask, desperate to switch the conversation away from my current spiral.

“Josh and I were going to check out this new bistro on Fourteenth Street after work,” she says while giving a somewhat awkward glance to Josh. “Did you want to join us? Or … do you need to stay late again.”