Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(61)

Diana reaches into the fridge and grabs a box of Franzia, this cheap boxed wine she’s apparently so happy is here, and we head out back. We claim a towel near the fire and don’t bother mixing in with the other groups of people, who barely know we’re here.

I send the group chat a selfie I took of me and Diana shotgunning, and receive an immediate thumbs-up from Reese.

REESE

There’s such a vast difference between three a.m. and eight a.m., especially when it’s a holiday in the US and life moves on as normal over here. I’m feeling a little under the weather today, though I think it’s this weird combo of homesickness and fatigue, and I scratch my plans to sit at the café.

It’s raining anyway, and though Paris is pretty in any weather, I’m feeling intensely homesick. My parents threw this family party for the holiday, like always, and just about every one of my cousins sent me photos and said they miss me. Ariana just got her braces off, and she looks like an entirely new person. In the selfie Isabella sent me, I swear Lucia’s grown since my goodbye party.

And that was just about six weeks ago.

Though Philip’s idea of doing undergrad in France was tempting, it’s just unrealistic. There’s nothing like a big, life-altering trip to realize you’re a homebody. I want country fried steak at Melody’s Diner. I want to give Heath a huge hug after he pitches another perfect game.

I want to be with Heath.

He sends a selfie to the group, and in it he’s shotgunning a beer with his cousin, which makes me laugh. Whenever we drink, which isn’t that often, he’s always the babysitter. Making sure everyone has water, that we pace ourselves. If I got sick from drinking too much, I know he’d be the kind of guy who just sits in the bathroom with you, rubbing your back, distracting you with jokes or stories.

I should have told him how I felt before I left, I know that. But what we have right now is special. We’ve cobbled together a friendship with late-night texts and early morning phone calls. I’ll send a travel selfie while he’s at work; he’ll respond with a voice message for me to wake up to in the morning.

It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.

HEATH

“Okay, I’m feeling it now,” I say after my third cup of boxed wine.

Diana twists her bracelet a few times, and I realize I’ve never asked her why she does that. Is it a nervous tic? Is it just out of boredom?

“What’s that bracelet about?” I say. “Is it like the one Reese made me?”

“This is literally a bunch of thread that’s tied around my wrist. Yours is this copper-wire hand-crafted masterpiece.” She laughs. “So, no, it’s not like that.”

“But you play with it a lot, usually whenever you’re anxious. It almost rubs your wrist raw when we have busy shifts.”

“It’s a reminder, I guess. I used to be”—she drops her voice to a dramatic whisper—“a bad kid.”

I laugh at the drama of it, and she elaborates.

“Okay, fine, it’s not that deep. I used to smoke cigarettes, though. I’d steal them from Jeanie back before she quit, and I’d find ways to get my own. I was up to a pack a day at one point—it was pretty bad. I guess I was just acting out, but I found myself actually needing a cigarette every time I was stressed or anxious. After I quit, I found this string lying around, so I made this. Every time I have a craving, I just twist it, or spin it around, and focus on that until the craving passes. It’s worked for about six months so far.” She sighs. “Much harder when I drink, though.”

“It’s been six months, and you still get cravings?”

“Oh, constantly. It’s awful, I could pick it back up today, this very minute. But Jeanie … Mom, she was able to quit. And she got so mad when she caught me smoking. I don’t know, we don’t fight much, but that was a bad one. So it’s a reminder. Something to focus on that isn’t a nicotine addiction.”

“Good for you,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were dealing with all that.”

“I got off on being a ‘bad kid’ for a while, but that felt a little too cliché for me. Really, I just want to graduate. Get a good job. Maybe take over the arcade one day.”

I laugh, and she shoots a glare at me.

“No, sorry,” I say. “I’m just drunk. I pictured you owning the arcade, but in the mental image I got you had renamed it DIANA’S ARCADE, like, in all caps. And that seemed silly. I don’t know. You’d do a great job, though.”

She laughs. “Thanks. We’ll see.”

Diana and I have talked over the past hour, with Cole popping in and out to pile more driftwood on the fire. The sun is still hours from coming up, and the temperature’s dropping to this perfect humid cool.

I send Reese a couple of texts, because I miss him and I want to tell him that. But after a little back and forth, I force myself to stop before I trap him in a drunken FaceTime with me. Even I can tell when I’m being annoying.

I spot Cole standing alone, even closer to the fire. I notice a slight chill in the air, so I leave my phone in my chair and go join him.

“Hey, Cole,” I say. “You in charge of the fire?”

“More or less. Everyone freaks out when the fire goes out, but none of them care enough to grab a piece of driftwood.” He shrugs. “I like to be useful.”