The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(69)

I have no desire to listen to them rehash the past while Luke studies me, trying to find something in the words I don’t say, the answers I don’t offer.

“No thanks,” I reply stiffly.

“You should,” he says, looking to Donna for help. “You’ve barely left.”

But Donna simply smiles at him. “Go ahead, Luke. We’ll have a nice night in, just the two of us. I think Summer needs a ride though, don’t you?”

“Yes,” says Summer, brightening. “My sister dropped me off. Do you mind?”

Luke glances at me once more before he shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

“That’s nice, seeing them together,” Donna says as Luke and Summer walk away. “Don’t you think they’re a good match?”

No. I don’t think that. Not at all. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“She’s not really his type.”

“What do you mean? She’s gorgeous. And doesn’t she surf too?”

Yes, and she’ll have her hand on his fly before they’ve even got their seat belts on. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” Donna says, hugging me from the side, misinterpreting my tone. “You know what it’s like to be in love. You’ve had that. Don’t you think Luke deserves that too?”

Yes. Yes, he does. And I want him to be happy. I want him to move on. But I don’t want to watch it happen.

DONNA and I snack on leftovers from the reception in lieu of dinner and watch several dumb sitcoms with laugh tracks. And the whole time, I stew. Luke’s been gone for a long time. Caleb and Harrison have wives now—I doubt they’re still out drinking—and Beck owns a fucking bar…he probably had to leave for work.

So it’s just Luke and newly gorgeous Summer, reliving old times on the beach or in the back of his truck.

Donna goes to her room and I go to mine, and I hate myself for the fact that, on this day, when we celebrated Danny, I’m only thinking of Luke. I wonder if Danny is somewhere witnessing this, and if he’s as disgusted with me as I am with myself.

Eventually, I hear Luke in the hall. I wait for him to go through his night-time routine, the sounds I’ve memorized: toilet flushing, water running, lights switched off, his retreating footsteps. Instead, my door opens and closes.

He sits at the end of my bed and puts his hand on my leg. “I know you’re awake,” he says quietly.

I say nothing until I’m sure my voice will hold up. “Did you kiss her?”

Silence.

“Get out,” I hiss, but he does not.

He pulls the sheet down, stretches out over me, and lets his weight push me into the mattress as he whispers in my ear. “Would it bother you if I did?”

“Get out,” I growl, and attempt to throw him off, but he doesn’t move at all.

“Answer the question.”

“No,” I snap. “It wouldn’t bother me.”

“You’re a liar.” His hand slides beneath the sheet, up my thigh, beneath my shorts. “I thought so.”

He laughs, and I stiffen as his fingers slide inside me.

“Get out,” I hiss for the third time, but he’s already removing my shorts.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he says, sliding down the bed, his hands on the inside of my thighs, pressing them open. His tongue flickers between my legs.

I gasp, and there’s a huff of breath against my clit as he laughs. It infuriates and excites me at the same time, and it barely takes him two minutes to make me come exactly the way he knew I would, arching upward, digging my hands in his hair.

He climbs back up my body, shoving his pants down, already certain I won’t say no to this either.

“Admit you were jealous.” He pushes inside me.

I meet his gaze and say nothing, but I grip him tight just in case he’s considering walking away.

“Admit you’re the one who gave me the money,” he says, his mouth running over my neck, his hand sliding beneath my tank to pinch my nipple. I arch into him, wanting more.

His hand fists in my hair. “You’re still in love with me,” he says, thrusting harder.

I clench around him. I’m so close to coming. I’m so close to breaking open in a hundred different ways.

Yes, I was jealous. Yes, I made that donation. Yes, I’m still in love with you.

Those words swirl inside me, begging for release. I bite my lip as I come to keep them from escaping.





30

THEN

MARCH 2015

“W here’d you go last night?” Danny asks when we wake. The sun’s barely rising, but the house is already in motion. I’m still not clear on why they all surf so early in the day.

I swallow. “I couldn’t sleep. The mattress sinks every time we shift.”

He sighs. “Yeah. This was a cool idea, but I wish we’d just stayed with my parents. I’ve never eaten so much pizza in my life.”

It feels like a subtle dig, a “You could have cooked for us but you didn’t.”

Only guilt keeps me from saying something back.

I fall asleep after he leaves, and when I wake, the sun’s been out for a long time and there’s music blasting in the kitchen. I make a sandwich and head to the beach with Caleb’s girlfriend, shivering in my hoodie. When I’ve seen spring break in movies and on MTV, it was clearly never in Malibu. We’ll be lucky if hits seventy today.