Boys of Summer (30 page)

Maybe she and Grayson
are
just old friends who occasionally meet up and talk.

Maybe I'm just the suspicious, delusional ex-boyfriend who can't let go.

It's funny, I've never been paranoid before. I'm not really a jealous type of guy. It's not in my DNA. It used to drive Harper insane.

“How do I know that you love me if you never get jealous?” she would always ask.

I would kiss her forehead and tell her that her logic was skewed. It was because I loved her that I didn't get jealous.

She would disagree, and we would almost always eventually end up fighting about it. Sometimes I wondered if she flirted with other guys just to try to make me jealous, and then when it didn't work, she'd start the fight instead. Because at least it was something.

The feeling that has been twisting in my gut all week is so foreign and strange. I hate it. Every time I even consider the idea of Harper and Grayson together, my chest squeezes and my skin flushes with heat and my stomach turns with nausea.

Is this what jealousy feels like? Like you're looking at the world through a fun-house mirror?

But after watching Harper walk into her
third
store since I started following her, I had to entertain the idea that I might have been wrong. That maybe she really was planning to shop all day.

When she came out of the store about ten minutes later, I tried to duck behind a lamppost, but she spotted me and started walking over. I fully expected it to be awkward. We've been avoiding each other for the past two months. And when we have accidentally bumped into each other, it's been all fake waves and averted gazes and pretending we don't have six years of history hanging between us like stale smoke.

Except it wasn't like that this time. Harper was . . . Well, she was Harper. The same old upbeat, funny, bright-eyed Harper. She smiled when she saw me—a real smile. She threw her arms around me and hugged me—a real hug. Her fingers softly rubbed the back of my neck as she told me how good it was to see me.

And then she started doing that thing she always does when she wants to get back together. She started reminiscing about the past. She started finding excuses to touch me. She started laughing way too hard at things I was saying that weren't even that funny.

If you've waited for Harper Jennings to come back as many times as I have, you start to pick up on things. You start to notice patterns. You
look
for them.

And for the past two months, I've been so convinced that this moment was coming. That eventually, Harper would come to her senses once more and we'd be back together again.

The problem is, now that the moment might be here, I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Particularly when Harper, Grayson, and I make it to the beach and I spot Julie waiting there with two reserved chairs. My heart doubles in size and then shrinks to no bigger than a pebble.

I almost forgot about Julie.

When did I turn into such an asshole?

Julie waves her arms wildly in the air to get my attention. I can feel Harper stiffen beside me. After six years with someone, you can just
feel
their energy shift the moment it does.

Unlike me, Harper's DNA is loaded with the jealousy gene. And her finger is always on the trigger.

Not that she has any reason to be jealous now. She's the one who broke it off.

“Hey!” Julie says brightly when we arrive, jutting her hand out. “I'm Julie.”

I search for traces of discomfort in her tone, or a flash of annoyance on her face. I search and I search, but I come up with nothing. Julie doesn't seem at all put out by the unexpected additions to our little beach party.

Grayson is the first to grab her hand. He pumps it with way too much enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you.” He gives Harper a look I can't quite translate. “I'm Grayson.”

“Ah yes,” Julie says. “The star quarterback. Mike has told me so much about you!”

I watch Grayson's entire demeanor transform. I have no idea what that's about, but I don't really have time to analyze it right now. I'm too distracted by Harper's reaction to Julie. Harper shakes Julie's hand and introduces herself, but she looks like she wants to throw Julie into the ocean for the sharks to have their way with.

I step in, awkwardly trying to place myself between them. “Julie works at the kids' camp. She's been gracious enough to look after Jasper and Jake this summer while my dad's leg heals.”

“Whoa,” Grayson says. “Those two? You should get a medal or something.”

Julie laughs. “Oh, they're not so bad.”

Harper grunts. “They once superglued my shoes to my feet.”

Grayson chuckles, which warrants an evil look from Harper. “What?” he asks, holding up his hands in surrender. “You didn't
feel
them gluing your shoes to your feet?

“In her defense,” I cut in, “we were really distracted.”

Grayson, Harper, and Julie all turn to me at once. Harper looks positively radiant, Grayson looks pissed, and Julie's reaction I can only read as disbelief.

“Watching TV,” I'm quick to add. “We were watching a really good paranormal investigation show.”

“I
love
those paranormal investigation shows,” Julie says in her usual bubbly tone, and I could almost kiss her right there.

We all sit down. Grayson and I offer Julie and Harper the chairs, and we drop down into the sand.

Julie continues to yammer on. “There was this one—What's it called?
Ghost Trackers
or something. It was so good. I'm totally already a believer, but I swear that house was haunted.”

“I think I saw that one,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going. But I'm getting absolutely no help from Grayson or Harper, who both appear to be sulking. For Harper I can guess at the reason, but for Grayson I have absolutely no idea.

And I suddenly feel bad. I've barely hung out with Grayson or Ian all summer. Between all the extra work and getting the twins to and from the beach club and my late-night walks with Julie, I've hardly had a moment to spend time with the guys.

Sure, Ian talks to me sometimes while I work, but it's not the same. It's not all of us together. Like the old days.

And after that awkward Fourth of July barbecue, I was starting to fear it would never
be
like the old days again.

“Where's Ian?” I ask. “We should text him.”

“Probably making out with Whitney somewhere,” Grayson grumbles.

“What?” I spit out. “Whitney and Ian? But they hate each other.”

He kicks his toe into the sand. “Yeah. They think I don't know. They think they're doing such a good job hiding it—leaving the house separately, late-night swims in the pool—but I know. I live in that house too.”

Is that what's bothering him so much? That his sister is dating Ian? His sister could do much worse than Ian Handler. Hell, his sister
has
done much worse.

“So, they're, like, a thing now?” I ask.

Grayson shrugs. “They better be, that's all I can say. He better not break her heart at the end of the summer when he goes off to LA or wherever to be the next One Direction.”

“Who's Whitney?” Julie asks.

“Grayson's sister,” Harper says, and I hear annoyance in her tone at having to explain something that she finds so basic.

I check my watch. It's almost six-thirty. How much longer are we all expected to hang out here and pretend that this isn't the most uncomfortable situation ever? I consider texting Ian and inviting him to join us, but if that's going to make this even more awkward, then it's probably better that I don't.

I look around at our unlikely foursome—Harper in her lounge chair, looking like she's sucking on a lemon; Julie smiling under her sun hat; and Grayson picking pebbles out of the sand and chucking them at his feet.

“I'm going for a swim,” Julie announces, probably as anxious to escape this distorted energy as I am. She jumps to her feet and slips out of her shorts. “Anyone want to join me?”

She directs the question at the whole group, but I know she's really talking to me. I glance from her to Grayson to Harper. Everyone looks extremely invested in my answer. Too invested for my comfort.

No matter what I say, I've made the wrong decision somehow. But I just don't think I can sit here any longer.

“Sure,” I say, standing up and pulling my T-shirt over my head. We run toward the surf and jump in. I don't have to glance back at the chairs to know that Harper is pouting. But as soon as the refreshing water splashes up against my legs, I find it extremely difficult to care.

IAN

T
his was a mistake. I don't know why I suggested coming to the beach. I just needed to get away. I was feeling so claustrophobic and trapped back there. With Whitney's probing eyes and words like “girlfriend” floating in the air, it was too much.

But this is the last place I should have tried to escape to. Even this late in the day, the beach is packed with umbrellas and bodies and coolers and tired, wet children running loose like rats let out of a lab cage.

We trudge through the sea of beachgoers, looking for a relatively quiet spot. Yeah, good luck with that.

We traverse half of the damn island before Whitney points to a big yellow umbrella near the next lifeguard stand and says, “Hey! There's Grayson!” She starts to make her way over. I grudgingly follow.

As we get closer, I see that Grayson is not alone. Next to him on a lounge chair is a tall blond girl wearing a purple bikini and cutoff shorts. I stop walking when I realize that it's Harper.

Seriously?
This
is still going on?

I was so convinced that they would have broken it off by now, that it was just a breezy summer fling. But that was
more than a month ago, and now it looks like they're in the middle of some heated discussion.

I try to veer off course, but Whitney catches my arm. “Come on, Brooder. Let's go.”

“They look like they need privacy.”

She scoffs at this. “It's Harper and Grayson. Why would
they
need privacy.”

If only you knew
, I think as Whitney practically drags me over.

“Hey, guys!” she says, waving.

Grayson glances from Whitney to me, his expression unreadable. I give him an evil glare, which seems to only confuse him.

“What's shaking?” Whitney drops into the empty beach recliner next to Harper, who looks incredibly annoyed by our arrival.

“Nothing,” Grayson mumbles. “We were just chatting.”

“Is Mike here?” Whitney asks.

Grayson nods toward the ocean. “He went into the water with some chick.”

Harper stirs at the comment, but I seem to be the only one who notices. There's something in the air here that I can't quite pinpoint. But it smells.

“Oh reeeaally?” Whitney shields her eyes and tries to peer into the water. “What's her story?”

Grayson shrugs, looking pointedly at Harper. “Don't know. She's hot, though. I'd totally hit that.”

Whitney and I both flinch. It's not the playful, charming kind of remark that Grayson is known for when it comes to girls. It goes deeper than that. There's an almost spiteful quality to it.

Harper stands up with a huff, deliberately kicking sand
onto Grayson as she slides her feet into her shoes. “You're a dick.”

Then she storms away. I watch Grayson fume for a few seconds before he ultimately decides to follow her, leaving Whitney and me to stare at each other, dumbfounded.

“Okay, we clearly missed something,” she says.

I consider telling her what I saw between Grayson and Harper, but decide against it. Whatever is going on between the two of them is their problem. And it looks like a completely fucked-up problem that I don't have the mental or emotional capacity to get in the middle of.

Just then Mike comes running up the beach, shaking water from his hair. Behind him is a cute, bouncy brunette in a one-piece lifeguard bathing suit. They appear to be racing.

“I win!” Mike throws his hands into the air.

“You totally cheated!” she squeals.

Mike grins. “I totally did.”

The girl immediately notices that Whitney and I are
not
the people she left on this beach, and she does a double take at both of us. “Hi!” she says, beaming at me. “You must be Ian. I'm Julie.”

As I watch her grab a towel from the sand and wring out her short dark hair, I'm immediately struck by how different she is from Harper. Harper, as pretty and free-spirited as she is, always has this kind of heaviness surrounding her. Like a gray cloud constantly threatening rain. While this girl is nothing but clear blue skies.

“I'm Whitney,” Whitney introduces herself. “Grayson's sister.”

An expression that resembles comprehension quickly flashes over Julie's face as she looks from me to Whitney,
her mind putting some kind of puzzle pieces together. “Oh! Right!”