Summer Girl: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Happily Forever)

by A. S. Green

  Katherine appears in her bedroom doorway, wearing a jade green string bikini. I can’t stop my gaze from raking down the length of her, then back up again. I am instantly hard, and my bathing suit does a horseshit job of hiding it. She grins, wagging her finger at me. For a second I forget I’m talking to someone on the phone.

  “Are you up at the lighthouse often?” the woman asks.

  Hell, yeah. And what’s it to you and the rest of the town if I spend every waking minute here? Because you’d have to be an idiot to miss out on this girl. This woman. But I don’t say what I’m thinking. Instead I say, “Often as I can. It’s an inspiring view from up here.” Ha! Make what you can out of that!

  “I see,” she says. “And you work on a ferry?” she continues.

  Okay, this is a bit much, even for Mrs. Tremblay. “May I give Katherine a message?”

  “Sure, dear.” It’s too sweet. “Please tell her that her mother called. And that I would like to speak to her as soon as she puts her clothes back on.”

  There is an abrupt click on the other end of the line. I must have an oh-shit expression on my face because Katherine blanches at the sight of me. “Who was it?” she asks.

  “Not Mrs. Tremblay,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Your mom.”

  Katherine groans and slides down the doorframe until she’s sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. There’s obviously more that’s upsetting her than a call from her mother.

  “Do you want to call her back?”

  “I can think of a million things I’d rather do,” she says.

  “Good,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “You’re a big girl. She’ll get over it. And by the way…I think I might have lost interest in swimming.”

  A pinwheel of excitement spins through my stomach as I watch her catch my meaning.

  “Oh, yeah?” she asks, her eyebrows rising.

  “Oh yeah.” I lift her off her feet, and she wraps her legs around my waist, her softest part pressed against my hardest part. Both of us are coated in a sheen of sweat, and we haven’t even gotten started.

  Within seconds we are together in her bedroom for the first time since she nearly drowned and I stripped her bare. We’ve been spoiled, always being in my bed, but right now, I don’t care about Calloway’s lumpy old mattress or lack of air conditioning.

  I reach into my pocket for my wallet and toss a couple of condoms on her nightstand, then drop her onto the bed. It bounces when she lands. She giggles as I walk around the bed to the other side, stalking her like a lion stalks a gazelle.

  But when I get to the other side of the bed, something other than her body catches my attention. It’s a letter on her bedside table.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  KATHERINE

  Oh, no. A few days ago I got a letter from Andrew. It said lots of lovely things that several weeks ago would have had me crying happy tears. He said that he missed me, that he was thinking of me, and that he hoped I was doing well. He said that he was looking forward to me coming home.

  The letter and its envelope are on my bedside table. Bennet glances through Andrew’s words, picks up the envelope, then looks at me with an unreadable expression. No, I think. No no no no no no no.

  He flips over the framed photograph that’s still lying facedown from the night of the picnic, stares at it, then flashes both the envelope and photograph at me like they are Exhibits One and Two in my prosecution. My skin prickles at my hairline and the back of my neck.

  “Your ex-boyfriend?” he asks, all the blood draining from his face.

  I shake my head. I need to come clean. I can’t lie to him. “I have a confession to make.”

  His lips press together, and he shifts his weight. “Make it.”

  “We didn’t break up.”

  “What?” His voice explodes in outrage.

  I scramble to clarify. “We were never actually dating. Like ever.”

  He exhales forcefully through his nose. “Explain.”

  I would have thought that explanation would have been enough, but his tone isn’t mellowing, neither is the pained expression on his face. I obviously need to say more.

  “We’re best friends—have been for years—but we’ve never actually dated. Well, I mean we’re together all the time, but it was never like that. Still I always thought I’d marry him someday.”

  There is a vein bulging down the center of his forehead. I need to do a better job of explaining.

  “I only told you I had a boyfriend because, in the beginning, I needed a shield against how you were making me feel.”

  Unfortunately, this explanation still doesn’t pacify him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he looks madder than before.

  “You’re either lying to me again,” he says, “or it’s the truth but you still have real feelings for him. Apparently he has feelings for you.” He shakes Andrew’s letter in my face.

  I crawl across the mattress and try to pull the letter from his fingers. “He sent that a long time ago.”

  Bennet checks the postmark and frowns at me. “Five days ago?”

  Crap.

  “And you have his photograph by your bed? Fuck!”

  “Bennet…”

  “Holy shit.” He groans, sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing the wall with his back to me. He holds the photograph in his hands, staring down at it. “You want to marry him? I am such an idiot.”

  Bennet tosses the photograph on the mattress and rakes his hands through his hair. He bends over at the waist, his head bowed low over his knees.

  “Bennet.”

  He straightens quickly then clasps his hands behind his head and begins pacing the length of the bed then back to the nightstand. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Bennet, settle down.”

  “Not likely.” But then, after a few agonizing seconds where I search desperately for the right words to say, the words that will quiet this unnecessary outburst and get us back to where we left off, I watch his chest expand with a deep breath. He exhales slowly, like air leaking from a tire, like a man letting everything go. He looks weary, and beaten, and more like the other ferryboat drivers than I’ve ever seen him look before.

  “Why don’t you tell me more about this”—he turns the envelope over and reads the return address—“Andrew Mason.” His calm is almost scarier than his fury. His tone makes me twist my fingers around each other in sweaty knots.

  “Wh-what do you want to know?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. This looks like expensive stationery. I bet he spends a lot of money on you. Do I have that right? Rich kid, right?”

  I stumble at first before saying, “He’s…”

  “Seriously. I might not have much to offer you, but what do you want with a boy who uses monogrammed envelopes?” He makes the word boy sound like something worse.

  “I-I told you about my dad,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond or react in any way. It’s like he’s staring right through me.

  “After he left us, my mom checked out. I was left alone, a lot. Andrew made me feel like the world wasn’t completely falling apart. He was…” Unfortunately, the best word I can come up with is “Predictable.”

  I stop to look at Bennet, nervous that he’s going to get mad again. “And Andrew needed someone, too. His family’s been dealing with a lot of grief after his brother died, and his parents haven’t always processed it well.”

  Bennet’s eyebrows pull together, then he leans back against the wall by the window, his legs apart, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. His whole body exudes contempt, but behind the aggression his eyes are full of pain. I hate that I’m the one who put it there.

  “Andrew has plans for us. He takes care of me. I can’t abandon all that completely.” Subconsciously, I yank the ponytail holder from my wrist and pull my hair back and off my neck, securing it so tightly there is tension in my temples.

  “You can take care
of yourself, D’Arcy. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “It’s not so much that I need to be taken care of,” I add, my voice quiet.

  Bennet punches his fist back against the wall and begins pacing again. “You wanted that security. You wanted a nice life. With nice things. You were pursuing someone who could provide that life for you.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” I take a deep breath and start again. “Andrew is a great guy. He’s decent. Hardworking. Loyal.”

  Bennet stops in his tracks and turns to face me. “You do know you just described a border collie.”

  “And he’s honest,” I say, ignoring his sarcasm.

  Bennet walks around the foot of the bed to the door.

  “What is your problem, Bennet? You asked the question, and I’m answering it.”

  “My problem is that you’re not ready to move on from life at the country club. You can’t deny it when you still have his picture by your pillow.”

  I sigh and roll my eyes. Anger is simmering in me. I don’t have a country-club life, but is it so bad to want that again? Why is he so hung up on it?

  “Just because you walked away from that life doesn’t mean everyone else has to,” I say.

  “And what about him?” he asks. “How does he feel about you?”

  “He loves me in his way. He needs me.”

  “Here’s a little secret. He does care about you, but he cares about you for himself. He’s keeping you safe on a shelf. I bet he interferes with any guy who might show you some attention while he goes out with every pair of perky tits that steps in his path. He may even marry you someday because I’m guessing you and your cardigans are his parents’ wet dream, the perfect ideal of wifey material, but he will own you, D’Arcy. Trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about. Is that what you want? Do you even know what you want?”

  I remain silent, and I can see Bennet losing faith in me.

  “Have you ever—just once, have you ever tried living life on the edge? Really feeling it? Can you put yourself first?” he asks.

  “I’m trying.”

  “You’ll never know who you are, you’ll never know where you belong until you quit trying and just do it. And giving up your own personal happiness because you think you’re obligated to someone else…him, or your mom, or whoever else… D’Arcy, that’s seriously twisted.”

  My face flashes with heat. “You can leave now,” I say, feeling insulted and offended and completely minimized.

  Instead of going, Bennet leans over the bed, trapping me against the headboard. His eyes are smoldering, and they stare into mine with such intensity that it is impossible to look away. “Are you falling in love with me, D’Arcy?”

  I grip the blanket tight in my fingers. Love? I’ve loved Andrew for over six years, but what I feel for Bennet doesn’t feel anything like that. I’ve actually struggled to categorize my feelings for Bennet all summer, but the intensity of the emotion has always defied definition.

  He’s exciting and challenging and infuriating. He makes me think and feel in ways I never have before. I care about him. A lot. I’m hungry for his body, for sure. But actual love? Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

  “You are,” he says, his face searching mine. “Don’t bother telling me I’m wrong about that.”

  It hurts to keep looking at him. I duck my chin and stare under his arm, at the open bathroom door. There’s a salty stinging at the corners of my eyes. I’m on the defensive. I need him to step back. I need some time alone to process.

  “You and me,” I say before I’m thinking clearly, “it’s really not practical. There’s an order to things, and as much as I might like you, our lives don’t fit. Not really.”

  “How romantic,” he says, scoffing. “You’re looking for love to be practical?” He pulls me off the bed and to my feet. His hands slip to my sides. I am painfully aware of how little fabric separates us. His fingers and thumbs circle my hips, along the top edge of my bikini bottoms.

  The twisting turn of anticipation coils in my belly, but for the first time in weeks, my instinct is to push him away.

  “So,” he says, as if he’s planning a different approach. “Would it be…practical…for me to kiss you now?”

  I look down. His erection is straining at the front of his swim trunks. “Nothing would be less practical.”

  “Then with zero practicality…” He tips my chin up. His lips barely have a chance to graze mine before I turn my face.

  “Bennet, stop,” I say, stepping backward and hitting the back of my legs against the mattress. “Give me a second to think.”

  “What do you need to think about?”

  “Everything!”

  “You already know everything you need to know to make your decision.”

  Five minutes ago, I would have agreed with him. But now he’s scaring me. He looks wild and untamed—something that first drew me to him is now scaring the shit out of me. Maybe I’m not meant for him after all. Maybe all those things from home he’s warned me of, maybe that’s exactly what I’m supposed to want.

  “Do you really think you want me, the real me?” I ask. “The me I’ll be when summer’s over?”

  “Are you kidding?” All the blood seems to wash out of his face. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me back to himself. “I want you all the time. I want you in every room of this house, and then in every room in mine. What I don’t want is for you to reduce yourself to someone else’s accessory. What I don’t want is for you to never examine your true potential because it’s inconvenient for someone else. And I certainly don’t want to want you as much as I do while you’re fantasizing about someone else.”

  I shake my head. “You’re right. It’s not fair to either of us to be impulsive.”

  “You are not an impulse to me,” he says. His frustration and fury are still simmering right at the surface. “Remember that if you ever decide not to settle for second best.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you’re the best?” My face flushes hot. In my mind I’m going to the front door and opening it for him to leave, but my feet won’t move.

  “I want to be the best for you. Let me know when you’ve decided what you want. Until then, we’re done here.” He turns quickly, and his shoulder knocks into me. My butt falls to the mattress.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home. I need to take a cold shower.”

  “You’re leaving?” I get on my feet. I can’t believe it’s true. Can this really be over? My legs wobble under me, and I catch my hand against the wall to remain standing.

  Bennet looks me up and down, then holds my eyes. There’s a steely coldness in his. “I guess first impressions aren’t always wrong.”

  My mouth pops open, but I don’t know what to say.

  His jaw flexes. For a second, his eyes linger on my face. Then he walks out of the bedroom and through the kitchen. The sound of the front door closing behind him is like a punch to the gut. I listen, waiting. Any second he’ll come back. But he doesn’t. I’m pretty sure Samson and Lucy leave with him, because I’ve never felt more alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  BENNET

  The next morning, I stagger onto my deck, guitar in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. I was up all night writing. Bitter words in minor keys. Barely got more than an hour’s sleep. My eyes are slits.

  Goose bumps rise on my bare torso as a cool breeze blows in from across the lake. It’s a nice break from the humid, stagnant air that has settled on the island this week. I’m glad to finally have a day off work, too. It couldn’t have come at a better time because, honestly, I would be useless today.

  I lower myself onto a reclining chair, put my feet up, and focus on the wind blowing across my toes. The ivy growing on the wall trembles with it. Sailboats are already heading out, capturing the perfect conditions. The sky is a cloudless, turquoise blue.

  These are the things I focus on. I actively do not think about Katherine, which is damn near imp
ossible. To purposefully avoid a thought has the opposite effect. The memory of her anguished face is front and center. I tore into her. Scared her. To forget last night, well, I might as well try to forget my own name.

  I can’t believe the disaster I’ve walked myself into. Andrew Mason! If I hadn’t first seen his name on the envelope, I might not have recognized him in the photograph, but there he was. Plain as day.

  It’s worse than I could have imagined, and it knocks the wind out of me to think of the restrained life she’s going back to. How quickly will it snuff out her spark? It makes me angry. It makes me sick. My first impression of her was completely spot on. I should have never allowed myself to get so close.

  But then…

  I give myself the chance to breathe.

  No, that’s not right. I do know Katherine, and she’s not what my first impression led me to believe. Rather, she is everything she has shown herself to be: adventurous, unafraid, willing to explore her limits. That’s the life I hope she chooses for herself. If she needs time to do that, I can give her time. But she needs to do that on her own, without my interference. All I can do is hope her decision leads her back to me.

  Involuntarily, and without warning, I am back in that day—so many years ago now—when I allowed myself to make my own decision. My bags were packed; my note was written. A small voice in the hallway was whispering, “Don’t go, Benny.”

  It was unfair of me. But I had to get out. “Bye, Buddy.”

  The apparition evaporates with the steam off my mug, and I choke back a sob. The familiar loneliness kicks me in the gut, and my eyes sting. I am tearing up like a homesick kid. Thank God I’m alone. No one should see me this pathetic.

  I grab my guitar and pick out the chords I was working on last night: D, G D, G, A7.

  Said good-bye like it don’t matter

  that’s the way it always goes.

  Said it all in just one letter.

  Not a poet, not much for prose.

  How a few short words can set at bay

  the sweetest love I’ve ever known.