contact Asher a million different ways, if I wanted to. As if we’re friends and I need to know what he’s doing the ten months out of the year I’m not being subjected to his presence. “You wish.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them. “You must have been distraught, if your mom had to call mine to talk about it.”
“Devastated,” he says dramatically, not sounding it at all.
“Lucky girl,” I say.
“How’s … oh, what’s his name…?” In my periphery I can see his hand slap against his thigh like he’s trying to recall some lost bit of information. We try so hard, the two of us. We smile and tease and torture—the kind of animals that like to play with their food before they kill it.
I cringe, knowing what’s coming next. I shouldn’t have pushed him on Jordan, I should have just left it alone. But that smug face of his. I set myself up for this.
“Taylor…? David…? Evan…?” There’s a long pause and I inwardly cringe. “Or was it all of them?”
I take in a deep breath and let it out. My face doesn’t change, my eyes don’t move. They’re focused on the deck looming below us, up ahead—the end goal.
His voice is casual. “None of them stuck, huh?”
“Now who’s stalking?”
“I can’t help myself. Apparently your love life is better than an episode of The Bachelor. And you have a chatty mom, too.”
I snicker. “You watch The Bachelor?” We’ve reached the spot at the crest of the hill where our paths converge and lead down into a single walkway of cement stairs. I narrow my eyes as we both squeeze onto them. They’re barely wider than one person, but we walk side by side, as fast as two people possibly can without running or tripping or looking like we’re purposefully racing. And we are racing. I let out a little snort. “That’s sad.”
“As sad as your two-week boyfriends?”
“Ten days,” I correct him with a shrug. “What can I say? I’m easily bored.”
It’s true, there’s something that happens to me after the first week of dating someone. When the glittery newness has worn off, and I start to notice all of the little things that drive me crazy. Taylor constantly chewed with his mouth open. David started calling me babe. Like, You look cute, babe. Good night, babe. Do you want some popcorn, babe? All I could think about was the old movie I used to watch at my grandma’s house with my cousins. That little pink pig. And that my name isn’t freaking Babe.
And Evan—okay, I’m the least proud of Evan. He was a full inch shorter than me. And it shouldn’t have bothered me; I know it shouldn’t have. And it didn’t … for nine full days. But by day ten, all I could think about was our prom pictures. About dancing with him in two-inch heels. If I’d be able to see the top of his head, and if he’d have to stretch up on his toes to kiss me. If I’d have to wear flats to our hypothetical wedding someday. They were all little things—things that didn’t matter for ten whole days—things that wouldn’t matter anytime soon. But things I couldn’t let go of. Things I couldn’t imagine overlooking for months or years. And so what was the point? Best to end things before they got too serious; before I screwed it up too badly and it felt like an actual loss.
“They were heartbroken, probably,” Asher says as our shoulders bump roughly and my foot slips off of the step and into the lumpy grass, throwing me off balance. He grabs me by the elbow and pulls me straight. I shake him away and he snickers.
“Devastated,” I say.
“I imagine.” His voice is level, serious. Mocking.
“I would bet you imagine a lot of things about me.”
He lets out a little grunt but I can tell he wants to laugh. “This is probably our last summer, Chipmunk.”
“Don’t call me that.” I practically growl the words.
“But it’s so cute.” I can hear the mock pout in his voice, can see his lake-blue puppy dog eyes, even without looking at him. I will never forgive my father for letting that nickname slip in front of Asher.
“I’m going to destroy you,” I say with a smile. “You’ll be calling me something very different by the end of the summer.”
“Sounds dirty,” he says, and I let out an irritated grunt. “Looking forward to it … Chipmunk.” There’s a