Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
His short brown hair is freed from his hat for the first time since we set out for our long day this morning, messy and tousled.
Totally uninterested in the show, I decide to make a point and note it out loud: “I like you better with short hair.”
Jimmy peers back over his shoulder at me. “You mean instead of that overgrown mess I had over winter break?”
“Your brother called you a hippie.”
“What’s wrong with hippies? They’re all about peace and pot, aren’t they?”
“I think you just got lazy and quit carin’.” I shrug, then nudge Jimmy’s shoulder with the side of my foot. “Not like you needed any help with the ladies, anyway. They’d take you whether you were a shag master or not.”
“Did you go and tell anyone that I ended things with that girl on campus?”
That girl. His latest “girlfriend” of five weeks at the university doesn’t deserve the dignity of a name, apparently.
“I dunno,” I mumble. “What’s it matter?”
“It matters.” Jimmy stares at me severely over his shoulder. “Who’d you go and tell, Bobby?”
I frown. “I have no idea. Who cares?”
“Bobby.”
I sigh and give it a moment’s thought. “Dude, I don’t know. Might’ve mentioned it to CJ in a message …?”
“CJ?? Cale Junior, son of barber Cale?? The one with the party tomorrow?” Jimmy gives a huge, demonstrative roll of his eyes, then smacks my leg. “Of all people! That fool has the biggest dang mouth. Fuck. That’s why the whole town already knows.” He sighs. “Including Camille … who’s apparently back for the summer.”
Oh, shit. “Camille’s back? … Camille Randall?”
“Obviously, bro. What other Camille could I be talkin’ about? She had a death in the family. Her uncle on her mama’s side. She’s here for the summer, and apparently she’s been askin’ about me.”
I glance down at my hands, where I’ve gone to picking at my nails. Camille … I wasn’t planning on her to be around this summer. The whole summer before we left for college, people were saying they wouldn’t be surprised if she and Jimmy someday had rings on their fingers.
Of course, the gossipers of Spruce say that about any pair who show even a breath of interest toward one another.
Maybe I shouldn’t think much of it.
“And now I know why she’s askin’ about me,” Jimmy finishes with another harsh look thrown my way.
I screw up my forehead. “What’s the problem with that? You love the attention. Now all the ladies of Spruce—Camille or not—will be on you and your dick ‘til the end of summer.”
“Maybe I wanted a summer to myself. You ever think of that? Maybe I could’ve gone a few more weeks in peace with everyone thinkin’ I was taken.” He fidgets and looks back at the TV. “Whole point of the summer is to get away from girl drama.”
I frown. “Says the guy who was just encouraging and egging on a bunch of ogling girls at Biggie’s Bites.”
“That’s different. That’s just fun.”
Jimmy Strong logic. “Sorry, man. I didn’t think it’d matter.”
“Sometimes Spruce is the damned worst. Now I’m the freshly single bachelor in town, and everyone’s gonna do that annoying matchmaker thing they do. At school, at least people mind their own business. Hell, you could make out with half the class—guys or girls—and ain’t no one battin’ an eye.”
Guys or girls, did he just say?
He said all of that to the TV, by the way. Not at me.
I give him another playful shove with my foot. “Oh yeah? That so, Jimmy? Been thinkin’ of makin’ out with any guys lately?”
Jimmy snorts. “You know what I meant.”
“Nah, I don’t,” I taunt him. “I need clarification. Lots of it.”
“I’m not makin’ out with any guys.”
I nudge him with my foot again, this time with enough force to knock him off balance. He scowls. “You sure?” I ask, pushing his buttons. “You just said no one would bat an eye.”
He shakes his head, ignoring me.
I stare at Jimmy’s bare muscled back. For some reason, my pulse just sped way up—and it’s not on account of the sight of his glorious glutes in those red shorts, still as distracting as ever.
A question sits on my tongue. A question that, despite how ridiculously open and comfortable I am around my best friend, I seem to have difficulty asking. Even if it’s half a joke. Or all joke.
Or no joke at all.
Another silly thing happens on TV.
Jimmy bursts out laughing, his eyes filling with tears.
I swallow once, tightly. Then I take a breath and, with some invisible fist squeezing my throat, I make myself ask it: “You ever actually think about kissing a dude?”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching the TV, his eyes hanging on the screen, as if waiting for the next big punchline or stupid thing to happen.
I know damned well he heard me. Is he just ignoring me?