Luke barks out an amused laugh, saying, “You think?”
This makes me laugh, too. “Sorry, yeah, just had a knee-jerk reaction to it.” I have such a hard time imagining healthy, together Luke doing something so stupid.
“I mean, let’s be real,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his. “I’m not really known for impulse control.”
I giggle as I pick up a rock and start drawing in the sand.
“Try not to agree with me so gleefully.” He leans in, voice playful but hiding something tighter beneath when he adds, “Are you slut-shaming me, Logan?”
The words burst out before I’ve realized I’ve actually had the thought: “Isn’t it ever lonely?”
And goddamnit. What have I said? I’ve opened up this door, and I absolutely, one hundred percent do not want to step through.
My frank question seems to surprise him: “Totally. I’m sick of it, actually.”
“So why don’t you . . . ?”
“Commit?” he asks.
Shrugging, I say, “Yeah.”
“Because the first girl I’ve really wanted since I was nineteen thinks I’m an impulsive man-slut.”
I go still. Blood riots in my ears, hammers through my veins. “I’m serious.”
“Me, too,” he says, blinking away and staring at the sand. “I like you. But I also like you. I would commit to you.”
Silence engulfs us, and slowly I relax enough to notice the crashing of the waves, the cry of gulls all around us.
Luke nudges me again. “I made it awkward.”
“Totally awkward,” I tease, nudging him back. I knew he was attracted to me, but I didn’t realize it was a thing.
A committing-to-London thing.
A crush, feelings, something more than just good sex.
My thoughts are tumbling from the storm cloud inside me, pouring down. I like Luke, too. I’m attracted to Luke. I have fun with Luke.
I just don’t trust Luke.
And even if I did, I can’t have him.
We watch a surfer catch a pretty amazing wave, and turn to smile at each other in unison.
“I have to admit,” he says, shaking his head a little, “it is pretty cool being out in the water. Learning the rhythm of the waves.”
He bends his knees, propping his elbows on top of them, and we’re both silent, watching more of them crash against the shore.
“Thanks for bringing me out here,” he says. “I know you didn’t really want to, and I appreciate it.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want—” I start to say, but he holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“And it’s fine, you know?” He picks up a shell near his leg and brushes the sand off with his thumb. “You know I would never refer to you that way, right?”
I tilt my head, confused. “What?”
He swallows. “At Bliss that night. I know you heard what Daniel said.”
“Oh,” I say, finally understanding. “I did hear, yeah.”
“Is that why you stopped wanting to see me?” He says this in a way that tells me he already knows the answer.
“It’s one of the reasons.”
“Daniel’s an asshole—”
“He’s not the problem. I mean, he is but . . .” I pull in a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “The single-serving thing was gross. Guys are disgusting sometimes, but the concept, I get. You and I had a casual thing, a couple of nights that were fun and—”
He turns toward me. “They were fun.”
I give him a play-exasperated eye roll. “My reaction to that comment wasn’t because I didn’t have fun. I’m not angry that he said it about me, or that you have one-night stands or even that you agreed with Daniel. I mean, it embarrassed me, yeah, but I got over it.” He winces apologetically, and I lower my voice so he doesn’t feel berated. “I’m annoyed that guys talk about women like they’re snacks. Like they’re disposable or easily replaceable when something more appealing comes along. So yeah, things between us stopped after that, because I don’t even want casual sex with someone who has such prehistoric views on women. But I hadn’t expected it to turn into more anyway.”
Pink colors the apples of Luke’s cheeks and he looks down, nodding. “Well, you’re not replaceable,” he says. “I just want to make sure you know that.”
Butterflies invade my chest, and I swallow, struggling to push them down. “I appreciate that, friend,” I say.
The word elicits a wry, perhaps wistful smile from Luke, but after a second he says, “What were the other reasons?”
I blink, having lost the beginning thread of the conversation.
“The other reasons why you didn’t want to see me—romantically,” he clarifies.
“I mean, that’s the main one,” I say, drawing a spiral in the sand with my fingertip. “I’m not sure I want anything right now. I’m sort of distrustful in general, and you’re not exactly easy to trust . . .”
He’s quiet beside me, picking up another shell and turning it over in his hand, looking at it. Waiting for me to continue.
“Harlow freaked out a little when she found out that we . . .” I trail off.
“I could tell.” He drops the shell and brushes the sand off his hands. “She’ll get over it.”
Looking at him, I ask, “Why does everyone say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Luke shrugs. “It’s just Harlow. She burns like paper, not wood. The fire will be out before you know it.”
His casual confidence is exponentially more reassuring than a roomful of nervous Lolas, Olivers, Finns, and Ansels. “You sound pretty confident.”
He smiles over at me, but it’s actually a little sad. “I was with Mia, but Harlow and I were really close. Lola, too,” he adds, “but my friendship with Harlow was different. Tighter. Lola was a little more reserved emotionally. Harlow”—he laughs—“Harlow not so much. I was more brother than friend to her. I wonder whether part of her feeling prickly about this is because it makes her realize we aren’t all that close anymore, and haven’t been for a while. It’s certainly the way I felt when I found out they’d all gotten married and I had no idea.”
I’m not entirely sure what to say in response to this, so I just nod, listening.
Luke squints as he looks out across the water. “Anyway, I assume she worries Mia is fragile about anything related to that time. And she probably is, but I bet not as fragile as Harlow suspects. Harlow is a Mama Bear.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” I ask him. He turns and looks at me. “That Mia knows we slept together?”
His eyes narrow in a way that tells me he thinks I’m being a little silly. “No . . . ?”
“Okay. Good.”
He turns and slowly grins at me. “I’m hoping that our deal still stands.”
I search my memory before realizing what he means. “You held up your end of the bargain,” I say. “I wasn’t lying, you did great.”
“Thanks,” he says, smiling proudly. “And despite everything I said just now, I really do mean it about the ‘just friends’ thing. I wanted to be up front about where I stood.”
“Thanks for telling me.” The sun has shifted lower in the sky and I don’t need a watch to tell me it’s time to go. “I should go, though.” I stand and brush the sand from my legs.