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“Isn’t she a ball of sunshine?” Rhyland all but clapped with delight. He loved seeing Row reining in his primal instinct to throttle me.
“Isn’t he a bouquet of grumpiness?” Dylan gestured to her brother.
Row raked his fingers along the back of his neck, fisting his hair. “Goddammit.” He turned around and stomped out of the room.
“You won’t regret it!” I crooned after his descending back as he took the stairs down.
“Already fucking am.”
CAL
“Crush”—Jennifer Paige
Six Years Ago
It was the first summer Row came back from Paris, and the town was reeling with his presence.
Even though he wasn’t yet famous, people lined up to meet him at the Casablancases’ door like he was Mick Jagger, hoping some of his stardust rubbed off on them. They kissed the ring, gushed about his success, and begged for recipes they could wow their families and neighbors with. For the first time since Dylan and I were in kindergarten, Row didn’t pay me any attention. Didn’t tug my braid with a teasing smirk, sneak me the last piece of cherry pie, or give me a piggyback ride upstairs, purposefully banging me against the wall to make me laugh. Every time I visited my best friend and he was there, he’d award me with a silent nod and walk off. I was air, invisible and unnoteworthy.
To make matters worse, my traitorous hormones decided to notice him. I’d always known Row Casablancas was hot in the same way I always knew the sun was—you needed to be a moron not to recognize this simple fact of life. Yet, that summer, he’d returned with a new, foreign glow. An erotism my seventeen-year-old self simply couldn’t ignore.
It stunned me that I couldn’t take my eyes off Row because I didn’t find guys attractive.
Scary? Yes. Untrustworthy? Always. Their physical advantage unnerved me. But not Row. Apparently, Row was in a different category than everyone else.
“Stop looking at my brother like that,” Dylan warned me one day when we were lying on towels in her backyard, working on our tans. Row and Rhyland were across the lawn by the edge of the forest, chopping wood for wintertime. They were both shirtless, sweat glazing their skin, Row’s golden cross necklace dangling between his sculpted pecs, glinting like the smooth surface of a sunlit lake.
Thump.
“Like what?” I pushed my sunglasses up my nose, feigning innocence.
“Like you’re interested in his wood, and not the kind he’s chopping.” She hiked up onto her elbows, ripping her sunglasses from her eyes to award me with a scowl. “He can’t be your next conquest, Cal, okay?”
Her words were ridiculous, but I only had myself to blame for the misconception.
Because I was a lying liar who lied and wanted to make sure everyone around me thought I led a normal, happy life. I was careful to tell Dylan I had crushes on boys, and that I kissed them often. I didn’t want her to know that, on top of being the one who blinked all the time and suffered from social anxiety, I also had a violently fearful reaction to men. So I occasionally told her I made out with guys. I was careful to swear her to secrecy so as not to start vicious rumors about other people.
“Dude, I’m only looking at him because he is blocking my view of Rhy.” Lie number 3,447,358 slipped past my lips.
“You are a terrible liar.” Dylan took a slow sip of her iced tea. “Quit ogling my brother, Dot. Unless, of course, you’re catching feelings for him.”
Thump.
Wood splinters flew sideways under Row’s axe. The scent of pine oil tinged my nostrils sharply. Row’s abs contracted with each movement. He looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch Super Bowl ad. I waited for the part where I wanted to run away from him to kick in, but it never did.
“Feelings? For Row? Dude, no way.” I sat up straight, horrified. Luckily, my complexion hid my intense blushing—I was already purple from trying to get a tan.
Thump.
Dylan scrunched her nose. “Wow. It’s not that hard to believe, you know. He’s a great guy.”
“He is. Nonetheless, I’m not crushing on your brother,” I lied. I was. Stalking his Instagram two hundred times a day, even though he was too cool to be on top of his social media. Tormenting myself by imagining all the chic, European girls he hooked up with.
Thump, thump, thump.
Row’s bronze deltoids and triceps bulged delectably under a thin coat of sweat.
“You better not be.” Dylan jerked the straps of her bikini top down her shoulders to allow for an even tan. “He deserves a fairy tale, not some meaningless hookup.”
