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I trust Faye’s explanation of what went down, and that he was oblivious about what she was doing. She even said he might have asked about me!
“So where did you run off to last night?” he asks, and I internally squeal. Hemusthave asked about me.
I can’t tell him I got jealous of him and Faye and ran out, so instead I school my expression into one of detached innocence.
“I was just tired and ready to go home. What were you up to today? We didn’t see you guys.”
“We were at the beach,” he says. “I’m guessing you stayed at the pool?”
“Yeah, with the girls,” I say, which I thought was fun, and even Faye didn’t hate it as much as she expected she would. It was relaxing too, at least until I checked my phone and saw all the messages from my mom, sending me links to MCAT prep courses and souring my mood.
Dean gestures at my shirt. He’s wearing a matching one in his size, but it’s wet and clings to him in all the right places.
“Have you crossed anything off? I’ve only done a shot with no hands and a dare, which was to jump in the pool fully clothed.
At the time I thought it was a dumb dare because I was in swim shorts anyway, but this wet shirt is getting annoying.”
“I just got here, so my shirt’s blank.” It’s an effort not to glance at his shirt and stare at all the places it clings to his sculpted body. “But if it makes you feel better, it’s warm out so it’ll probably dry fast.”
There are tons of people walking around, splashing in the pool, giggling, and yelling with their friends, and I’m painfully aware of how many of the girls eye Dean as they pass us. I suddenly wish I was a better conversationalist because Dean is here, talking tomeinstead of anyone else at this gigantic party, and I’m utterly boring.
“Well, why don’t we fix that?” Dean says, and I have to remind myself that he’s talking about my blank shirt. “Shot with no hands? It’s an easy one. I’ll even do it with you.”
It does sound easy—much less daunting than any others on the list, especiallykiss someone. Faye told me to kiss Dean tonight, but now that I’m standing in front of him, the thought of me gathering enough courage to lay one on him is almost laughable. Plus, Faye said the list will help me put myself out there more, and a shot with no hands sounds doable, fun even.
“Okay,” I agree, then hastily add, “But no tequila. I don’t ever want to see, smell, or taste tequila again.”
Over Dean’s shoulder, I spot Adam. He catches my eye, his expression giving nothing away before he strides over to us. In front of me, Dean laughs, the sound washing over me. “Deal.
I’ll surprise you.”
Adam’s joined us now, and the memory of the words between us last night surfaces in my mind; his statement thatthe Lori I knowwould never have fun and let loose and dance onstage, and the unspoken words that the Lori he knows is boring. I wasso madat that moment, but if I force myself to think about it, he was just trying to look out for me and make sure I was safe, even if it was in his own annoyingly overprotective way.
“Hey, Adam. Want a shot?” Dean offers. “Lori’s going to check the first thing off her task list.”
Adam’s eyes narrow at that. He assesses my shirt, as if he can see the list of tasks on my back and they personally offend him.
“No thanks,” he answers Dean.
Something in Dean must know that I want to talk to Adam, at least to address this tension between us and to apologize for taking my anger out on him last night, because even though his smile doesn’t falter, he says, “All right. I’ll be back with something that’s not tequila.”
Once Dean disappears, Adam nods at my shirt. “You’re doing the tasks?”
Something in his tone sounds doubtful, like he could never imagine me doing a dare, a dance-off, or the more brazen activities like kissing someone or doing a body shot. My defenses rise instantly, but instead of letting him see how bothered I am, I shrug a shoulder in answer. “Maybe. Why?”
He steps closer to me, something akin to concern in his eyes.
“Are you being serious? You’re not doing any of the tasks, Lor. I know how you are.”
His words hit me right in the chest, and I take a step back from him as if they’re a physical blow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, even though I knowexactlywhat he means; it’s the same thing he’s been telling me all trip, the same thing I’ve never thought about myself until he pointed it out—that I’m sweet, predicable,boring.
“Come on, Lori. ‘Do a body shot’? ‘Kiss someone’? Fuck, evendance-offis pushing it for you,” he says, oblivious to the effect of his words, the way they stab me, twisting in deep, releasing a wave of anger with every doubt he throws at me.
“You don’t think I can do it?”
His eyes scan my face. “Why don’t you come over and join me, Dylan, Alessio, and Kellan? You can watch them making asses of themselves trying to do the tasks as quickly as possible.”
