Page 18 of A Summer Thing

She finally takes the hint and storms off with a mumbled curse, but I couldn’t give two fucks where she’s headed. Not when Declan is still staring up at me, neck craned, a sly little smirk tilting the edges of her mouth.

An image slashes through my mind—me, licking the curve of it, pressing my lips to every bend and bow. Parting it with my fingers, and with my—

I drag my gaze up to meet hers and abolish the thought. “What the fuck was that about?” I ask, but there isn’t any heat behind my words. An unwitting smile creeps over my lips.

Her gaze holds tight to mine, humor lighting her stare. “That is so weird,” she states. “It’s like… I heard the words coming out of your mouth, but they didn’t sound anything like thank you.”

Laughter works its way through my chest, until the sound is spilling from my mouth. “Thank you, Declan. Truly,” I respond, genuine in my appreciation. It’s obvious she noticed something amiss and chose to step in. What isn’t obvious is why.

“You’re welcome, Jude,” she returns, but her demeanor slips a few degrees as her gaze tilts sideways, landing briefly on Stacy before meeting mine once more. “I’m not sure your admirer bought it, though; she’s still staring.”

I don’t bother glancing over. Don’t bother paying Stacy any mind whatsoever. My gaze dips down to Declan’s mouth instead. “And what are we going to do about that, Little D?”

“What are we…” her mouth forms around the words, but nothing audible comes out. She blinks—once, twice, and again—before shaking her head as if freeing herself from a daze.

Watching her fluster and flush sparks something within me. Something I’m more inclined to act on as the minutes tick by.

“I mean,” she starts, blue eyes trapping mine, “I guess if we gave her a good show… there would be no denying it.” She laughs, but the sound is unsteady, breathy.

“Or…” she says, licking her lips before pulling the bottom one into her mouth.

When she releases it with a slow glide between her teeth, it’s a straight shot to my dick.

“We could just leave.” Her little smirk has me teetering over the edge, and a smile takes over my face as I shake my head in bewilderment.

She’s fucking with me.

I toss my head back and laugh.

“Let’s get out of here, Little D.” I haul her over my shoulder, carrying her out of the party. Her laughter rakes over my spine the entire way.

______

We head upstairs at the Masons’, and I’m not ready to call it a night. Smart or not, I’m not ready to watch Declan walk away.

She heads across the hall, a similar set of words resting on her lips. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet.”

I break a smile, turning on my heel once I reach my door.

Goodnight is what I should be telling her, but against my better judgment, I offer, “You want to check out my setup?”

“Your setup?” she says, gaze narrowing before flaring wide with understanding.

“Hold on—you play?” Incredulity laces her tone.

“You play,” she repeats. “And you have a setup in your room, and this is the first I’m hearing about it.

Wow, Jude. I’m starting to think you don’t consider me a friend at all,” she says, but it’s all in humor, her lips ticking up into a playful smile.

If I’m being honest, she isn’t wrong.

I’d like to consider her more than a friend.

But we’ve already solidified the fact that friends are all we intend to be.

And, grating or not, it’s the right move for both of us, even if it feels wrong every damn time I’m in her presence.

Never mind the fact that I’ve imagined too many scenarios beyond it—have had her face on my mind as I found my release too many times to count now.

I suppress a groan as she crosses the hallway and stops at the threshold of my room.

Taking an intentional step backward, I invite her in, and she treads forward slowly.

Her eyes track the things that occupy my space.

Unmade bed, recently cleaned practice gear thrown on the chair at the corner of the room, the bathroom door, the setup at the desk to my left.

“Hey…” She turns, head tipped toward my bathroom. “If you have a bathroom in here, why were you using the one in the hallway that first night?” she questions.

Rubbing a hand at the back of my neck, I recall our first run-in. Her gaze raking over me from head to toe, taking me in, miraculously missing the way my towel started to tent at her perusal.

I clear my throat and respond with, “Shower was broken. Coach got it fixed shortly after, though.”

“Oh.” She laughs softly, a flush rising over her cheeks.

“Makes sense. Must be nice to have your own—” the words die on her tongue as her attention snags on my setup once more.

Her gaze widens, shock cutting through her features.

“That’s Nevernight I’m seeing—correct?” She spins around on the balls of her feet, facing me again.

“You play Nevernight?” she asks, equal parts stunned and intrigued.

“You’ve heard of it,” I respond, and a smirk tugs at the edge of my mouth. She’s heard of it. I shouldn’t be surprised, not with how skilled she’s proven to be, but she’s still managed to take me off guard.

“I have. Of course, I have,” she says. “Question is…” She stands at the center of my room, hands at her waist, gripping her sides through her loose tee. “Are you going to let me use your player?” Blue eyes flare wide with her question, daring me to refuse her.

My lips tick up at the corners for the umpteenth time tonight. “Go for it,” I respond. “She’s all yours.”

Something approximating a squeal flees from her mouth. And then she’s striding across my bedroom, lowering herself into my chair, eyes meeting the monitor as she takes in my screen—my player, my base camp, etcetera. Everything the way I left it before I headed out late for the party.

Her mouth falls open for a long beat before curling into a smile.

A smile I have no idea why is there but can appreciate anyhow.

“I can’t believe you play Nevernight,” she states, awe laced through her tone.

“It’s my favorite. An old neighbor of mine used to play it, and I would go over there to get away, and—anyway.

I love this game; I love this world.” She swivels in the chair to face me as I take a seat at the edge of my bed, a swallow tracking down her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

I chuckle, gaze meeting hers once more. “You don’t have to ask if you can ask me a question, Declan. Just ask the question.”

“Okay.” She nods with a soft laugh of her own. “What does your username stand for? SebCarter33?” she pushes forward. “I know your last name is Carter, and I can see that your jersey has a thirty-three on it over there, but what’s the significance of Seb?”

Awareness prickles at the back of my mind as I hold her stare.

“It’s my name—my given name, anyhow. Sebastian.

But my family, we all go by our middle names.

” It’s something my family has done for generations.

Sebastian Jude Carter. Theodore Elijah Carter, Oliver Thomas Carter—my brothers.

I could go on, dragging down the list of every member of my family, but we get the point.

“Sebastian Jude Carter; that’s a good name,” she says, and my full name on her lips sounds better than it’s ever sounded on anyone else’s.

“A good name, huh?” I question. “And what’s yours?”

“Declan Marie King,” she responds quickly enough, but I don’t miss the way her demeanor darkens by the end of her name, her shoulders dipping down the smallest fraction. I can’t help but draw the conclusion that it has something to do with her last name.

Because of her brother? Or because of something that digs deeper?

She hasn’t talked much about her family, and I briefly question if that has anything to do with it as well, but I push the thought aside because it’s none of my business.

I turn my focus back to the screen behind her. “You going to show me what you got, Little D, or what?” I challenge.

Her lips twitch at the edges before stretching into a full-on smile, brightening her face in a way that reaches inside me, plucking at the organ beating beneath my chest.

Fucking hell.

Maybe this was a mistake.

My friendship with this girl is the equivalent of a trainwreck. A derailment. A set destination that’s veered way the fuck off track. And I continue to thrust myself in her path, allowing her pull to drag me in further when I should be doing the opposite. Again, why?

Perhaps it’s because, whether I’ve intended to or not, I’ve grown to like her.

And fuck me.

Because I really fucking like her.

______

The next few weeks rush by just like that.

Practice on the weekdays, parties on the weekends, and Declan slipping into my room most nights to play Nevernight.

It stays platonic between us—for the most part. Light flirting and a mutual admiration, along with a growing protectiveness of her, aside. Despite the way she sometimes looks at me, spelling something different. Something I know is mirrored within my gaze when I look at her as well.

I don’t find the need to dig into it further.

We play, and we flirt, and we get to know each other a bit better with each passing day, but beyond that, we stay up way too fucking late most nights, leaving me more and more wiped at each practice.

I can’t say it isn’t worth it, though.