Page 1 of I Would Stay Forever (Parkhurst Prep #2)

one

I always thought having a summer job would be fun.

I imagined myself working at a camp or as a lifeguard by the pool, getting perfectly tanned and meeting cute boys to hang out with after my shift.

Instead, I was sweating to death in a coffee shop, wearing an apron that is the ugliest shade of orange I’d ever seen, and being badgered by my best friend who had nothing better to do on her summer break than come bother me at work.

“Please, Lavender,” Zoey begged. She stayed on the opposite side of the counter but followed my steps as I walked to the other end to drop off dirty mugs and grab a rag.

She was following me around so much that I felt like I should just invite her to the employee side of the counter and put her to work.

“I already said no.” I spun back around to the front counter, hoping that there would be a customer there to serve so I could get her off my back, but the place was almost empty now.

The lunch rush had just ended, and while I was exhausted from the line of people that had been here and was happy to have a bit of a break, Zoey talking my ear off wasn’t really helping the peace.

Now that I wasn’t pacing all over the place, she sat at one of the two stools at the end of the high counter. She’d claimed the spot on the first day of my job here and had remained there pretty much every day of the summer. It was almost the end of July, and somehow she still wasn’t bored of it.

“All the hot football players will be there,” she said in a singsong voice.

“I don’t care,” I responded in the same tone.

“Don’t you want to see them wash your car?” she continued as if I didn’t say anything.

Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less.

“I don’t have a car,” I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. “You can borrow your mom’s.”

I ignored the suggestion and put my hands on my hips as I studied Zoey.

I felt a little bad for saying no. All she wanted was for her best friend to come hang out with her.

But I was schedule to work on Saturday, and after spending all day working on my feet, the last thing I wanted to do was go ogle some guys with her.

“I might actually get the evening to myself for once,” I said. “Sebastian will be playing football at the school?—“

“I thought Sebastian played soccer,” Zoey interrupts. I sigh, shooting her a glare. “Oh, right. Football is what you call soccer. Sorry. Continue.”

“And the twins are definitely going to this car wash thing,” I continue as if she never interrupted me. “Hey, why don’t you just become friends with them and watch together?”

My tone took on a teasing lilt by the end, but she narrowed her eyes at me all the same.

“I’m not trying to befriend your little sisters, Lavender.”

“Why not?” I asked. “They’re great.”

Great was a subjective term. I loved them to death, but I also hated them about half the time when they were stealing my clothes, hogging the shower, or yelling down the hall to each other instead of just walking to each other’s rooms like normal human beings.

But again, I would kill for them. It’s an odd relationship, the one of sisters.

“Because I’m already best friends with you,” Zoey reminded me, poking a finger in my general direction.

“You’ll have more fun without me,” I promised her. “I’m not interested in checking out football players.” I don’t clarify American Football since I know she’ll get annoyed. “They’re not my type.”

“Well, what a shame for me,” a male voice came from behind me.

I spun around so fast that my ponytail hit my cheek. I’d been so focused on talking to Zoey that I’d almost forgotten I was working and I had my back to the cash register. Dean Graham was now standing in front of it, a crumpled five-dollar bill in his hand and a smirk on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, gesturing between me and Zoey. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the conversation.”

“You didn’t,” I said, even though I knew he was making fun of us.

I’d lived next door to Dean since we moved here from the UK five years ago and I still wasn’t quite sure what footing we stood on.

Were we almost friends? Did he hate me? Did he think of me as nothing more than his best friend’s sister?

Was he aware that when he left his lights on at night, I could see straight through his window and sometimes ogled him as he walked around shirtless in pajama pants?

So many questions, so few answers.

I quickly walked over to the cash register and cleared my throat. “What can I get for you, sir?”

His eyebrow shot up. “Sir? That’s what you’re calling me now?”

Honestly, the word had just slipped out.

In our training, they told us to speak to everybody professionally, and “sir” just seemed like the right professional word.

But it was probably a weird one to use on somebody my own age, especially since we did know each other.

My face heated and I looked down at the cash register again.

“What can I get you…” I trailed off, realizing that I probably shouldn’t be calling him by his name. But I wasn’t sure what else to call him and I just landed on “sir” again.

Dean leaned in toward me and as my eyes looked up, I realized that we were almost nose to nose. My breath hitched. His grin was even more prominent now as he whispered conspiratorially to me, “No need to call me sir, Lavender.”

My heart pounded as I stared right back at him.

Ogling through the window aside, he wasn’t really my type—what with the whole jock thing and him being one of Sebastian’s friends, who I largely tried to keep my distance from—but him standing so close to me and talking in that low voice would have an effect on any girl.

I gaped at him, my mouth silently opening and closing a couple of times before I finally managed to say again, “What would you like to drink?” This time, I didn’t add the sir on to the end and he smirked as if he had won an argument.

He stood up straight and rocked back on his heels, looking at the board above my head.

“So many great options,” he mused. “What do you think would be best for a car wash?”

Zoey choked on her drink when I turned to glare at her, fully out of the trance that Dean had unknowingly put me into. Zoey smiled apologetically but I doubted she was actually all that sorry. I turned back to Dean.

“The car wash isn’t for two more days.”

“Ah, so you’ve been keeping track of it?”

“No,” I responded immediately, probably sounding a little petulant. But there was no way for me to get around town right now without hearing something or other about how the football team was fundraising. Dean smirked at me, which only made my frown deepen. Why was he always so arrogant?

“Order a drink,” I said, looking for some way to regain my footing against him. “Or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

He raised his eyebrows and then looked dramatically at Zoey and back at me.“She doesn’t have a drink.”

I gripped the side of the counter in annoyance. “She already finished it.”

“Ah, so this is some sort of protest against people not ordering the second they walk in?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Seating—and loitering—is for customers only. Or is that too much for your poor, concussed brain to understand?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Concussed brain?”

“Isn’t that the issue with all football players? You get brain damage by the time you’re twenty?”

He used a fist to knock against his skull. “Nah. Never gotten a concussion in my life.”

I pretended to widen my eyes in surprise. “Oh, so that stupidity is god-given?”

He gaped at me for a long moment, and I wasn’t sure if he was offended or impressed. Finally, he shoved the crumpled five-dollar bill across the counter and said, “I’ll take a large coffee and a banana muffin.”

He barely waited for me to say “coming right up” before he wandered over to a table and made a dramatic show of sitting down, kicking his feet up on the nearby chair, and holding his hands behind his head like he was lounging.

I rolled my eyes and shoved his change in the tip jar since he walked away before I could give it to him.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” Zoey hissed as I started making his drink. “Dean Graham basically just invited you to the car wash.”

I snorted. “He did not.”

“He totally did! How could you not see that?”

“How can you not see that there’s nothing going on?

” I retorted. This had been an argument between us for a while—between me and all my friends, actually.

They were all convinced that something must be going on between me and Dean, because they couldn’t comprehend the idea that we might live next door to a football god and not even try to make a move.

I chose not to tell them about the whole I-sometimes-watch-through-his-window thing because I thought it might give them the wrong impression.

“He totally invited you,” Zoey repeated, and then she fanned herself with her hand. “You have to say yes.”

“Can’t say yes to something I wasn’t invited to.”

“It’s so unfair that you have an accent,” she said, completely ignoring me. “Guys totally dig a British accent.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. This was another argument that I’d been having with my friends for years. That, apparently, the accent made me irresistible to boys. They couldn’t stay away. I have my doubts about that theory.

“He didn’t invite me and I’m not going. End of story.” I turned away from her as I called, “Coffee for Dean!”

He sauntered over. “So you do know my name. I wasn’t sure, what with the whole sir-calling thing back there. I guess it’s just your pet name for me?”

I narrowed my eyes and shoved the coffee at him. “Don’t burn your tongue.”

There was only so much I could insult a customer, after all, and I’ll already filled my quota for the day.

“So I couldn’t help but overhear you two talking,” he said. I bit back a groan and glared at Zoey, already seeing where this was going. She just blinked back innocently. “And in case it wasn’t clear, I would love for you to come to the car wash.”

Yeah, no thanks. “I don’t need your pity invite.”

He had the gall to look offended. “You think it’s a pity invite?”

“If you wanted me to come,” I leaned forward on the counter, pressing all my weight into my hands, “you would have asked sooner. You overheard her talking about it, and now you feel bad. Pity invite.”

“It’s a sad little world you live in, Novak,” he said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. I just continued to stare at him until he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Consider it a pity invite. I don’t care. But I would so love to see you there.”

He winked at me, glanced at Zoey, and then walked out the door.

Zoey turned with a look that could only mean one thing. She opened her mouth to say something, but I held up a hand.

“Not one word.”