Eddie
The preppy crew-cut guy smiles at Finley in that I’ve-seen-you-naked way, and my eyebrows shoot up.
“That could have been very bad,” Finley finally says.
Preppy dude grins. “Where do you want this?”
“Oh…” She looks around like she hasn’t planned it all out already—she recited all the table purposes to me last night when we set up. “Uh, over here, I think.”
She leads him across the yard to the designated cake table, and I turn to Sam. He leaves me hanging for several seconds, enjoying the power. “Since you and my daughter are just friends, I guess it’s not a secret.”
“What’s not a secret?”
He nods toward the dude in the pink polo. “That’s Jason. Finley’s high school boyfriend. He lives next door.”
“I thought Grandma lived next door?”
Sam points to the house on the right. “Other next door.”
“Huh.” I step closer to the pool and tug my shirt off. I already promised the quiet twin I’d swim with them. “Convenient.”
“Yeah, until they break up and Fin spends nearly a year hoping it’ll work out again.” Sam sighs. “I think he might be dating someone and hasn’t broken the news to her.”
I squint in the sunlight and glance out at Finley, who does in fact resemble a girl wanting the attention of this particular guy. A mix of jealousy and sympathy washes over me. “How long did they date?” I ask Sam.
“Four years.”
Four years? Jesus. Wait, I don’t have any right to be jealous…right? Just friends. Definitely not naked friends.
“Eddie!” Braden shouts. “Do a cannonball!”
I prepare to run and jump in the pool, but Finley breaks eye contact with pretty boy and lifts a hand to stop me. “Be careful where you jump. It’s not a wide pool.”
I point a finger at her. “Nice job. You used my technique, didn’t you?”
While I’m in the pool with the boys, people start showing up. Lots of people. Some are kids, some are high school friends of Finley’s, and many are entire families. I can’t help looking around and guessing who knew Finley’s family when it was still whole, still complete with a mom and a dad who could walk. Maybe everyone knew them back then. Maybe I’m the only one here who had to put the pieces together himself by looking at family photos on the wall. And despite our casual relationship, part of me wants to know more, like what happened when Fin found out about the accident, who was driving, how bad were Sam’s injuries? Obviously, he was left in a wheelchair, but he gets around so well and has such a great attitude. But I can tell Finley is past all this; she’s had years to digest and accept. It’s not fair for me to come in here and drill her for details, just because I’m a little curious. I had a hard enough time asking her the few questions I have asked.
Soon, the pool is packed, and I’m making my way out, grabbing the towel Finley gave me last night. The scent of grilled hot dogs and baked beans is heavy in the air as Sam and Grandma spread food out onto every empty table. I’m about to dry off, grab a plate, and head for the biggest food table. But then a blond in a bright-pink bikini strolls right past me. And not just any blond but the girl I spent the night with less than two weeks ago. My heart picks up speed. I’m so caught off guard by this barely clothed Finley—when did she change?—that I don’t notice the tall brunette in platforms heading toward Jason until Sam bumps me from behind and nods in their direction. Worry drifts over his face.
We can’t hear what’s being said across the yard, but we don’t need to hear. Jason introduces the brunette to Fin, whose smile is about as believable as sardine-flavored ice cream at McDonald’s. I don’t exactly have a solid plan, but I drop my plate onto the table and head across the yard as backup. That mix of jealousy and sympathy returns, only this time, the sympathy is dominant. My hand slides into Finley’s, and I give it a squeeze. She snaps around to look at me.
“Hey.” I lean in like I’m kissing her cheek and whisper, “Need some help?”
She swallows, her eyes already glossy, but gives me a small nod.
I stick a hand out to Jason. “Eddie Wells.”
“Jason…” he says, his gaze darting between me and Fin. He gives the brunette a quick look too. “And this is Zoe. We, uh, go to school together. In Texas.”
He brought a girl back from Texas? Definitely a bad sign.
Zoe introduces herself, the southern accent thick and syrupy. I release Finley’s hand and slide my fingers across her bare back. She jumps when my hand reaches her hip but covers her surprise by pretending to swat a fly on her stomach.
I lean down—so there are some selfish motives to this rescue mission—and plant a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Your dad is looking for you. Something about needing more ketchup.”
“Right.” Finley nods, her cheeks bright pink. “Ketchup. I should go take care of that.”
Jason’s forehead wrinkles. He’s still looking at me. “Oh…are you guys—”
“Yes,” Finley and I both say together, then she turns around to leave, calling, “Nice meeting you, Chloe.”
I follow her inside through the laundry room. “Her name is Zoe, not Chloe.”
“I know that.” Finley shuts the laundry room door and leans against it, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I hang back and give her a moment to process, watching her eyes turn glossy all over again. “Fun party, huh?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, and when a couple tears leak out, she swipes them away quickly. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“Hey…” I rest my hands on her shoulders. “Don’t cry, okay?” I half expect her to fall apart even more—this has happened to me on several occasions when I’ve said those words to girls at school—but she nods.
“You’re right. I need to be okay.” She shakes her head. “Or at least give the appearance of okay.”
She pushes the door open again and pulls me by the hand outside, lacing our fingers together. I open my mouth to question the deliberate touching—you know, ’cause we aren’t naked friends anymore—but Finley turns to me and says, “Good thing I brought a hot model as my date for the party, right?”
I stop, holding both of us in place. “Wait, I’m not—I mean—”
“Not what? A model? Yes, you are. We did Marc Jacobs together.” Finley lifts an eyebrow, challenging me. “What else are you, Eddie Wells? A college student? A guy who sleeps on people’s balconies?”
“That was only one time,” I point out. But her question sinks in further than I expect it to. She’s right. I’m not at Princeton for the summer intensive, and I don’t want to be there in the fall. I sure as hell don’t want to be a model for very long. I don’t even really want to be one right now. I hadn’t even planned on telling anyone about it, that’s for damn sure. I’ve been so focused on the immediate, on fixing the shit storm I created months ago and not becoming my father that I haven’t really let myself figure out what I do want to become.
“Relax,” Fin says, breaking me out of my own head. “I’m not going to say anything you don’t want me to.”
I force a grin and let my gaze wander slowly over her. “Good thing I brought a hot model as my date…”
“Cute.” Finley rolls her eyes, but she smiles, which is much better than the tears in the laundry room. “Obviously, we know so much about each other.”
Jason is watching us from across the backyard. I lean close to Finley and whisper, “I know plenty about you. I know you have a mole right here”—I brush my thumb over her hip and slip it under the material of her swimsuit—“and that you’re ticklish here…” I slide my fingers down her spine to the lowest part of her back. Her eyes meet mine, and she holds my gaze, distracted from our previous conversation.
I’m about to share a few more details I acquired from our one night together, but two little kids with squirt guns run between us. She narrows her eyes at me, pointing an accusatory finger. “No more of that Mr. Smooth Guy stuff.”
I snort back a laugh. Mr. Smooth Guy? That is so not me. But I guess Finley wouldn’t know that. She only knows Eddie Wells, model, mysterious guy with secret reasons for escaping the hold of his wealthy family.
Okay, so I sound like a douche. Great.