Love Song(13)
“Yes, we do. Gigi’s is the yellow room. Our parents have the two master suites. Mine is the blue room. And yours is the mountain room.”
“What can I tell you? I’m crashing in the blue room.”
Dead silence falls over the kitchen.
Blake stares at me, not making a single sound. For the first time since we almost drowned, she actually seems distraught.
“Quit staring at me like that,” I grumble. “This isn’t a big deal. Just take the yellow room. Gigi won’t be here for months.”
Her bottom lip begins to tremble.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s happening right now?”
Her breathing grows choppy.
Oh, I see. “Are you trying to manipulate me?” I say in amusement. “Because that won’t work on me.” My twin sister used to pull this shit all the time when she was trying to get her way. I’m impervious to a woman’s crocodile tears. “I’m not giving up the blue room. I’m already settled in.”
The next thing I know, Blake bursts into tears.
Not just tears—sobs. High-pitched, gulping, heaving sobs. And they don’t look or sound like the fake variety.
Because I’m not a total dickhead, I tug on her forearm and pull her toward me. “Hey, c’mere. Stop crying, Logan.”
Without a word, she buries her face against the front of my robe, her slender body shaking from each uncontrollable sob. A bit stunned, I wrap my arms around her shuddering shoulders, trying to comfort her.
“Fuck’s sake, Blake, it’s just a room. I’m—Christ, fine. You can have it.”
She tries to speak, but another wail flies out instead of words. I rub her shoulders, feeling her chest rise abruptly with every shallow inhale. It’s several minutes before she pulls back, wiping her wet face with the oversize sleeves of her robe.
“I’m sorry,” she blubbers, eyes glassy and rimmed with red. She moans in misery. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
Tears continue streaming down her cheeks, and although it’s not the time to notice, I realize she’s a pretty crier. I’ve seen some messy, snotty, blotchy criers, but Blake pulls it off. I think it’s the freckles. They make the tears look cute.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again.
“It’s fine. I’ll pack up my shit—”
“My boyfriend made a sex tape with a New England Patriots cheerleader,” she blurts out.
I blink at the random interjection. “Oh. Yeah. I know. It’s been the hot topic on all the family group chats for weeks.”
She lets out a strangled laugh. “Of course it has.”
Taking a deep breath, she swipes her sleeve over her face again, mopping up the lingering tears. She picks up her tea and gulps down the rest of it, then slams the mug down and snaps her shoulders into a straight line.
“This didn’t happen,” she says sternly. “You didn’t see me cry.”
“Who was crying?”
A hint of a smile touches her lips. “Also, as a show of good faith, I’ll take the yellow room. But tomorrow we need to hash out the summer ground rules. Because there will be ground rules.”
Her eyes pin me down, sharp and serious now. Christ. They’re so blue. A light and airy blue, like clear daytime skies, yet with so much depth I forget how to breathe for a second.
I could look into those eyes all night long and never get bored.
Instead, I wrest my gaze away, because I have to. As inexplicably drawn as I am to her, it’s never going to happen. The truth is I’d fucking wreck her. Because girls like Blake fall hard, and I’m not the man who sticks around to catch them.
Chapter 4
BLAKE
SUNLIGHT STREAMS INTO THE BEDROOM and bounces off the yellow walls, pulling me from a surprisingly restful sleep. I assumed I’d have nightmares about drowning in the lake while Wyatt stood on the dock shouting “Hang in there, kid!” but I slept great.
I roll over to find several text messages from Juliette on my phone, all from this morning because I forgot about the time difference when I spammed her phone last night. It wasn’t until my fifth message that I remembered she’s three hours ahead of me on the East Coast, and it was two in the morning for her.
Curling onto my side, I scroll through her responses to my tirade about Wyatt ruining my summer.
JULIETTE
Ruin his summer right back. Walk around topless 24/7 so he’s in a constant state of blue balls.
Grinning to myself, I type a quick reply.
Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even notice.
It’s eleven a.m. for her, so I’m not surprised to see her typing back immediately.
JULIETTE
Boys always notice tits. Always.
I think you underestimate how invisible I am to this guy.
JULIETTE
You weren’t invisible the night he mauled you on the kitchen counter like a horny Santa.
Might as well have been. He doesn’t remember it even happened.
A pang of anxiety tugs on my stomach as I play out the rest of the summer in my head. Sharing meals with him. Seeing him on the dock, in the water, sprawled on the couch. This is a big house, but I won’t be able to avoid him every second of the day. We’ll be practically on top of each other, and not in a sexy way. The word sexy isn’t in Wyatt’s vocabulary where I’m concerned.