Page 47 of Villainous Summer

On the table beside me, Summer’s phone chimed and lit up.

I glanced down out of habit to see her screen filling up with notifications.

@corytheman now follows you

@corytheman commented: ??????

@corytheman commented: “Beuatiful”

@corytheman commented: “prety in pink”

On and on, her screen didn’t have time to rest as the notifications of this guy commenting and liking posts kept buzzing. Heart emojis and fire beside peaches. Then the message requests.

I had no say in who she talked to. Unfamiliar jealousy rose, a dark coil aching to take possession of her. I’m all wrong for Summer. Too stuck in my ways.

Long ago, I had promised myself I wouldn’t hurt a woman the way my father hurt my mother. I had the obligations of my life and the promises I had made. There was no room for a woman.

I couldn’t give her what she deserved, but damn if I didn’t want to be the best one who tried.

Since the day of the parade, we followed each other on social media. She tagged me in a single photo in her story, not a real post. Afterward, she posted rarely but only flowers, pastries, and photo dumps of blurry selfies with her girlfriends. Ones with the rain-soaked streets of London and dimly lit pubs with pints of beer. A snapshot of curry sauce on fries and the view from a plane window. Nothing of her in pink, nothing that would elicit the horny comments.

As she stood at the bar, I pulled up my phone to see who this Corytheman guy was commenting all over her picture. I had to scroll back five months to find a single comment from him, Blue without my blue. No other mention of him. No tagged photos—and even more confusing: she wasn’t following him, but he followed her. His own page was a nondescript one of beer signs and sports memes. Something wasn’t adding up.

A few feet away, the man at the bar raised his voice at Summer, who was blocking his view of Savvy.

“I was talking to her.” He motioned to Savvy with his beer glass, the drink spilling over his hand.

“And now you’re not.” Summer turned back at Savvy, who was still waiting on her bill, her eyes large and fearful.

“Anyway, like I was saying. This top really doesn’t take too long to make if you—”

Most men would get the hint, but this man didn’t seem to catch it. If anything, he looked even more determined to talk to Savvy.

“You interrupted my conversation with her.”

Summer frowned. “No, I don’t think I did.”

“I see how it is. Cockblocker, are you? Why don’t you run home to your cats so the rest of us can have some fun?”

At this insult, I stepped forward to give him a piece of my mind.

Summer put her hand on my chest. “I got this.” Her smile dropped, and she cocked her head. “First of all. You aren’t tall enough to make that joke.”

People snickered behind their hands, and one woman cackled at the insult.

The man’s brow knitted as he processed her words.

She stepped forward, causing him to lean back.

She was a small thing, couldn’t be over five-five, yet the fierceness emanating from her made her seem seven feet tall.

All around us, others stopped talking and watched the scene with the drunkard and the warrior.

“And I can’t block something you were never going to get. Anyone with eyes could see that you have hit on no less than five ladies at this bar. I’ve been watching you. No one wants that drunk pencil dick you have. So, quit being a creep and leave them alone.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he slurred.

“You must have some humiliation fetish, don’t you? She’s not interested. No one is. So, get lost.”

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