Page 34 of The Summer We Played Pretend

It had to be.

I’m an idiot. I let myself get carried away. The last thing Chloe needs is some guy kissing her like he hasn’t kissed a woman in a decade.

I’ve never kissed anyone like that before, though. I lost control, gave into my feelings for her and all I can recall is that I needed her more than I needed my next breath.

I might still.

My phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. I glare at it.

It could be anyone.

I glance around the empty garage, grateful Dad’s busy. I do not need him seeing me like this.

I can still taste the salt on Chloe's lips, feel the warmth of her skin under my hands. But that look in her eyes afterward... Was it regret? Disappointment?

She's my best friend's little sister, I remind myself. I’ve got a duty to Ethan to take care of her. Was I taking care of her when I was practically having sex with her in the parking lot?

"Jackson?" My dad's voice echoes from the front of the garage. "You still working on that Chevy?"

I startle, nearly knocking over my toolbox. "Uh, yeah Dad. Almost done."

I grab the welding kit and try to focus, but my hands are shaking. All I can think about is Chloe, and how I might have just ruined the best thing in my life with one impulsive kiss. I should have taken it slower. Should have…crap, I don’t know. Not kissed her at all?

I don’t like that idea either but kissing her like that when she’s on the rebound was a terrible, terrible idea.

Of course, now I’m being an asshole for ignoring her. If that is her, of course, but most of my friends are lousy texters.

Guilt jabs at my gut. It’s probably her.

"Hey, kiddo!" Dad calls out. "Can you give me a hand with this bolt? It's being stubborn as hell."

"Coming.”

I shove my phone in my pocket. I’m meant to be working. She’ll understand. I’ll text her later and clear the air.

I make my way over to where Dad's working. He's bent over the engine, arms deep in its guts, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Hold this wrench steady," he instructs, grunting with effort. "I swear, this thing's rusted tighter than Fort Knox."

I grab the wrench, planting my feet and throwing my weight into it. The physical exertion feels good, gives me something to focus on besides the chaos in my head.

"So," Dad says casually as we work, "you seem pretty distracted today. Everything okay?"

I tense up, nearly losing my grip on the wrench. "Yeah, fine," I mutter. "Just...thinking about stuff."

Dad raises an eyebrow. "Stuff, huh? That's specific."

I force a smile, hoping it doesn't look as fake as it feels. "You know, just... life stuff. Nothing major."

"Uh-huh," Dad says, not sounding convinced. He gives the bolt another twist, and it finally gives way with a satisfying crack. "Well, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Yeah, Dad," I say, my throat suddenly tight. "I know."

We work in silence for a few minutes, the familiar routine of passing tools and adjusting parts almost meditative. But no matter how hard I try to lose myself in the work, thoughts of Chloe keep bubbling to the surface.

I should talk to her.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates again. I shove the phone deeper into my pocket, burying it under the fabric as if that could silence the turmoil in my head.

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