Page 73 of The Summer We Played Pretend

The guy who wanted to kill me a few days ago is saying he’d be okay with me and Chloe now? Seriously?

"Uh…thanks?" I manage finally.

"Don’t let it go to your head," Ethan mutters, sliding into the driver’s seat.

I watch him back out of the driveway, throwing me a lazy wave before heading down the street then I rub a hand across my face. What the hell does this mean, exactly? Is he giving me permission? Telling me it’s okay to try again?

It isn’t though. The age gap, my history, college, everything still stands between us. It just took Ethan trying to deck me to make me realize that.

Take you over Brendan any day.

Great. Perfect. Except that admission might’ve come too late.

Chapter Thirty

Chloe

The smell of fried dough and caramelized sugar clings to the humid air, turning my stomach. I lean against a crooked wooden fence near the Tilt-A-Whirl, sipping ginger ale through a straw in the desperate hope that it will cure my donut regret.

It’s not working.

I usually love the summer fair, but instead of drowning my heartbreak in alcohol, I’ve apparently chosen the path of too many rides and too much junk food.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?" Sara asks again, bouncing on her toes as Emma tugs impatiently at her wrist. “The Ferris wheel isn’t even spinny.”

The thought of being up high makes my stomach lurch. “You two go ahead,” I say, waving them off with a weak smile. "I’m good here.”

"Okay, but I’ll be right back after the ride," Sara calls over her shoulder as they disappear into the crowd.

Finally, some quiet.

Well, as quiet as a fair gets. I sip my drink slowly, watching the world go on around me, like I’m viewing it through a drunken haze. Couples are everywhere—holding hands, sharing cotton candy, laughing like love is easy.

The ache in my chest tightens as I think about Jackson. We’d planned this—this exact night. Two weeks ago, we’d mapped out which rides to hit first. Now he’s nowhere, and I’m... here. Alone. With too many donuts threatening to make a dramatic reappearance.

"You not going on the Ferris wheel?"

I glance sideways to see Brendan approaching, soda in hand. Still not drinking, apparently. Maybe he really has changed.

"Didn’t fancy it.”

"You used to love the wheel. We went on it three times last year, remember?”

I offer a tight smile. I used to love seeing the fair lit up from above and the lights of the town scattered across the headland.

“Tastes change.”

Like my taste in men.

It’s hard to remember now how excited I used to be when Brendan picked me up for dates. Or how it felt to hold his hand. I guess I was looking for support, but all I ever got was judgment. Was I wearing the right thing? Did I say the right thing? Was I the perfect girlfriend?

I don’t care about perfect anymore. I just want real.

“I thought you might be here with Jackson,” Brendan says nonchalantly, kicking a stray cup toward the trash can.

My grip tightens on the plastic cup, the straw bending slightly under my thumb. "We broke up,” I say, keeping my expression neutral. “I thought you knew.”

He raises an eyebrow. "That’s...unexpected. You two seemed pretty close. I just figured he didn’t fancy a nineteen-year-old’s birthday party.”

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