Page 65 of The Summer of Everything

Wes squawks, almost falling over.

“I came over here for a laugh.” And Zay does laugh, hoarsely. “Your mad sad vibes are killing my high.”

Wes shoves him. “Welcome to adulting, my dude.Everythingkills your high as an adult.”

“Slow down. You’re only eighteen, not Mrs. Rossi’s age,” Zay says, standing. He shakes sand off his jeans and hoodie, then scrubs it out of his hair. “I’m gonna head back. You staying?”

Nodding, Wes turns back to the water.Alone again. This time, Wes doesn’t mind. He just wants to empty out his brain and let the tide drag all his jumbled thoughts into the dark waters.

But that’s not happening. Someone’s standing over him.

“Wesley?”

Chapter Fifteen

“Wesley Crusher,” Nico says, beaming.

He’s replaced Zay next to Wes on the sand. His legs stretched out in front of him, one hand braced behind for support, Nico leans against Wes. He doesn’t smell like Zay did—smoky sweet mixed a mustiness from the weed. Nico’s scent is sweat and citrus and the sugariness of rum. Long strands of Nico’s flat hair lie across his forehead.

Wes’s heart beats like a summer storm—wild and unpredictable. He’s simultaneously cold from the breeze but warm from Nico’s proximity. It’s too much and just enough.

Nico whispers, “Missssssed you.” He’s tipsy, but not incoherent.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Wes chokes out.

“Youdid,” Nico argues, then chuckles. “Stupid Italy. Gone, gone, gone.”

Voice breaking, Wes says, “I’m here now.”

“You are.” Nico rests his temple on Wes’s collarbone. The breeze carries the sigh he expels into the night.

Cautiously, as if the wrong move could disrupt this, Wes curls an arm around Nico’s lower back. Nico’s body tenses, then relaxes. Wes’s chin is perched on the top of Nico’s head. He revels in the fact that Nico’s hair isn’t stiff and gross with sand.

It takes Wes a second to identify the song Nico’s humming.

“Frank Ocean?”

“My boy Frank,” Nico confirms with a smile in his voice.

The breeze sweeps over them. Nico shivers. Reflexively, Wes tightens his arm. Nico’s warm breath skims the side of his neck. If he turned slightly, he could press a kiss there. And Wes knows exactly why he’s thinking about that.

This is the perfect place to tell Nico. But the vibe isn’t right. Nico’s intoxicated. And Wes doesn’t want this thing he’s been holding inside for so long to slip out when Nico can barely hold his head upright.

Nico. Nico. Nico.

He mumbles something in Spanish into the collar of Wes’s hoodie.

“What?”

Nico jolts a little, jarring Wes. “Nothing.” He shifts back, staring up at Wes. His lips are shiny, as if he’s just licked them. There’s a similar sheen across his eyes. “No es nada. I think I’m drunk.”

Wes’s eyebrows draw inward. “What did you say, Nico?”

“Nothing.”

“Nico…”

“You’re my best friend. Bestest friend.” Nico squeezes his eyes shut, then blinks them open. “I want… you’re my friend.”

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