Page 50 of The Summer I First Saw You
“He’s part of it, yeah.”
“What’s the other part?” It comes out sounding regrettably jealous.
She stares at her hands. “It wasn’t the first time it happened. Men…they convince themselves I’m something more than I am.”
My brow furrows. “More?”
“They have this ideal. Like Griff, the guy who keeps drawing me at work in those costumes. He obviously wants some sexy warrior princess with huge knockers, and he sees it in me.” She pushes the steak around on her plate. “Another guy will want something entirely different, and he’ll think he seesthatin me, but over time, it all falls apart. They want some combination of porn star and mystery girl when I’m really just a shitty student who isn’t especially good at anything—and they don’t want that.”
I want to tell her that she’s simply had a little bad luck, but in some respects, Daisy’s looks are aformof bad luck. In any movie, she’d be cast as the siren, the sexpot luring every guy to his doom. I’ve seen the way men look at her, and they’re not seeing a sunny girl who just wants to be out in the water and make a nice smoothie bowl when it’s done.
I rub a hand over my eyes. “Daisy, your ex sounds like a jerk. If he didn’t appreciate you for who you are, he didn’t deserve you.”
“It’s more than that. I’m…” her words die off. “When some guy comes in acting like I’meverything, I start to hope maybe there’s more to me than there appears, and then he takes it all back, and I wind up a lot lower than I started. I just want off the treadmill.”
I hate this conversation. I hate that the way to fix this problem is by forcing her to give someotherguy a shot. “There’s a lot more to you than any of these exes of yours seem to realize, and a million men who would feel like they’d won the lottery if they got you exactly the way you are right now—whether or not you go to law school or become the head of the UN or whatever bullshit your mother hopes for. You need to date someone youknow, not some guy who sees you and decides who you are based on your looks alone.”
Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment it’s there between us, that tension, that pull. Because yes,Iknow her.Ilike her barefoot and dancing while she makes a sandwich.
“Not now, obviously,” I say, looking away. “I’m guessing this breakup was really recent, and maybe you need a few months off from dating, but when you get back to school…” I trail off awkwardly.
I was trying to sayit can’t be me, but I also don’t want to watch it happen. I’m not sure I really conveyed it, however.
“It wasn’t that recent,” she replies, not meeting my eye. “We broke up last November.”
I stare at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t dated anyone in…eightmonths?”
She laughs. “You’re pretty judgmental for a guy who hasn’t dated in six.”
“Except there’s a world of difference between the dissolution of your marriage and a college breakup. At twenty-one you kind of bounce back, normally.”
Her smile falters. “Why would I bother, though? How many great relationships have you seen? Your parents divorced; Scott makes my mom miserable. Caleb and Kate were a shitshow, and so were you and Audrey.”
“My mother and stepfather are absolutely besotted with each other, and it’s nearly been three decades,” I counter. “And even if you never want to get married, there are other benefits to a relationship.”
“Sex?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to say something, and you’re probably going to argue or think I’m crazy, but sex isreallyoverrated.”
The desire to saylet me prove you wrongis already so strong it’s nearly choking me. I knew I shouldn’t have introduced the topic. I swallow. “How so? You sure bring it up a lot for someone who doesn’t like it.”
I both do and do not want her to describe once again how good she is at getting herself off.
“I like it on myown.” The quiet, embarrassed words hit just the way I knew they would. I subtly adjust myself beneath the table.
“But guys have a foreplay card,” she continues. “And there’s variation, but it’s all roughly the same.”
“A foreplay card?” I ask. “I’m certain I’d have heard about this by now if it were really a thing.”
She hitches a shoulder. “It’s just like this list, like you all are pushing buttons or checking boxes. You grab a few things and then rub something too hard or just poorly. Half the time it’suncomfortable or doing nothing, and even if it’s okay, you’re so impatient after a minute or so that it moves along to sex…and then it’s over.”
I shouldn’t have a hard-on, listening to her describe what were clearly abysmal sexual experiences. I have one anyway, of course.
I channel some calmer, more adult version of myself to give her the answer I should give her instead of the one I’d like to. “Daisy, I think maybe you’ve just had a run of really bad luck.”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but am I supposed to keep putting up with it while some guy slowly tears me down and makes me doubt myself? I’m tired of jumping through hoops to win someone’s approval and failing, all for a bunch of supposed benefits that never arrive.”
I inhale through my nose, preparing to say something Ialreadyregret. “When you get back to school, find a guy who already knows you and won’t put you on a pedestal. Someone who doesn’t expect you to make his wildest fantasies come true. Maybe…just have fun. Just enjoy yourself, and don’t get swept up into some big, serious relationship.”
She laughs. “Wow, I can’t believe Mr. Overprotective is suggesting I just fuck around. If Liam heard this conversation, you’d be in so much trouble.”
