Page 4 of Lost Summer
“So many boys, so little time,” I quipped, lightly elbowing Orion as I spotted a group of guys standing by the stage to our right.
One of them caught my eye almost immediately. He stood tall—easily the tallest in the group—his messy black hair curling onto a weathered leather jacket. The jacket hung over a hoodie, his skinny jeans were ripped, and his scuffed boots were caked in mud. Every inch of him exuded that irresistible indie-rock cool. But his face captivated me—angular, sharp, like something sculpted by ancient hands with a hammer and chisel.
The bone structure on this guy.
“Ooh, I like that band!” Orion cooed beside me, dragging me forward as I kept stealing glances at the boy in the leather jacket. His eyes—a brilliant, vivid green—caught on mine for a fraction of a second before shifting back to the stage.
“Oh yeah?” I replied absently. “What’s their name?”
“That song we like—remember?” she replied absently, nodding to the stage. “It’s that indie one…you know.”
“Jett,” I told her, rolling my eyes.
Nearby, the boys’ group was louder now, swaying to the music and shouting non-stop at each other, their fists wrappedtight around countless beer cans. Despite it all, Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome flicked his eyes back toward me, and I felt something unspoken pass between us.
Him.
There was something about his gaze, like he saw something more in me. Then he disappeared, and I searched the crowd looking for him. My stomach dropped when I didn’t find him, and my shoulders slumped.
Great.
“You fit the lyrics,” a gruff voice came from beside me, shaking me out of my reverie.
It washim.
I turned, blinking up at the tall, chiselled guy.
“Sorry?” I responded, heart skipping. Was he serious? Surely, this wasn’t actually happening. Did I imagine him staring at me earlier?
“The band up there. Jett? They’re singing ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl.’ You seem like their muse,” he teased, his deep green eyes locking on mine.
Holy fuckamole.
My pulse quickened, each word sending a cascade of curious warmth through my chest—a sensation that both thrilled and made my stomach flip all at once. His lips lifted at the corners, revealing a hint of a dimple, like a mischief waiting beneath the surface.
“Oh...huh.” I laughed, feeling my cheeks flush under the weight of his gaze. I regained my composure, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m Adele.”
“Adele,” he repeated, and how he said my name—slow, deliberate—felt like a tiny secret whispered against the night’s wind. “I’m Ted.”
3
TED
Adele.
Her name lingered in the air as though it wasn’t ready to leave my lips.
She stood there under a darkening sky that promised a storm. She was radiant. Her long brown hair cascaded in soft waves that caught the breeze, brushing her shoulders like whispers. Those wide, expressive eyes studied the stage in continued confusion despite my trying to explain who Jett was. I didn’t mind, though.
Well, Adele, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?
There was something subtle but powerful about her. She was wrapped in a natural beauty that didn’t rely on fur jackets or glittering sequins like so many girls here. She wore simplicity like a ballgown.
I suppose compared to her blue-haired friend, some would consider her plain.
But she’s not.
“I knowthatsong.” Adele’s voice was small but clear as it battled the rising noise of the crowd. She smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “I just don’t know any of thesethey’re singing now.” Her voice was soft, lyrical even, with a warm melody. The faint pink blush creeping up her neck was unmistakable, adding to her allure.
