Page 10 of The Friend Scheme
Our eye contact lasts a little too long, and then he spins and walks away. I push open the door of the bar. I laugh, at the ridiculousness of this whole thing. I start coming up with a lie I can use if anyone asks where I went.
What can I say? I wanted some air?
I go in and see Luke. He’s talking to a family friend of ours, Cassidy, giving her all his attention. She’s in a short black dress and heels with red bottoms. Her hand is on his chest, sliding through the gap in the material of his shirt. Dad is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably upstairs. That’s where the serious business is done.
Huh.
I don’t think anyone even noticed I left. That means I got away with it.
CHAPTER THREE
I’m laying out by our pool, lounging on a deck chair.
I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened last night.
I met Jason… whateverhislastnameis. And I know it might be stupid, because we just went to a crappy diner to get a surprisingly un-crappy burger. And shakes. And waffle fries.
But it felt kind of special to me, like we just sort of… clicked.
I don’t know.
I’ve tried to find him online, but so far, nobody I’m friends with knows anyone named Jason. Which makes me think maybe he doesn’t use social media much. He gave the impression he was a sort of busy guy, so maybe he’s got too much going on to keep up a social media presence.
Which feels like nonsense, even to me.
Hot guys like himlovesocial media.
Where else would they post thirst traps? Why even work out if you’re not going to post shirtless photos?
I just need to look harder.
I sit up and unlock my phone. I load my cousin Ethan’s Facebook and search his friends for anyone called Jason. He has one, and my heart kind of soars, but then when I click through, I see it’s not him. Unless he looks really different in person. I…
The gate to the pool opens, and Luke steps inside. He’s holding a towel and is wearing black trunks.
He throws the towel onto the deck chair beside me and then pullshis shirt off over his head. He fixes his hair, adjusts his trunks, then thumps down. He puts his arms behind his head, stretching out.
He’s so defined; it’s so unfair. I know he works out almost every day and tracks his calories and macros, so I’d probably look more like him if I paid more attention to it. Still, it feels so damn unfair that he has a sculpted torso, complete with a defined six-pack, and I don’t.
It’s just rude.
We look so alike in every other way. We both have black hair, and both got Dad’s brown eyes and thick eyebrows. But being buff makes all his features click together in a way mine don’t. I try not to be hard on myself, but he was right about what he said last night. He is the good-looking one.
He pumps out some sunscreen from the tube I have beside me, and slaps it down onto his chest.
“Where’d you go?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Last night, you disappeared for a while. Where’d you go?”
I don’t have a lie planned. I truly thought I’d gotten away with it. I should’ve expected Luke to notice, though.
“Oh, nowhere exciting. I was craving fries, so I went to the diner down the road.”
“By yourself?”
I shrug.
