Page 27 of Those Summer Nights (Sweet Cravings 2)

“Good.” She pulled out several more outfits. “Time for a runway show. Strut your stuff and I’ll judge you like Nina Garcia.”

I was currently wearing something I’d be very comfortable in tomorrow. Minus the bathing suit of course. I started walking in my best runway model strut. “How about this?” I reached her and put my hand on my hip.

“You look like you woke up in a sewer,” she said with a surprisingly spot-on Colombian accent for Nina Garcia. “What is it that you’re wearing, exactly? Trash? Only a sewer rat would be caught dead in that ensemble.”

“Why are you so good at that? And stop saying that my outfit is from the sewer.”

“And the styling…what happened with the styling?” she continued with the accent.

I laughed. “Stop, you’re freaking me out.”

“What? Did you run out of time?” She was still perfectly in character. “You should have used the Lord & Taylor wall more thoughtfully. I can’t look at this girl any longer.”

I picked a pillow up off the couch and threw it at her.

She caught it with a laugh. “Sorry, I’ll stop. I was weirdly good at that though, right?”

“Creepily so.”

“Maybe I should get a job in fashion.” She pulled the pillow to her chest as she collapsed backward onto the couch. “Try on at least a few outfits I picked out. Please? And then I’ll be able to peacefully focus on Swatch and Tim Gunn.” She cleared her throat. “This is a make it work moment, Mila,” she said in a pretty awful Tim Gunn voice this time. At least she wasn’t good at both voices. That would have just been weird.

I laughed and looked at all the ridiculous garments she had pulled. I wanted my lifeguard to like me for me. And nothing on the couch screamed “me.” But if it appeased Kristen, I’d try on a few. Besides, she wouldn’t be here when I left tomorrow. She’d never know what I wore.

“Fine,” I said. “But we get to eat lots of ice cream during the show after this torture.” I may have been finished moping around, but I was pretty sure I was now addicted to binge eating ice cream every night.

“Deal. But, Mila, you need to hurry,” she said in her bad Tim Gunn voice again. “We’re going to the runway now!”

Chapter 8

Saturday

I changed my shirt for the fifth time. Kristen had gotten into my head about my outfit and I’d spent all morning obsessing until the point where I decided I hated everything in my closet. But what I wore didn’t matter at all. I was thinking too much. My lifeguard and I were just friends. That was it.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A tank top was a tank top. Which was kind of Kristen’s point. It was tempting to go to my closet and pull out a few dresses, but I knew that I was being ridiculous. I blamed the butterflies in my stomach. They were betraying my mind. We’re just friends, butterflies. Fly away. Or stay. Oy vey. I laughed out loud at the weird rhyming in my head. Oh God, I’m losing my mind. Maybe the butterflies had scattered and some had gotten stuck to my brain. I shook my head, like that would fix the problem.

A knock sounded on my door. My heartbeat kicked up a notch. Calm down. I leaned closer to the mirror to check my makeup one last time. I added a bit more mascara, grabbed my purse as I rushed through the apartment, and opened the door.

My lifeguard was leaning against my doorframe with his arms crossed. He looked like sex on a stick. I had only ever seen him in his lifeguard swim trunks. He had ditched the sunglass and was wearing khaki shorts and a tight V-neck shirt. His eyes matched his shirt and I had the strangest sensation that I wanted to maul him.

“Hey,” I tried to say casually, but it came out breathless after my rush over to the door. I needed to start exercising, I was truly out of shape. Or maybe I was breathless because of him.

He smiled and looked over my shoulder. "Nice place."

"Oh, thanks." I stepped to the side to block his view of the clothes strewn all over the studio apartment. If he was waiting for an invitation in, that was 100 percent not going to happen. I wasn’t sure if I knew how to keep my hands to myself, so being alone with him was out of the question. You weren’t supposed to touch friends inappropriately. Even sexy ones.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Mhm." I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. Luckily he didn’t reach for my hand or anything. If he had, I probably would have melted into a puddle at his feet. Instead of turning into liquid, I walked down the wooden steps after him.

There was a motorcycle parked in the driveway and I almost felt compelled to roll my eyes. Of course he rides a motorcycle. Because his current hotness level wasn’t already off the charts.

He grabbed a helmet off the seat. "Have you ever been on one?" he asked and handed it to me.

"No, I haven’t. But I've always wanted to." My mother had warned me at a young age that only bad boys rode motorcycles. Boys that I shouldn’t get tied up with. Not that her love life could be trusted. She’d probably dated more men than she could ever remember. Including said motorcycle guy where her advice had originated. And honestly, being a good girl hadn’t exactly landed me in a good place. My life was in shambles.

All my own issues rolling around in my head came to a stop when I thought back to my mother’s warning. What the heck did she even mean by boys I shouldn’t get tied up with? What kind of kinky stuff was my mom into? God, why am I thinking about this?

"It's your lucky day then." He picked up another helmet and put it on.

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