“About invading my personal space?” I ask a bit harsher than necessary, hoping it covers up my heavy breathing. I can’t help it. Something about his strong, broad build overwhelms me.

He flashes a gorgeous crooked grin. “Well, yeah. I’d also like to talk about that kiss.”

I swallow. My throat is really dry, and my heart rate is spiking. “Um, yeah. I’m sorry about the kiss. It was a mistake.”

His thumb caresses the back of my hand, still locked onto the damn measuring tape. “Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?” I’m suddenly lost in his stormy blue eyes.

“About the kiss being a mist—”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Logan and I quickly turn our heads toward the voice. It belongs to Charlie, who’s casually leaning against the door to the shed with her arms crossed. A mischievous grin is plastered to her face. “Please, don’t let me interrupt. I’m kind of enjoying the show.” She winks at Logan. “Hey, hot stuff.”

I shove the measuring tape into his chest, step back, and face Charlie. “There’s nothing to interrupt. Logan was just leaving.” Although I’m staring directly at Charlie, I can feel Logan’s eyes on me. It’s quite distracting. I exhale deeply, cross my arms, square my shoulders, and try to focus on my friend, who seems to be enjoying my discomfort far too much.

“Yeah, thanks for the tape. I’ll get back to work,” Logan says. As he moves by me, I momentarily shut my eyes and allow myself to breathe in his lingering scent. He leaves a trail, a mixture of fresh linen with a hint of spice. It’s not as strong as two days ago—when his arms were wrapped around me and his lips hovered over mine as our tongues twirled in slow circular motions—but it’s still there, slowly lulling me into a trance.

“Oh, you have it bad, girly,” Charlie utters. I flash my eyes open, searching around. I sigh in relief, realizing Logan’s no longer in the shed. My eyes meet Charlie’s as she walks toward me with her blonde curls bouncing around her cherubic face. She’s chuckling at my dumbfounded expression. “I don’t blame you, though. He’s tall, hot as all hell, and did you see those arms?” She nods approvingly. “I bet he can lift you up in two split seconds and fuck the hell out of you in midair. Air humping. No wall to hold you up or anything. Mmmhmm.” She crosses her arms over her chest, steps in front of me, and gives me a stare down. “And why are you dressed in lounge gear?”

“Charlie,” I warn.

“Jenna.” She mimics my tone and expression perfectly. I shake my head and turn away, heading for the open box by the first easel. I start packing up the items on the floor. “What’s up?” I ask.

“We had plans for a girls’ lunch date. Please don’t tell me you forgot again?”

Crap. I did. My mind was too busy focusing on these paintings and the memories that resurfaced. I lost track of time. “I’m sorry, Charlie. It’s been a rough day. We can still go out, have a late lunch?”

I look beside me. She’s nodding, but her main focus is on my paintings, which are still sitting on the easels. “Sure. Late lunch sounds good.” She turns her head to meet my gaze. “Want to talk about this?” Charlie asks, thumbing the paintings. She knows exactly what caused my rough day.

“Not today.” I brush off the topic. I never want to talk about it. Charlie understands me and I appreciate her for that. There are times I do need to get a few things off my chest, things that are too difficult to bear on my own. But as I said to Charlie, not today. I can handle it on my own. “I’m going to shower and dress. Will you be okay hanging around until then?”

She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. Go, will ya! I’m starving.”

* * *

Once I finish a quick shower, I dress down in skinny jeans, a white fitted T, and royal blue flats. Most days I wouldn’t care if my hair were tossed up in a messy ponytail or bun and I had no makeup on, but Charlie’s attire is a bit over-the-top. What the hell? Maybe spending a little extra time on my hair and makeup will make up for my lack of fashion, next to Charlie, of course.

Afterward, I go downstairs in search of Charlie, but no one’s around. I’m sure my mother’s off shopping, and my father is definitely working. I go out back to see if Charlie is lounging on the patio. Not only is she out here, but she’s at the construction site by the pool—where the guys are—giggling at something one of them said.

They must be loving the little blonde bombshell in her tight—and very short—little khaki dress and high gold strappy heels.

As I approach them, I can hear Charlie a bit clearer. In a flirtatious tone she utters, “Oh, you guys are too funny.” The guys around her are all smiling and enjoying her company, as usual. I don’t blame them; she’s a beautiful girl. If I went that way, I’d probably be all over her as well. I look around and spot Logan. He’s a bit farther away from the crowd with Bryson. They both have a shovel in hand. Bryson is digging into the ground while Logan stands in front of him, using his shovel as a support to lean against. They’re in their own little world, laughing about something.

Logan looks up and we briefly lock eyes. He nods once at me, smiles, and then turns his head back to Bryson, continuing their conversation. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me feel something—a flutter in my stomach. I shake off the feeling, clear my throat, and reach my hand out, tapping a finger on Charlie’s shoulder. She turns with a smile. “There you are. Ready?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” She adjusts the owl-shaped charm hanging on her gold necklace. She never takes it off. It was a gift from Brooke in celebration of their ten-year friendship. It reminds me of my bracelet, which is still missing from two nights ago. My chest pains at my carelessness, but I snap out of it before I start to spiral. Charlie looks over her shoulder and waves at the three men who were eating up her charm.

“Think about it!” One of the three, a good-looking, olive complexioned guy with black hair and dark eyes, points at her.

Charlie begins to walk backward away from the guys. With a giggle, she shrugs both shoulders. “We shall see.” In one bouncy jump, she turns around. Her extremely cheesy grin spreads wider as she loops her arm through mine.

I wait until we’re a bit farther from the site, closer to the front of the house, before asking, “What was that about?”

“Oh my God, did you see him? His name is Santino Ramirez. He was born in Puerto Rico, but raised in Philly. That’s why he doesn’t have the Spanish accent. Anyway, he’s twenty-seven, no kids, and fucking hot. Boom!” I shake my head as we reach her car. I’m pretty certain she learned his entire life story in the thirty minutes it took me to get ready. She unlocks the doors and we hop into her Volkswagen. As I’m sliding into the passenger seat, she adds, “And, I’ve never been with a Latino before.” Her brows wiggle. “I hear they’re…” She slams the driver side door, settles in her seat, and spreads her hands widely apart, giving me an estimated length.

“Do you think of anything else?” She’s clearly delusional. I swear Charlie should’ve been a guy. No one would ever think this tiny blonde woman would come up with half the crap that comes out her mouth. Ever.

Charlie starts the engine, snaps on her seat belt, then turns to look at me before leaving the driveway. “What do you mean?”

“Well, sex. Do you ever think of anything other than sex?”

Her facial expression says it all. It’s as if I’ve offended her. I bite back a laugh. Charlie shakes her head, presses her foot on the gas, and takes off. “Jenna, we discussed this before. Some women read for entertainment. I prefer sex.”

“You know, there are smut novels,” I say.

“Yes, but I tried reading that stuff. I just get hornier, and then I’m all over the next guy. I need to calm my whoring down to a certain extent. If not, I’ll be known as ‘the One Who Sleeps With All.’”

She doesn’t make sense half the time. I take a peek at her profile. “You do realize you’re already known as ‘the One Who Sleeps With All,’ right?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “That was so last year. I’ve changed a lot since then.” I can’t help it. This time I burst into a hard laugh. “What?” she asks. I can’t answer through my laughing. “Oh whatever, Jenna. I can’t help it. It’s the RPD.”

RPD—also known as Rapid Pussy Disorder. The term was made up by Charlie herself. She claims that even simple things like the fine scent of a man cause her pussy to twerk in a rapid motion. Rapid Pussy Disorder. Yeah, I know. It’s stupid, but she swears it’s true.

Finally calm, I ask, “So what did he mean by ‘think about it?’”

“Who? Santino?” She makes a left and then a right at the next corner. “Oh, he gave me this.” She reaches into her purse and hands me an orange flyer.

“It’s a party,” I respond, looking over the bold letters.

YOU’RE INVITED TO THE ANNUAL

REEDS’ LAKE HOUSE SUMMER WEEKEND BASH

June 14-16

Beer. Beer. And more Beer.

Let’s Party!

“Yep. And we’re going.”

My head jerks in her direction. “What! No, we’re not going.”

“Oh, come on!” she pleads. “It’ll be fun. We’ll be together.”

“No. And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You deserve a double eye roll! You need to get out more.”

This is ridiculous. We don’t know any of these guys, but she wants to go to a lake house and party with them—for an entire weekend? “I get out, Charlie.”

“Oh, yeah? When?”

“I’m out now, aren’t I?”

She groans. “This doesn’t count and you know it.”