It was too hot for a bonfire, but you couldn’t have a lake-front party in Bootleg without one. It added to the “rustic ambiance” as Blaine—not Blake—the cute summertimer from the other night pointed out. It also kept the dang mosquitos from eating us alive.

Blaine was in town for the month staying with his family in one of the big houses on the dog-leg end of the lake. He was a junior at one of the lesser known Ivy League colleges studying economics. And he was currently dancing up on me like we were in some nightclub with dark corners and $15 beers.

I wasn’t particularly into it seeing as how I’d spotted Bowie wander by a minute ago. But Blake—I mean Blaine—was going to be my palate cleanser. I was going to make out with this whale logoed polo-wearing cutie and get Bowie Bodine out of my head.

“Tell me more about your fraternity, honey,” I purred, not giving a flying crap about Kappa Papa Whatever.

While his hands wandered my waist and midriff, Blaine launched into another story about his fraternity brothers. I tried not to notice when Bowie wandered by again, beer in hand. But his gray eyes met mine and held. I felt more from that contact than I did from Blaine’s soft, smooth palms brushing my bare skin.

The bonfire flickered behind him, the music played all around us while our friends and neighbors drank and danced. All I saw was Bowie.

It wasn’t fair.

Side-by-side, poor Blaine didn’t stand a chance. Bowie was wearing a beloved t-shirt that molded to his chest. His jeans were slung low on his hips. He had on leather flip-flops and a battered ball cap.

Blaine was wearing pink-checkered shorts and a turquoise polo with the collar popped. He wore his sunglasses backward on his head. He hadn’t asked me a single question about myself. Instead, he’d told me his entire privileged, entitled life’s story.

But Bowie knew me. Bowie who was staring at me with something like disappointment on his handsome face. Why was he here? Why was he focusing in on me? Did my sudden decision to give up my crush on him throw up some kind of flag?

This wasn’t me. Using one guy to get over another. Ugh. I was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way. By feeling feelings.

I wasn’t really sure how to fall out of love with someone, but I’d figure it out. It probably involved a lot of crying and punching stuff and maybe some ice cream. Sooner or later, Bowie would be nothing but a neighbor to me.

I closed my hands over Blaine’s as they skated ever closer to the underside of my breasts. “I’m gonna go get another beer,” I fibbed. “I’ll see you around.”

“Don’t be long,” he said in a teasing whisper.

I turned away from him, away from Bowie, and made my way through the throng of summer fun-havers.

“Where ya headed, Cass?” Scarlett called after me. She was kicked back on a tailgate, entertaining a handful of eligible summertimer bachelors.

I waved, rather than answering and veered away toward the woods. I needed darkness and solitude.

“What in the hell am I doing?” I cursed myself as I stepped onto the path that skirted the lakefront.

“Interrupting my reading.”

My big sister, June, was perched on a fallen log on the edge of the festivities. She was wearing a headlight and reading The Wall Street Journal.

“Juney, we didn’t bring your ass to the bonfire so you could treat it like a library,” I reminded her.

She looked up, blinding me with her LED forehead.

“I socialized for exactly ten minutes,” she said.

Scarlett and I dragged June out for forced socializing twice a month when I was home from college. Otherwise my brainiac sister would never leave the comfort and quiet of our parents’ house. It was an unspoken deal, I’d socialize Juney if she’d help me pass my math requirements. Neither one of us enjoyed it, but we both recognized the necessity.

“Exactly ten minutes?” I asked.

“I set a timer,” June said, folding her paper. “Are we leaving?” My usually unemotional sister looked hopeful.

“Soon,” I promised. The desire to party had evaporated. I wanted to go curl up on the couch while June watched SportsCenter and I forgot that I was a lovesick pup.

“How much longer? I’ll set my timer,” June decided.

“Give me five minutes, and we’ll head out.”

Without a word, June pulled out her phone, set a timer, and went back to her newspaper.

I sighed, wondering if June would ever pull herself out of her head long enough to connect with someone. Then I remembered my own situation. Juney was safer in her own head. Her heart would stay intact.

I slunk off down the path into the trees where I could mourn my teenage love and lament my inadequacies in peace. I could smell the lake, hear the night breeze ruffling the leaves above my head. The summer night wrapped me up in it like a humid, buggy hug.

“I need to get over him,” I whispered into the dark.

“Get over who?” Scarlett demanded, scaring the bejeezus out of me.

“How can you sneak up on people in those boots?” I asked, deflecting.

Scarlett looked down at her pretty stitched cowboy boots. With her long hair and tight denim shorts that showed off tan legs, she was every country musician’s wet dream.

“Your mopin’ was drowning everything else out,” she said. “What’s goin’ on? You look like you’re at a funeral, not a party.”

I hadn’t the first clue how to explain to Scarlett what I was feeling. My attraction to her brother was the realest thing I knew, and one moment of standing a little too close, of catching a glimpse of what being with Bowie would be like, and I was scared shitless that I’d never be enough for him.

It was too much, too real. If the miracle of miracles occurred and he kissed me or pledged his undying love to me, I’d die on the spot. Disintegrate into star dust. I was still a kid, a girl with a teenage crush that I might not survive. And I might not grow up into the woman that Bowie Bodine wanted.

“Just a headache,” I lied. “I think I’m going to take Juney home. She’s hit her quota of fun. Will you be okay with your brothers here?”

Scarlett and I always watched out for each other. Which is why she was giving me the squint eye right now.

“Cassidy Ann, what is going on with you?” she demanded.

“There you are.” Blaine appeared on the trail behind Scarlett. The way he was listing in his spiffy boat shoes, he’d had a shot or two of the ‘shine. We Bootleggers liked to test out our moonshine recipes on the summertimers before the Shine On. Were we the only little town in the country that rang in Black Friday with a moonshine tasting and drunken Christmas tree decorating? Probably.

“I’m sorry, Blake, was it?” Scarlett asked sweetly. “Me and Cassidy are havin’ ourselves a private conversation right now. How about y’all come back later.”

Blaine snorted. “You’re so country. Wait, excuse me. Y’all are so country.”

Oh boy. It was nice knowing you, Blaine.

Scarlett put her hands on her hips, and I sidled my way between them. My sheriff father wouldn’t appreciate it if I allowed my best friend to commit a homicide within town limits.

“Now, listen here, you entitled shithead,” Scarlett began.

Blaine peered around me at Scarlett.

“What’s your friend’s problem?” he muttered with scorn.

“Nobody has a problem,” I said calmly. “Scarlett, why don’t you go collect June for me while I say goodnight to Blake—”

“Blaine,” he corrected me with a frown.

Shit. Blaine wasn’t used to girls forgetting his name. But here in Bootleg Summertime, the Blaine/Blakes were a dime a dozen. Cute boys teemed the lake and swarmed the town all summer long.

“Blaine,” I repeated through clenched teeth.

“I thought we were going to spend some time getting to know each other.” He pouted and jabbed a finger into my neck. Depth perception was often the first thing to go with Hester Jenkins’ blueberry ‘shine. She’d perfected the recipe at seventeen and won Best Amateur Moonshine in the state three years running, entered under her mom’s name, of course.

“Well, now, honey,” I punched up the southern charm and went with “honey” to avoid any more name mix-ups. “Unfortunately, I’ve got myself a real bad headache. So you’re gonna have to excuse me. But I’m sure I can introduce you,” I offered. Misty Lynn was around. She’d be happy to take him off my hands.

He grinned at me with one eye closed, and I knew he hadn’t heard a damn word I’d sugared up for him.

“C’mon,” he slurred, taking me by the wrist. “Let’s go for a little swim.”

To be clear, at no point was I in any danger. My dad had made sure that June and I spoke self-defense like a second language. We were fluent in it. If Blaine had meant me any harm, well, that poor boy wouldn’t have been able to find his balls after I was done with him.

He was just drunk and a little stupid. Thinking that he was being charming, that dumbass tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Like Bowie had three nights ago. Only I wasn’t amused this time. Or turned on.

“I’m not going swimming,” I told him curtly, hoping that my frosty tone would be the only weapon I’d need to yield.

We were back on the fringes of the party with me grunting at every step he clumsily trod. If he dropped me on my face, I was going to kick his ass.

“Who wants to swim?” Blaine hollered. His summertimer friends raised their beers and hooted.

“Put me down,” I said in no uncertain terms.

He spun me around in a dizzying circle.

“Knock it off, Blaine!”

“Put her down. Now.”