“What’s he do?” The words fade into the chatter. This is the hippest coffee shop in the area on a Saturday afternoon. It’s packed.

“Huh?” Leighton takes a long sip of her coffee—the mint mojito that shouldn’t be good, but is—and lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck. How did I not know this existed?”

Somehow, her moan cuts through the room. It bounces off the concrete floor, the high ceiling, the uncomfortable metal chairs.

Her lipstick stains the white lid.

Her black fingernails scrape the brown paper cup.

Some guy in slacks and a dress shirt turns toward us. He gives Leighton a long once-over then shoots me a nice look.

Fuck that, asshole.

And the asshole occupying her thoughts.

There’s no way he deserves her.

Not if he can’t see what’s right in front of his face.

I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Lead her outside.

She squints as she looks up at me. “What did you say?”

“This idiot. What’s he do?”

“Uh-uh.” She digs her sunglasses from her purse. Slides them on. “We’re not talking about that.”

“You want me to agree to this plan?”

“Yes. But we’re still not talking about that.” She moves forward, toward the beach. “You’re mine today. And I’m ready to escalate.”

“Tell me one thing about him.”

“He’s tall.”

“Leigh—”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“Taller than I am?”

“Are you threatened?”

“No.” That’s ridiculous. My gut is churning. But it’s not jealousy. It’s concern for my best friend. Concern that she’s wasting her time on someone who doesn’t deserve her.

“About the same.”

“That’s all you like about him?”

“That’s all you’re getting.” She stops at a red light. Takes a long sip. Looks to me. “How are you drinking hot coffee? It’s a million degrees.”

“It’s better hot.” I take a long sip of my medium roast.

“Black like your soul?”

I chuckle. “Joke only works if I take it black.”

“It still works.”

“Tell me something else.”

“Tell me yes.”

“No.”

“There’s your answer.”

“If you tell me, I can help.”

“How?”

“I could kick his ass,” I offer.

She laughs. “Probably, yeah. But he hurts enough.”

“Leigh—”

“You want to talk about Penny?”

I say nothing.

“Then follow me.”

* * *

My black blanket flutters against the wind. We bend, lay it on the ground, secure it with our bags.

Leighton drops to her knees. Looks up at me like she’s about to groan come here, baby, I want you in my mouth.

No.

That’s my head.

She’s into some guy she can’t have.

Some idiot who doesn’t appreciate her bright smile.

The oblivious motherfucker doesn’t even appreciate her lush tits.

She’s wearing nothing—three scraps of cherries on black held together by red nylon.

Technically, it’s a bikini. Really, it’s a look at my tits sign.

I want to smash this idiot’s smug face.

For not seeing her.

And for looking at her.

Who the fuck does he think he is turning her into a piece of ass?

She pulls her sunscreen from her backpack. Looks up at me with that same needy stare. “I’ll do you if you do me.”

Take off that bikini. I want you naked when you come on my face.

Blood rushes south.

I throw up the brakes.

Things are good between us. I can’t fuck that up. I can’t lose her.

But that tiny swimsuit is making this hard.

The bottoms barely cover her cunt. Their strap hugs her round hips. Show off her long legs. Invite my hands.

She laughs. “I know.” She motions to her tits. “It’s kind of slutty.”

“Suits you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I mean it as one.”

“No offense, Ryan, but you should work on your sweet talking.” She laughs. Motions take it off.

All right. We’re at the beach. It’s a socially acceptable excuse to strip to almost nothing.

To take look at us, practically fucking pictures in almost nothing.

I kick off my sandals, toss my t-shirt over my head, do away with my shorts.

Leighton lets out a soft sigh.

Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t think you were a Speedo guy. But uh… You, uh…”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Really?”

“And that?”

“Aren’t we shallow?” She bends at her waist and digs through her bag.

Fuck, that swimsuit is tight.

I can see every line of her folds.

My eyelids press together.

For a second, I see it—that bikini on the ground, my fingers in her cunt, her hands around her ankles.

I force myself to avert my eyes. Wait for her to find her phone, up the brightness, decide exactly how she wants to frame this.

“There.” She motions toward the ocean. “I’ll get all that blue in the background. Bring out those beautiful eyes.”

I move to my right. Turn toward her. Cop my best I’m at the beach and I’m happy to be here pose.

She laughs. “Just… do your thing. Stare. Smile. Whatever inspires you.”

“You sound like a photographer.”

“I considered that.” She moves closer. Stares at the viewfinder as she frames a picture. “But I like being inside, in a quiet room, by myself.” Click.

“I get that.”

“You choose to work with people.”

“‘Cause it’s fucking amazing.”

“It is.” She moves behind me. “You help people. I know you don’t see it. But I do.” Click.

“Thanks. You could—”

“You already won this round.” Click. “I’m letting you set up that website. Stop gloating.”

My chest warms. I stare at the bright blue sky. Follow the horizon south, past the Santa Monica pier, past the curve of Marina Del Rey, all the way to the smog of Long Beach Harbor. “I’m proud of you.” The words aren’t enough. I need more.

I need to touch her.

Hold her.

But not the way I want to congratulate the guys.

And not quite the way it was with Penny.

It’s something else.

Something I want more of.

Something I can’t have.

* * *

After an incredibly long photoshoot, Leighton convinces me to join her in the water.

She laugh-shrieks as a wave smacks into her stomach. Grabs my arms. Pulls me under the water with her.

We run around the beach forever.

Mostly, I stare out at the horizon.

She jumps around in the waves.

The Pacific Ocean is freezing, same as every summer.

But there’s something about the cold water and the salty air.

Something familiar. Comfortable. Warm.

For the first time in forever, I want to stay somewhere besides work. I want to hang here with her. I want to hang with her, period.

Maybe that’s enough of a reason to say yes.

To buy me six weeks—five now—of Leighton all the time.

This guy is gonna come to his senses. Realize she’s amazing. Scoop her up.

Then she’ll be his.

And not mine.

It doesn’t matter how platonic we insist we are. Mystery Man isn’t gonna be okay with me making her dinner, driving her home, spending the night on her couch.

Shit is gonna change.

The thought steals my oxygen.

It’s as bad as the memory of Penny groaning Frank’s name.

Worse even.

It bounces around my brain as we dry off, pack our stuff, drive back to Leighton’s place.

A shower fails to wash it away.

It fills the room with the scent of her shampoo. Leaves me smelling of her. Like we slept in the same bed.

Like we fucked all goddamn night.

Orange light floods the tiny space as I pull the blinds. This is a nice apartment—all the touches of her are perfect—but it’s tiny.

And without air conditioning.

I push the windows open. Let the breeze fill the room. We’re far enough from the beach that it only barely smells of salt.

But that’s enough that it doesn’t smell of her coconut shampoo.

The shower turns off.

The blow-dryer turns on.

She’s in that tiny bathroom. Changing—I’m sure into something tight. Doing her hair. Putting on her makeup.

It’s too domestic.

Too familiar.

Too inviting.

I pull out my cell. Get lost in answering messages on Instagram. Mostly people asking about tattoos. A few damn, your new girl is hot “compliments.”

She looks fucking amazing in that bikini.

And we look like we’re about to fuck in half these pictures.

There’s a heat there. A need. An urgency.

It’s weird.

But right too.

Our latest post is drowning in likes and comments.

One from @P3nnyForYourThoughts.

I always thought you’d look good together.

Like hell.

I can see Penny’s fake smile. The worry in her honey eyes. That look she’s shooting Frank—the one she always shot me—does she have something I don’t?

And it feels good.

It feeds that beast inside me.

But it’s more than that.

It’s knowing Leighton’s plan is working.

Knowing it’s me and Leighton driving her crazy.

Driving the whole fucking world crazy.

I must be out of my mind.

I want to do this.

I want to risk my friendship with the most important person in my life.

The blow-dryer turns off.

Leighton steps out of the bathroom in a tight grey dress. Her eyes light up as they find mine. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“You really want to do this?”

“No, I keep asking because I hate the idea.”

“You really want to make Mystery Man jealous?”

“That’s a wordy nickname.”

“How about Austin Powers?”

She laughs. “How about him?”

“He’s an international man of mystery.”

She looks at me funny. “You enjoy Austin Powers movies?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“They’re stupid.”

“So’s my younger brother.”

“Aww, I can see you and Dean watching movies together as kids. I bet you were cute.”

“Tell my mom that. She’ll love you forever.”

“She hates me.”

“She hates everybody at Inked Hearts.”

“Even Dean?”

“No. He’s got some youngest kid advantage.”

“She blames you for corrupting him.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Maybe. He’s more obvious about being a perv. But you… You’ve got that in you.”

She has no fucking idea.

She moves toward me. “I guess we can call him Mr. Powers.”

“Sure.” I already hate him.

“Yes, I want to make Mr. Powers realize I exist. But I mostly want to help you.” She offers her hand. “Let’s make this official. Celebrate with dinner.”

“I’ll cook.”

“I don’t have food. We’ll get street tacos. They’re amazing.”

“I grew up in SoCal—”

“In Beverly Hills.”

“I know street tacos.”

She wiggles her fingers. “Okay. You can pick the taco truck. Just agree. Officially. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I get veto power on everything.”

“You pay all our expenses.”

I nod. I was always gonna insist. I make three times what she does. And I don’t trust her to treat herself.

“How long do we keep this up?”

“Through the wedding.”

She shakes her head. “Until a month after. Otherwise, it seems fake.”

Fair enough. “I’m still finishing your website.”

“I know.”

“And asking you how it’s going every day.”

“I know.”

“And offering you advice on every design question you have.”

“Are you just giving me information I know?”

“I need you at the wedding. Even if Mr. Powers wants to snap you up first.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want shit to get weird.”

Her cheeks flush. “Me too. We’re adults. We’ll discuss it like adults.”

“That possible?”

“I can do it. Can you?”

Maybe. “Yeah.” I take her hand.

Shake.

Watch as she pulls up Facebook, changes her relationship status.

Do the same with my cell.

There it is.

We’re official.

This is either the smartest thing I’ve ever done or the stupidest.

One of the two.