“HEY, JAY, IT’S Zach. Just checking to see if you made it home okay. I hope you were serious about coming Labor Day weekend because I’m already counting the weeks until I get to see you again. Anyway, I’m on my way to my friend Brad’s house for his annual end-of-summer party. I’ll call you tomorrow. You’re my girl, Jay. I miss you. Bye.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we parted ways at the airport in St. Thomas. I missed her the second she boarded her father’s private jet, heading home to California while I went back to Heritage Bay.
I still can’t believe the girl I’ve known all these years is the daughter of the Marcus King.
I’m in love with Marcus King’s daughter.
I’m shaking my head in disbelief right now; I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
It makes sense now why she didn’t come on vacation every year with the rest of us.
I’ll never forget the day my older brother, Logan, and I met Jayla for the first time. She wore a white T-shirt with a hot pink princess crown printed on the front, denim shorts, and hot pink Converse with the tops covered in tiny crystals. I remember wondering if they were real diamonds. Before you judge me, I was six, and going through a pirate phase. Logan kept teasing her and calling her “Sparkles,” so Jay kicked him in the shin and called him a punk.
I think I might have fallen in love with her right then. If I knew what love was.
When my grandparents told me that we were going to St. Thomas this summer, and that Jayla would be there, my only thought was when do we leave?
Before St. Thomas, it’d been two years since we’d last seen each other. Two years since we shared our first kiss. I’d always been a little shy with girls, so I considered myself a late bloomer. It took everything I had to get the courage up to kiss her. I remember being nervous as hell, heart racing, and palms sweaty. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have another chance, so I went for it.
I remember everything, from the smell of mint on her breath when she gasped, to the softness of her lips against mine.
The kiss was perfect, and sweet, just like her.
It changed my life.
I thought I was the shit after that kiss, even though my friends had already made out with half the school. Then I met Gabby, my first girlfriend. Sweet and innocent. She reminded me of Jay in that way. We weren’t together long before Gabby’s dad got a new job, and she moved with her family over Thanksgiving break. I haven’t had a girlfriend since.
Even though I’m not that shy kid anymore, I’m not good at talking to girls; most of the time I come across as an asshole. I have zero experience when it comes to relationships, and, to tell you the truth, girls scare the shit out of me. They’re pushy and loud and full of endless drama.
Except my friend Evan’s girlfriend, Lexi. Of course, she can be all the above, but she doesn’t scare me. She’s cool.
And there’s my best friend, Chelsea.
Chelsea scares me sometimes. She’s loud, annoying as shit a lot of the time, and the queen of drama. But she has her moments. She’s still my best friend, and she’s always got my back. So, that makes her tolerable.
And then there’s Jayla.
Easygoing, laid-back, sweet, funny, and sassy as hell.
With her, I’m just me. She doesn’t scare me or make me feel awkward. She makes me feel like I can say anything.
She hangs on my every word.
She laughs at my dumb jokes.
She gets me.
She loves me.
And she calls me “Z.”
God, I sound like such a pussy.
I knew I was in trouble when she climbed out of the pool wearing a white bikini, her drenched raven hair cascading down her back, and her jewel-colored eyes pinned on me.
She looked good.
No.
She looked smoking hot.
And when she smiled at me, I knew right then that it was going to be the best. Summer. Vacation. Ever.
And it was.
“Zach!” I turn my head at the sound of my name and see Chelsea running toward me. I brace for impact when the little fireball slams into me, nearly taking us both to the ground. Oomph!
“Finally!” Chelsea squeals, her arms tight around my waist. “Did you have fun building sandcastles with your little girlfriend?” she teases, but I hear the jealousy in her voice.
Chelsea is jealous of any and every girl who isn’t her. Although she denies her jealousy, claiming it’s because she’s protective of me, I know better. She’s jealous. Our mothers have been trying to marry us off since we were babies. Don’t get me wrong, I love Chelsea, but in a sisterly way. I have some great memories of the two of us growing up. She really is my best female friend, but she’ll never be my girlfriend.
Chelsea doesn’t know Jayla, but she’s been jealous of her ever since she found out that Jay, from California, and my best friend’s, cousin—who vacations with us over the summer—is actually Jayla. A girl.
Then all I heard for weeks, months, years, was “What does she look like, Zach?” “Is she pretty, Zach?” “Do you like her, Zach?” “Do you have any pictures of her, Zach?” “Does she have a Facebook, a Twitter, an Instagram, or a Snapchat, Zach?”
You get the idea.
I can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across my face when I deliver my answer, “Hell yeah, I did,” with a wink.
Because I’ve known Chelsea my whole life, I know every single one of her expressions, and what they mean. This one means she didn’t get the usual “she’s not my girlfriend” response she was expecting. The one she usually gets when she teases me about a girl. Her expression morphs into shock, but she quickly recovers by plastering on a fake smile. I call it her cheer smile. It’s the one she uses to rile up the students at the pep rallies or people in the stands during a game.
I hate when she smiles at me like that.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” she says, giving my waist a squeeze. “I missed you.”
I chuckle, and curl my arm around her shoulders. “I missed you too.”
“Chelsea!” someone calls out from the crowd, drawing her attention.
She waves, and then turns to look up at me. “See you later, Zach.”
“Later, Chels.”
“DUDE, YOU TOTALLY got laid,” Brad says with a laugh, a little too loud, as he slaps me on the back and passes me a plastic cup.
I jerk my head to the side and glance over my shoulder to make sure no one heard Brad’s declaration before I grab his arm and lean in. “Shut the fuck up,” I growl through gritted teeth, steering him away from the bonfire and the nosey fucks lingering nearby, pretending they aren’t listening. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got a perma-grin a mile wide.” He laughs again. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“Nothing.” I look around again. “Just don’t let Cole hear you.”
His eyebrows dip in confusion. “What’s Mackenzie got to do with you getting laid?” he asks, lowering his voice. “Come to think of it, Mackenzie strikes me as the jealous type,” he deadpans.
I snort. “Shut up.” Brad has always been the clown in the group. He and I have been friends since kindergarten, and our fathers are law partners.
“So, you did get laid?”
I smirk and that’s all the answer he needs.
“You did, you slick motherfucker. Was it one of those island chicks?”
“No.” I pause. “It was Cole’s cousin, Jay.”
Brad gives me a confused look. “The dude from California?”
“Jay is a girl,” I clarify. “Her name is Jayla.”
Brad’s eyebrows go up, and his mouth forms an O. “No shit,” he says with a grin. “Don’t you two have some kind of bro code? Like no banging each other’s moms, sisters, cousins….”
I smile and shake my head.
“Dude, are you insane?” he exclaims. “Mackenzie will kick your ass if he finds out.”
Don’t I know it.
“He’s not gonna find out.” Not unless Jay tells him. And she won’t.
“Secrets never stay secrets for long, my friend. Remember that.”
“I guess he’ll figure it out when she comes down Labor Day weekend.”
“Can’t wait.” He grins. “So, tell me about this chick. Is she hot? What’s her name again?”
“Jayla, and she’s more than hot. She’s beautiful.”
“Nice.” Brad nods. “I can’t believe all this time I thought his cousin Jay was a dude.”
I chuckle. “He’s protective of her. He probably wanted you to think that.” I pull my phone from my front pocket. “I mean it, Brad. You can’t say anything to anyone.”
Brad gives me a “get real” look. “I won’t… but if Mackenzie finds out, don’t tell him I knew.”
“Pussy,” I tease, shaking my head, as I tap the photos icon and pull up the first picture of Jay and me. It’s of us on the beach with our cheeks pressed together, smiling. I look like a love-struck idiot, and I don’t care.
Brad smirks at me as I pass him my phone, then drops his gaze to the screen. “Ho-leeeey shit, bro.” He glances up at me quickly with wide eyes, then back to the phone. “She’s gorgeous.”
Brad also has a flare for the dramatic, but at this moment, he’s right—Jayla King is gorgeous.
“I know.” A smug grin stretches across my face.
“How is this goddess related to Mackenzie, exactly?” He slides his fingers across the screen to scan the rest of my pictures.
“Her mom is Emerson Mackenzie.”
“Ah, the black sheep,” Brad says knowingly. “Yep, I can see the Mackenzie resemblance. Good-looking bastards,” he mumbles. “So, you got your cherry popped by a goddess?”
“Fuck off.” I laugh and punch him in the shoulder.
I’m far from being a virgin. Cole and I lost our virginity, freshman year, to a couple of college girls during a party we went to with his brother, Dylan.
“So, are you guys doing the long-distance thing?” Brad asks, passing my phone back to me.
“We didn’t really talk about it.” I shrug and stare down at the picture. Jay doesn’t do social media, which is fine since neither do I, so we’ll stick with texting and FaceTime.
“You should’ve locked that shit down. Marked your territory. Stamped ‘Property of Zach Easton’ on her ass. Something. We don’t grow girls like that around here.”
Truth.
I chuckle. “It’s not like we won’t see each other again. I told you, she’s coming Labor Day weekend.”
“So… what? You just see each other on holiday weekends? What if you want to hook up with someone else? What if she does?”
I hadn’t considered that. I guess it could happen. Not me, but her. Although, she said her dad is pretty strict about her dating.
Brad picks up on my internal struggle. “Aww, my boy Zachy is in love,” he singsongs, hooking an arm around my neck. I hate that stupid nickname. I hate it as much as Jayla hates Sparkles. Fucking Logan.
“Does this mean your obsession with Reagan is over?” Brad asks.
Ah, yes. Reagan Vaughn.
I wouldn’t say I was obsessed.
Reagan was the object of my affection last year. She was the new girl. She’d had my attention ever since the day she pranced her hot little ass into Mr. Jones’s first period Marine Biology class and sat down at the desk in front of me. She teased, and all but tortured me with flirty smiles, a touch here and there, or by flipping her strawberry-scented hair over her shoulder. She was the girl of my dreams, until she wasn’t.
“I wasn’t obsessed with Reagan,” I lie. Kind of.
“So, you wouldn’t care that she’s been asking about you all night?” Brad chuckles, bringing his cup to his lips, and eyeing me over the rim.
I shrug. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Reagan has dated a lot of guys and has never shown any interest in me.
I’m… intrigued?
Why me?
Why now?
Reagan is no Jayla, that’s for sure. Comparing any girl to Jayla would be unfair. And I’m not saying this because I just spent the last two weeks with her. It’s just a fact.
The two couldn’t be more opposite. Reagan is pretty, in a wholesome kind of way, petite, and blonde with a heart-shaped face, big, brown, doe eyes, and soft, pink lips.
Jayla is more exotic-looking. Tall and thin, with legs for days, black hair, olive skin, full lips, and captivating, blue-green eyes.
Some people are just born beautiful, only to become even more beautiful over time. Jayla King is one of those people. I’m not just talking about her face or her body; I’m talking about her heart. She’s sweet, and kind, and when she smiles, you can’t help but smile too. She’s infectious that way.
I miss her.
“I say stick with the goddess,” Brad advises.
I huff out a laugh. “It’s not that easy,” I remind him. “High school relationships hardly work out. How is a long-distance relationship supposed to work? I’ve got football, and I’m sure she’s doing her own thing. I guess we’ll just have to see how things go.”
“Well, you better figure it out.” He gestures with his cup, prompting me to look over my shoulder to see Reagan making her way toward us. “I’m gonna go find Hannah.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Be careful, bro,” he says before walking off, lifting his cup in a mock toast, and nodding to Reagan as they pass each other.
Famous last words.
“Hey, Zach,” Reagan says, smiling up at me with those big, doe eyes.
“Hey.”