Like him.
Because relationships suck. I don’t have time for them, and they just distract you from your goals anyway.
So there, I tell my brain.
Really, I should tell my heart, which beats too fast for him.
“Thrifting is fun,” I say as I sort through clothes, ever the cheerleader.
“Why does it need a name like thrifting? It’s just shopping,” he says.
I shoot him a look over a rack of red dresses. “See? You’re being all negative again.”
“No, I’m being honest. It’s not like this is a new thing. Is it supposed to be a fresh fad because we gave it a new name? It’s literally bargain-hunting.”
“Why do you have to be the fun police?”
“I am not the fun police. I am the fun ringmaster. And I’ll prove it to you with our next activity. Did you see the link I sent you earlier? Today is a very special day at Central Park. Once a year. Swan boats.”
“Yes. I did. I love that the park just started that,” I answer, then return my attention to the dresses, where I spot a sapphire sequined mini dress with spaghetti straps. “This is perfect. I’ll try it on, and can you take a pic?”
“Yes, of course, and then we’ll Snapchat it to all our friends, like Madison and Hannah and Taylor,” he says, imitating a teenager.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re having a good time even though you don’t realize it.”
He laughs, waving a hand toward the dressing room. “Let’s see the dress, Cassidy, and then we can show Grayson.”
“Fine, but don’t forget to tag Braxton, Jayden, and also Carson.” I snatch the dress and saunter into the changing room.
“I’ll get it on Instaface straightaway. And then ChatterSnap.”
“You do that.” I shrug out of my cotton sundress and pull the snug little number over my head, yanking it down to my thighs, where it ends. Glancing at my shoes, I laugh out loud. “My yellow flip-flops look so cute with this sexy number, Jarret.”
“All right. Show me, Isabella, and then we can post it for the squad.”
I swing open the door, announcing myself with a “Ta-da.”
Oliver’s jaw drops. He blinks then rubs a hand over his chin. “I love thrifting.”
“You do?”
He nods, looking mesmerized. “I’m getting it for you. Wear it all day.”
And I say yes.
* * *
A bearded man chewing on a straw unties a swan boat, pats the railing on the dock, then tells us to get in.
We step into a plastic swan paddleboat on the lake in Central Park. Normally, the park only has gondolas or rowboats, but once a year it’s Swan Boat Day.
“No rocking. No swan boat bumper cars, and no making out,” he barks at us.
“Aye-aye, captain,” Oliver says, backing the boat out of the dock, the churning of the paddles beneath the boat like a roller coaster chugging uphill.
I push hard with my yellow flip-flops as we pedal around the lake at top speed—maybe three miles an hour. We cruise past other boaters, enjoying the sun and the water.
“Is this too teenager-y for you, Mr. I’m So Sophisticated?” I ask. “Are you sure it’s not your fun police duty to arrest us?”
“It’s more fun than shopping,” he says as we pedal through a sunny patch of water, past another group of boaters.
I wave to them before turning my narrow-eyed gaze on Oliver. “But you seemed to be having fun shopping. You made me get the dress.”
He eyes me from top to bottom, his green eyes shimmering with a hint of desire. He’s not trying to hide it, and that heats me up, especially when he says, “Well, it looks good on you. I had no choice.”
“No choice? Really?”
“When a woman looks this good, she can’t not wear the thing that makes her look this hot,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.
His words and his gaze make my stomach flip as tingles spread down my chest.
“See? You have your laws, and so do I.” The way he says it, all low and sexy, makes my pulse speed up.
I shouldn’t like this, but I do. God, I do.
I like knowing he’s still affected, still attracted to me, even though we laid down the rules.
We made our choices.
But it feels like the choices are making us.
And try as we might to reroute back to friendship, we keep tipping into the danger zone.
Soon we reach a quiet corner of the lake where it feels like it’s just us. He stops pedaling, and we soak in the sun.
Maybe it’s best to remember those choices. To remind ourselves of why we’re here. So I try. “We made it through last night. We survived.”
“Yes, the cookie batter. Don’t remind me.”
I set a hand on his arm. He tenses, then, after a moment, relaxes. “No, I meant we survived moving past the sex.”
“We did,” he says, pushing out a laugh. “Because I used my patented mind eraser.”
