Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (best management books of all time txt) 📕

them in the closet.”We walk to the back room and lift the heavy box onto a mid-level shelf. Being in here, I can’t help but picture Jade hooking up with Rick. And then my own fantasy comes to mind. I imagine myself in here, making out with—“So did you see Russ last night?”asks Jade. I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or not. I also don’t think she’d approve of Russ. I mean, he’s not really her type, if Rick and Sebastian are any indication. “Nope,”I say. “He wasn’t around. But

154 Sebastian’s making me a mix of all his favorite songs from this summer.”I might be lying about that last part—I haven’t heard back from Sebastian—but I’m sure he’ll do that for me. I mean, 1) He’s a DJ, and 2) We’re pretty much dating. So why wouldn’t he? “That’s romantic,”says Jade. “Does he know he has competition in the mix department this summer?”“No,”I say. “He just wanted to make it.”I feel bad lying to Jade, but sometimes I present situations in the way I wish they were. Like, I wish Sebastian would think to make me a mix on his own . . . but he hasn’t. So I have to help it along. But Jade doesn’t need to know that detail. “Well, it sounds sweet,”says Jade. “And I bet there won’t be a single country song on it.”“Who knows,”I say. “Maybe Sebastian has broader taste than you think.”And I suddenly realize that I hope he does. This week, I go into Amalgam for a few hours each day, partly to help Jade out while Rick’s gone, but also—I admit to myself—to avoid any Russ run-ins. With all the driving I’m doing, I

155 can sing almost every song on his mix, lyric for lyric. On Thursday afternoon, when I skip out of the offi ce after a morning of unpacking boxes and mailing out CDs, I come home to fi nd Russ sitting on the couch watching baseball. “Priscilla!”he shouts when I walk in the door. My stomach fl ip-fl ops when I see his smile, but I will myself to be cool. Besides, it’s annoy- ing that he’s just over here, like he’s allowed to enter my world anytime he pleases. I drop my keys on the entryway table and give him an unenthusiastic “Hi.”“No thank-you for the mix?”he asks. “Thanks,”I say, lingering in the doorway. “That’ll do,”he says. “For now.”I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen. “Ready to get wet?”he calls after me. And although Barton Springs on a hot day is amazing, I just can’t go back there with him. “Not really,”I say, opening the fridge to look for a snack. “I have some things to do.”“Like what?”asks Russ, calling my bluff. I panic a little because I have nothing that I

156 need to be doing. My eyes dart to the kitchen island, where there’s a half-used shell-pink polish that Penny was painting her nails with last night. “I have to, um, meet Penny for a manicure,”I say. Russ guffaws. That is actually the word I think of when he laughs—guffaw. It’s huge and loud and it comes from deep inside, like he truly thinks I just said the funniest thing in the world. “Come on!”he says. “We’re going tubing!”I wonder briefl y if he needs me to come with him to buy materials to build a robot, but I fi nd out soon enough that he’s talking about us going for a ride down the Guadalupe River, which is about half an hour outside of Austin. I’m about to protest some more, but then the phone rings. It’s Penny, who informs me that a bunch of the Tri-Pi sisters are coming over for chips and dips and fruity drinks before they go out tonight, so can I please make sure the living room is straightened up? “I’m in,”I tell Russ immediately after I hang up with Penny. The orange bikini I wore to Barton Springs is still hanging downstairs in the half bathroom,

157 and I change into it while Russ runs next door to get “supplies.”I meet him outside at his truck, completely covered in sunscreen. I brought the bottle with me so I can reapply all day and make sure he does too. I’m wearing my dark aviator glasses and wishing I had a hat. Luckily, Russ has a selection in his truck. “I don’t really want to wear a jock cap,”I say, looking at all the UT frat hats in the backseat. “That’s what you need in the river,”says Russ. “Anything else will fl y off your head. Besides, these you can dunk in the water and not worry about it.”Practicality wins, and I put on an orange UT cap that matches my bikini. I am fully aware of the fact that if I take off the band T-shirt that’s covering me, I’ll look like a damn cheerleader. When we get to the river and unload at the parking lot, Russ reaches into the back of his truck and grabs a dirt-covered pair of sneakers for me. “Put these on,”he says. “They’re river shoes. You’ll lose those fl ip-fl ops.”I have a lot to learn about tubing. Russ rents a black rubber tube for each of us, plus an extra

158 cooler-tube, which he fi lls with sodas and snacks from the store attached to the rental place. I help him carry our third-wheel tube out to the river, and then he ties it to his own tube with a cord. “Seriously?”I ask. “Seriously,”he says. “This is how we roll down the Guadalupe.”I keep my T-shirt over Penny’s bikini, which I still don’t feel comfortable in. As soon as I push off the ground and start fl oating, I realize I forgot my sunscreen. “Crap!”I shout. “I’m going to burn.”“Hey, ’Cilla,”says Russ, raising his sun- glasses to look me in the eye. “Relax, breathe, and try to have fun. You’re too uptight sometimes.”He guffaws at me—again—and sits back in his tube. Am