Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler (the read aloud family .txt) 📕

hear is my own heartbeat pulsing in my ears and Chase’s shallow, rapidly increasing breaths as we take the “high scorer” title to a whole new level. For as much as he doesn’t care what other people hear or don’t, he bites into a pillow rather than screaming out, and it takes away any doubt I might’ve had about whether he’s worth taking this leap.

“Holy shit,” he breathes when we’re done.

So, not bad for my first time on a guy, then. Apparently the reading up on it I used to do in preparation of this moment paid off. Good to know.

“Do I get your MVP trophy now?” I ask.

He laughs, still weak as he relaxes against the pillows. “For now. But you have to give me the chance to earn it back.”

His gaze flickers over my short skirt and it takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying.

One of Shannon’s rules was never to go down on a guy because it gives them all the power and they never reciprocate, which Gia reluctantly confirmed was true, though she definitely did it all the time anyway. Kiki had just snorted, and I’d pretended I was taking notes, as usual, though I’d been thinking, Good—I wouldn’t want him to. Way too many guys talk about how gross it is and I don’t ever want Chase to look at me that way.

Shannon’s proving to be wrong; reciprocating clearly isn’t an issue for Chase, not with the way he’s eyeing me. And it’s also clear he isn’t gonna find it—or me—gross. But … I still don’t want him to do it. It’s never been part of my Chase fantasy.

And, okay, maybe I’m not ready to have my memory of the one time someone did go down on me replaced, especially since it’s clear that’s never happening with Jasmine again.

Maybe.

“We’ve got plenty of time for that in the future,” I say, giving him a quick kiss. “How about we go downstairs before those guys come back and harass us again? Besides, you should spend some time at your own party.”

He looks disappointed for a moment, but only that. “True—we’ve always got Homecoming. I can get a room, if you want.”

From zero expectations to a room at Homecoming in the space of one blow job. Noted.

My thoughts must show on my face because he quickly adds, “No pressure.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promise as he retrieves our clothes from the floor and tosses me my shirt. And I’m sure that I will, nonstop.

“Cool.”

We get dressed and cleaned up, and he makes a little teasing “aw” of disappointment as I scrub off the last of the paint in the Ferrises’ enormous en suite bathroom. “You ready?” I ask as soon as I’ve reapplied lip gloss, a futile attempt to make myself look put together despite my clothes having the permanently rumpled look of someone who’s just rolled around with her new boyfriend.

“Ready.” He holds out a hand and I take it, amazed at how quickly and comfortably we’ve slipped into these roles, and then he opens the door.

The picture of the crown with a big number 14 on it is still there, but no one else is; they’re all crowded in the living room, being serenaded by what I immediately recognize as Gia on karaoke. Taylor Swift is her go-to. In addition to being a huge fangirl, she has no problem hitting the notes, but her performance always falls a little flat because she doesn’t have the romantic angst; very few of those lyrics work when you’re smiling happily at your boyfriend through them. Currently, she’s warbling her way through “Blank Space,” singing it at a starry-eyed Tommy as if it’s a wedding-worthy romance rather than an epic burn of a song.

Chase’s teammates spot us immediately and come over to give him shit, but he tells them to mind their business and find their own girls so they can stop worrying what he’s up to with his. Then he raises a fist and cheers loudly for Gia, and I squeeze him around the waist as I watch her cheeks light up with pleasure.

He really is a good guy. Hot as hell, and I feel safe with him. I genuinely like him, a lot.

That’s what matters, right? Not that I didn’t want to go further tonight?

God, I wish I could talk to Shannon. I know she’s here, but I doubt her brain’s been here here since five minutes after she walked through the door. She’s just so good at being blunt with her advice, and that’s exactly what I need—not Gia’s effusive and all-consuming belief that love is always the answer, or Kiki’s comfort in the form of dismissing all high school romance as temporary bullshit. I need some real talk, Shannon Salter style, even if it means sitting through a lecture on breaking one of her rules, complete with an I told you so, even though this isn’t what she told me at all.

And suddenly, there she is, on the “stage,” taking the mic from Gia as “Blank Space” fades out and everyone applauds. I’m stunned to see Shannon standing next to the machine. She never participates in karaoke, or anything else that might make her look silly. Even Kiki participates in karaoke more than Shannon, as long as you let her sing angry 90s girl rock. But maybe Shannon’s been practicing or something. I know better than anyone how much time she puts into making everything she does look effortless. And she certainly looks the part of a pop star in her sequined miniskirt, a purchase I don’t recognize.

A purchase that means she’s been shopping without me.

I don’t have any time to dwell on how her friendship is slipping away from me before Shannon hits me with the next blow. “And now,” she says in her most tantalizing I-am-the-first-to-everything voice, “for the first time in Stratford history, please welcome the vocal stylings of … Jasmine Killary!”

She’s joking. She has to be. When did Jasmine even get here?