Page 11 of The Crush

“Morning, love,” he says to me when he pulls away from his fiancée.

“Hello, Harlow,” Joan says with a slightly embarrassed grin, like they were caught doing more than neck kissing.

I’ve seen so much worse, honey.

“Hi Joan. Hi Dad,” I say breezily, then head for the fruit basket to grab a peach. When I finish it, I say, “I’m going for a bike ride.”

It’s my first time in the saddle since I broke my ankle, and my scar makes me feel intrepid as I ride.

5

THIS COLOR WOULD LOOK GOOD ON YOU

Harlow

A week later, I’m shopping in the Village with Layla and Ethan at a trendy boutique. He needs a sexy shirt for our last weekend in the Hamptons. Layla needs a barely there top. I need nothing—I’m not trying to impress anyone at our final party before we fan out to universities around the world next week for our senior years.

When they head to the dressing room, I wander around the men’s clothing section, running my fingers over the shirts.

Then, my gaze catches on the brand name on one tag.

Bespoke.

I glance around, furtive.

This would be risky. A little wild.

But the risk fuels me. I hold up the teal button-down shirt in front of me. It’s too big, of course. It’s a men’s large.

Grabbing my phone, I angle the camera just so.

I don’t show my face. Instead, I snap a pic of the shirt fabric laying against me.

That’s all. Before I can think better of it, I send it with the caption:This color would look good on you.

I tuck the phone away, resisting its insistent pull for the next hour. But when I’m nibbling on a chickpea dish at a sidewalk café Ethan picks for lunch, my phone buzzes.

Immediately, my chest zings.

It has to behim.

When I grab it in less than a second, Ethan smirks. “Hot new date?”

I scoff, but then I sizzle when I read Bridger’s note.Thanks for the fashion tip.

It’s just a chaste note. It’s just a thanks.

But it’s also aresponse.

I feel elated and defeated at the same time in equal measure. “Just a friend,” I say, then set the phone facedown.

Layla arches a perfectly groomed brow. She’s not taking this one lying down. “Just a friend?”

“Just a friend,” I repeat, since I’m not sure that he’s anything more.

“Are you sure?” she asks, staring at me, like she can extract the truth with her eyes.

“Is there a reason Harlow would be unsure?” Ethan asks curiously, jumping in.