Cool for the Summer, Dahlia Adler [classic literature list .txt] 📗

percent sure—so I’ll take this in the spirit it’s probably intended.

The thing is, I’ve had the perfect dress picked out for my first date with Chase for years, but as I stand in front of my closet, holding it in hand, it suddenly feels like … too much. I’d always imagined when we finally went out, it would be to a romantic dinner at one of my favorite restaurants—maybe one of those pretty spots right on the Long Island Sound. No one dreams of their first date being a casual evening with the guys at a diner. How does one dress for looking sexy with pastrami breath?

My fingers are itching to ask Shannon for advice, which is what I’d normally do. We know each other’s closets as well as our own. Even if she gives good advice, she’ll be thinking this is a bullshit date, and I’m not in the mood for it. Gia would be stressful in the complete opposite way; I don’t want to listen to what a huge deal this is for an hour either. And unfortunately, Kiki’s useless for fashion advice. Her idea of mixing up her black-and-gray wardrobe is to add pinstripes.

Jasmine would’ve been the perfect call. Shopping with her was one of my favorite things to do because she’s honest to a fault, but when you find something that looks good—and she would make me try on some craaaazy shit because she was certain it’d look fantastic on me, and was often right—she makes you feel like no one has ever looked as good in anything as you look right then in that rhinestone-studded leather bodice.

There is a great dress I’d purchased with her at the outlet mall in Nags Head, and it’s still summery enough outside to wear it, though the bright red gingham feels a little country against the backdrop of Stratford. Well, whatever—I spent the money and I know it looks cute on me. I shuck off the black yoga pants and matching T-shirt I’ve worn under my purple apron for the past six hours and jump into the shower.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m clean, cute, and my mom is driving me to Benny’s, Demi Lovato’s “Confident” bursting from the car’s speakers. (I embark on approximately nothing without blasting this song first. Thankfully, my mom understands.) But my enthusiasm comes to an abrupt halt when I see waaay more cars in the parking lot than I expected, including a familiar 4Runner.

So much for Shannon not having the info to mock this non-date.

There’s a little less bounce in my espadrilled step when I let myself into the diner, even though Shannon whoops when I walk in and loudly proclaims what a cute cowgirl I make.

Thankfully, I’m saved from having to respond by Chase getting up like the gentleman he is and giving me one of those epic smiles. “You came!” he says, as if it were ever a question.

“How could I pass up a fried chicken sandwich with extra slaw?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shannon registering that Chase’s invite is why I’m here. I also see her flirting with Lucas Miller, which I guess explains why she is.

I am not looking forward to the hour of “How could you not tell me?” that will go down the instant I get home.

And speaking of conversations I’m not looking forward to, everyone jumps right back into the one they were having before I arrived, which was about Friday’s party and its mysterious hostess. “So, nobody knows if she has a boyfriend?” Keith Radcliffe asks.

The question sits in my stomach, heavy as a stone. It doesn’t help when Shannon pipes up, “Sure didn’t seem like it when she was dancing up on Linus Friday night.”

Ugh, Linus? Of all people? God, he’s the kind of guy who thinks negging is a legitimate social interaction. How do you go from me, or even Carter, to that?

“Linus is a douche,” says Keith, and I can’t argue with him there. “She can do way better. She’s got a bangin’ body.”

Okay, now Keith is a douche. Discussing a girl’s body in public is gross, and anyway, he’s barely even seen it. Like, yeah, OK, sure, you know what she looks like because you’ve seen her in a short skirt. Maybe don’t think you know her “bangin’ body” before you’ve ever come face-to-face with her hip bones because let me tell you, you don’t know jack shit.

“Hey, you OK?” Chase murmurs in my ear.

I blink out of my ragey hornball thoughts. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Because you’ve massacred my fries.”

I look down and see a ketchup-bloody pile of potato stumps scattered around a red basket coffin. “Whoops.” My cheeks fill with heat. “Sorry about that. Guess I’m hungrier than I thought. Where’s our waitress?”

Chase gives me a funny look. “I already ordered for you—fried chicken sandwich with extra slaw, right? And I was planning to share my fries, but maybe I should order more of those.”

“I’ll get them,” I say sheepishly, climbing out of the booth. I need some air, even if it’s heavily scented with cooking oil.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is it. This is everything. I’m on a date-ish thing with Chase and my best friend is here (for better and for worse) and he ordered for me and everyone knows it and somehow Jasmine is managing to ruin it without even being present.

In another life, having her around could make sense. She could date Keith and I could date Chase and we could double, or even add Shannon and Lucas and triple. It’d be perfect.

Except we’re in this life, and that sounds like my personal hell.

I order fries and they tell me they’ll bring them to the table, so I have no choice but to go back. I hope they’ll be done talking about Jasmine by the time I arrive, but no such luck. Worse, I get there as Shannon’s assuring everyone that she and Jasmine are friends and she’ll get the dirt