Pieces of Summer

He motions to my left arm where a bald eagle is wrapped around in the form of a sleeve.

“Yeah. Little bit.”

“We should get penguins,” Mika says, still designing the inside of our future.

It would sound stupid to people to know a bowling alley is our dream conquest. Well, it’s my dream. She’s just perfect enough to go along with it. It’s the reason I can’t wait for the day we turn eighteen.

“Penguins are lame,” I point out, causing her to chuckle. I really love it when she smiles like that.

“But some penguins mate for life,” she says quietly, looking up with those bashful eyes.

I wish we could just run away right now. Instead, we’re sitting on her roof, staying inside our bubble, and planning for the day when it’s no longer just a dream.

Instead of saying something pathetic, I smirk at her and say, “Bald eagles mate for life. And they’re less ridiculous. They don’t waddle.”

She snickers softly.

“They also usually return every year to the same nest and add to the structure, making it stronger, better, bigger,” I go on, watching as the amusement in her eyes turns to seriousness. “Sort of like us right now. We return every year to the same spot on the same day.”

I gesture around to our place—her rooftop. It’s been our place for as long as we’ve known each other. “And every year we get closer to building something stronger, better, bigger…” I let the words trail off when I start feeling stupid.

Suddenly, she launches herself at me, and my back hits the roof as she straddles me, crashing her lips against mine. I must have said something really right.

I don’t stop to ask her anything. I just enjoy the way she’s grinding on my hips, and I kiss her back, wishing we had longer than just the summer to be this way.

“You okay?” Bill asks, snapping me away from memories that are better left forgotten.

Clearing my throat, I nod. I grab one end, and hold my breath, even though I don’t know why. We quickly walk through the doors on the side, and Bill rushes me toward the entrance way where the two eagles will greet people and dismiss them on their way out.

Just like I had once planned…

Trying not to think about it, my eyes scan the place, and a sick feeling consumes me as I straighten back up from putting the statue down. From the retro carpet of the lobby entrance, to the golden hues of the wooden lanes, everything—I mean everything—looks almost exactly like I had once imagined. Other than a few random things here and there. All the important shit is in place though. All the things on my “must-have” list. A list I formed with the girl who taught me how to fuck, love, and hate.

When my eyes land on the oversized disco balls hanging from the ceiling, my stomach twists into a knot. Right above them is a mural on the ceiling—two eagles flying side by side with a city behind them as though they’re escaping together. I drew that…

No. No fucking way. No—

“Mika!” Whit’s shrill pitch slices through my panic, and my eyes dart down just in time to see a curvy, much different body than what belongs to that name. But the face and the eyes… Those eyes are seared into my memory and haunt me every fucking day.

The second those green eyes meet mine, the smile on her face vanishes, and the tray of glasses she’s carrying shatters to the floor. I almost feel sucker punched by life.

Life is an evil bitch.

Chapter 5

MIKA

“Mika!” Whit’s voice has me jerking my head and changing direction, still clutching my tray of pretty wine glasses I was going to put up nice and neat behind the bar.

I smile broadly at her, happy to see her all dressed up and excited about the big opening. Bill moves, drawing my attention, and my eyes land on a set of devastatingly familiar blues while my world goes crashing down and shattering.

No…. that’s my wine glasses that just crashed down and shattered.

My empty hands stay suspended in the air as all the air is sucked from my lungs, and I stare at the impossible fucked up sense of humor life has as it stares right back at me. Maybe I’m seeing things… Maybe he’s just dangerously similar…

If it’s really him, age has certainly treated him well. His shoulders are broader, his jaw is stronger, he’s definitely taller, and his body… I wish he’d gotten ugly. Life would be better. Why the hell is he here? No. No. It can’t be him.

Considering the hard, cold glare he’s giving me, he knows me. No stranger hates someone that passionately. Even though he has no right to freaking hate me. I’m the one who was hurt, lied to, betrayed…