At ten o’clock in the morning, there was already a traffic jam at every intersection, college kids staring at their smartphones at stoplights, the nasal voice of their navigation systems drifting out of the open car windows. A news helicopter circled above, probably feeding footage of the filling beach town back to a local station where a newscaster chirped to the audience. This Memorial Day weekend is certainly shaping up to be the busiest yet, Bob!
Andrew had been right about the last four years yielding big changes for the Princes. Their mother lived in Bayside, Queens now with her sister. Their father wasn’t around anymore. It was just the three of them, back in the house they’d been raised, working to pay bills.
The more things change, the more they stay the same, though, right? The walk down National Boulevard toward the beach felt like it had been recycled from the four previous summers of his life. Wake up after a night of blurry, shit-faced memories, face the guarded disappointment across the kitchen table, while nursing a healthy dose of his own. Fall into the same routine. Beach, bar, bed. Never changing. Never growing or taking on more responsibility. An actor trapped in the reruns of his own life.
What would he do if Andrew asked him to help manage the bar? Or hire and train this year’s newest crop of lifeguards? Not that such an occurrence would ever take place, but would he be able to deliver on more, if asked?
Rory was distracted from his thoughts when a blonde walked past him on the sidewalk with her face buried in a book. “Jesus,” he muttered. “The female version of Jamie.”
When she’d gotten a few feet ahead of Rory, he was powerless to do anything but check out her ass. If there was one perk to summers in Long Beach, it was the abbreviated attire, and this girl was no exception. She wore little, white bun-hugger shorts and flip-flops, gracing Rory with a front row seat to the tight, side-to-side twitch of her backside. It was a superior tush. So superior, he shook out his right hand like it had been burned.
Shame he couldn’t see her face. The forward tilt of her head caused short, blonde hair to curtain around her features as she speed walked to the corner, never looking up from her book.
Rory’s frown deepened the closer she got to intersection. Traffic might be moving slowly, but the bus lane was wide open and he knew from experience how fast they flew.
“Hey.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Hey.”
She continued walking, face in book.
“Dammit.” Rory gritted his teeth and started to run, not an easy feat considering he’d paired flip-flops with his sweatpants. But he had no choice to sprint, because she was five feet from the crosswalk and showing no signs of slowing down. He caught up with her just as she stepped into the street, wrapping an arm around her waist and yanking her back—
The East Loop bus barreled past blaring its horn.
“Oh my God.” She dropped her book—about fucking time—and dug her fingernails into his forearm. “Did that…oh God, that bus almost hit me.”
“You couldn’t have made it any easier,” Rory near-shouted at the top of her head, sounding winded. With her back plastered to his front, Rory could practically feel her shock wear off, giving way to a wave of trembling. He heaved a sigh and lowered his voice. “Consider a switch to audiobooks, huh? Maybe?”
Her head tipped forward, presumably to look at her fallen book. “I didn’t like the narrator for this one.”
“Enough to get hit by a bus?”
A few beats passed. “If I say yes, will you start shouting again?”
“Yes.”
“Then…no?”
Realizing he still held the stranger in a death grip, Rory let her go in degrees to assure himself she was steady. The blonde turned around and blinked up at him through round, red-rimmed eyeglasses—and he experienced the most unexpected twist in his chest. He must have run harder and faster than he thought, because he was winded all over again. On a sucked-in breath, an odd sound escaped his mouth. A scrape of noise. What the hell?
This girl. She was fucking…amazing. She reminded him of a little sunbeam with summer-kissed skin and big features, especially those dove-gray eyes. Oh fuck. Her lips. They were parted slightly and inviting, the sun bathing them in a sheen.
Forget what he’d said about her being the female version of Jamie.
“Whoa,” she whispered.
Tell me about it. “What’s your name?”
If her widened eyes meant she was surprised by the sudden drop in his voice, she wasn’t the only one. “I’m Olive. Cunningham.”
“Olive.” For some reason, color climbed her neck when he said her name. “I’m Rory Prince.”
“Hi.” She smacked a hand to her forehead. “And duh. Thank you. For saving me from being road kill. If I had to die horrifically, I would have chosen a different book to be my last.”