The Summer Girl by Elle Kennedy

Author:Elle Kennedy [Kennedy, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2023-07-17T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

CASSIE

When the window rattles the first time, I assume it’s the wind, though I was just outside and it wasn’t windy at all. Nonetheless, that’s the most logical assumption to reach when you hear your window shaking in its frame. But then it happens again. And again. And I realize I’m not hearing rattling. It’s tapping.

God. I do not have the energy for this, whatever this is, right now.

Sniffling, I swipe at my wet eyes on my way to the window. I know I’m too old to be crying over my mother’s veiled insults, and yet here I am. I think she just caught me off guard tonight.

I jump when a hand appears on the glass. Heart racing, I quickly lift the window open and see Tate’s face.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shout.

He’s literally clinging to the lattice like a monkey. And either I’m imagining it, or the delicate crisscross frame is beginning to bend under his weight. Everything about this situation seems extremely unstable.

Tate groans softly. “Can I come in or are you going to let me fall to my death? Because I’m pretty sure this thing is going to give out any second.”

“Have you ever heard of a door? More specifically, a front door? We’ve got one of those downstairs, and it has this little gizmo on it called a doorbell that you ring and then someone answers and—”

“This is not the time for your babbling, ginger. I’m about to plummet to my death.”

Good point.

Sighing, I help him up, and a moment later he tumbles onto my floor. When he’s standing, he runs both hands through his tousled blond hair to push it away from his face. He smooths out his T-shirt, which is rumpled from his climb, then fixes the waistband of his gray sweatpants. I notice he’s barefoot and hope he didn’t scratch his feet going up that lattice.

“To answer your question,” he says, visibly frazzled, “I didn’t use the front door because I was afraid I’d have to meet your mother, and I’m not her biggest fan right now.”

I freeze. “Why do you say that?”

“I was outside having a smoke when you got home and—”

“You smoke?” I demand. “How come I didn’t know—” I stop myself, because that is not the thing to focus on right now. “You heard us?”

He nods.

Oh God.

My eyes start to sting again. And now I feel like throwing up too, because the hottest guy in the world heard my mother disparage my body, insinuate I’m a slut, and encourage me to get a breast reduction.

I blink rapidly. Mortified.

Tate doesn’t miss the way I hastily rub underneath my eyes with the pad of my thumb.

“No,” he begs. “Please don’t cry again.”

Again?

He saw me crying?

I might actually be sick. I take a few breaths, attempting to keep the nausea at bay. My knees go weak, so I sink onto the edge of my bed, but because I’m wearing my bimbo crop top, it creates an inevitable roll in my stomach.

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