Round and round it goes.

It sounds suffocating and impossibly miserable.

My mind wanders into dangerous territory…

Imagining Logan standing across the aisle of a quaint beach wedding.

The two of us living under the same small roof, cuddled up every night to watch movies on a tablet because we can’t afford a TV.

A warm, fragile baby cradled in those tattoo-covered arms.

Whoa, Sierra. Back the fuck up.

It’s a little too crazy to start dreaming stuff like that.

Logan probably doesn’t even want kids. He’s not a family guy like that.

But maybe…

“Hey there, gorgeous.” A voice shocks me out of my near-sleep daze.

I sit up in a jolt, looking up to see a smiling face blocking the sun and creating a silhouette. It takes a moment to recognize the narrow eyes and bright smile of the boy I met the other day, the one who walked me home.

Hale. It takes me a minute to remember his voice. His name—that I learned soon after we met—and number are programmed into my phone, though I never intended on using it.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Mind if I join you for a moment?”

Honestly, yes. I do. But I smile and pat the sand next to me instead. Manners, I guess.

“You didn’t come to my party,” he says, knocking my shoulder with his.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got stuck hanging out with my parents,” I answer, faking a smile.

He’s a handsome guy and seems innocent enough. Nice smile and kind eyes.

“Oh, I know how that goes,” he laughs. Does he, though? Hale reminds me of the kind of guy who doesn’t give half a care about what his parents think. He’s the embodiment of entitlement and privilege. His parents probably groomed him to do whatever he wants without a second thought for another living person.

Gosh, I’m grumpy today.

“Do your parents live on the island too?” I ask, taking a swig from my water bottle. I should have put alcohol in it.

“No. I’m here on my own. We used to come for spring break, like your family, but I fell in love with it, so I stayed.”

“Ah,” I say, which is a non-answer. I don’t know how to respond to this guy. I guess if I really cared what he was talking about I would have a better answer, but as it is, something about him has me on edge. I suddenly wish it was Logan sitting next to me. I sincerely care about what he talks about. I would have all the questions in the world with him.

“Dad wanted me to go to college, and I did manage it for a year, but it wasn’t for me. I missed the beach. And the partying.” He winks at me. “Ya know?”

“Yeah…” I say. But not really. I’m not a partier, obviously. I’d much rather have a good time with one person than a beach full of doped-up strangers.

“My parents want me to go to college too. I’d rather stay here myself.”