If he were any other guy, I’d ask my best friend, who’s conveniently lying right beside me. Sloane has far more experience with guys. My only relationship before Logan was with an English major in a band, and that only lasted for a few weeks. Of the two of us, Sloane has always been the bold, adventurous one, while I play it safe. She’d be proud of this development. She suggested it—although I’m confident she didn’t think there was any chance I’d follow through. I didn’t think I’d follow through.

But Gray is not any guy. So, I stay silent.

A part of me likes having a dirty secret for once in my life. I’m also worried Sloane will confirm what I suspect—if a guy is into you, he doesn’t ignore you for days. He has my number; we’ve been in plenty of group chats together over the years. And we’ve stopped pretending we don’t share a past, so he has no good reason not to use it.

Today is the first day both Sloane and I have had off since starting our new jobs. Since I’m sleeping at my parents’ and working twelve-hour shifts, I’ve barely seen her. We got brunch this morning. It was light and fun and felt like old times. And then Noah called when I was halfway through my waffles, telling me he was going surfing with the guys and asking if I wanted to meet them at the beach. I couldn’t ask if Gray was going to be here. Sloane was immediately on board. So, here I am—following the figure in the water I’m ninety-eight percent certain is him.

With a sigh, I give up on fake reading and drop my head onto the towel. Despite my anxiety about encountering Gray, it does feel nice to be back at the beach. I had summer classes for the past seven years. This is the first time I’ve been back home during warm weather months in a while.

Lying in the sand with Sloane makes me feel like I’m back in high school.

So does surreptitiously watching Gray.

The sun warms my skin, and the sound of surf pounding the sand serves as the distant soundtrack. Sloane and I didn’t drag our stuff far—we’re closer to the parking lot than the water. Maybe the guys won’t see us.

That hope is dashed when Sloane sits up beside me and shouts Noah’s name. I raise my head when she follows it with a laugh.

“Of course. Isn’t that Miranda Hendrix? And Tanya Ford?”