As soon as I walked into the house alone on Friday night, I realized I was still wearing his jacket. Plus, I have his cell phone number. He’s not getting off the hook that easily. I’m just trying to figure out my next move. Maybe there’s something I can do to get back in his good graces or to change his mind about not following through with what we both so clearly wanted two nights ago.

“Do you think you’ll hook up again?”

“Wait, what?”

I haven’t been paying attention to a word Paige is saying—I don’t know what she’s even talking about right now.

“Trav-is,” she says, emphasizing each syllable like I need her to slow down. “Do you think you’ll hook up again this summer?”

Ugh.

Travis.

I guess not full-blown ugh. But a mini ugh, for sure.

We dated for a few months in high school. We went to senior prom together. And then we went off to different colleges and things fizzled. But when we’re both back in town, and when I’m exceptionally bored, I seem to end up in bed with him.

He’s objectively attractive. And he’s sort of funny—if I’m drunk. He’s okay-ish in bed. Or maybe I’ve just learned to manage my expectations when it comes to him.

Note to self: if you fake it the first time you hook up with someone, be prepared to fake it again… and again… and again… every time you make that same mistake.

More than anything, Travis is convenient. Neither one of us is interested in taking things further. So when I’m home, he’ll do.

I don’t dislike the guy. But I get annoyed with myself when we hook up nowadays. Like, come on, Madison. You can pull better, girl!

“We’ll see.” I shrug.

Paige gives me the biggest smile and lets out a little squeal before pinching my thigh. She’d love nothing more than for us to end up paired off with these guys, or some version of them, living in Hampton and pregnant by the time we’re twenty-five.

If that’s her version of happily ever after, I want that for her. But that’s so far from the vision I have for my own life. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, though, and it would be a pretty lonely summer if I didn’t have her to hang out with. So I return her smile and ignore the buffoons who have dislodged so much water from my parents’ pool it’s down a solid three inches.