Free The Summer of Jake by Rachel Bailey

oversensitive? “Why would you think that?” I shook out my napkin and feigned innocence.
    “You’ve been close to both my sister and my mother, and I know how they talk. Plus I never saw your home, or you in your own space, yet you were around my house a lot when we were younger, so you would have seen me when I was unguarded.”
    “It wasn’t that big of a deal,” I said, trying to make it sound casual.
    “I also seem to remember you on the beach with Kelly during some of my early surf competitions.”
    Oh my God. He remembers.
    But…what did he remember? A glamorous, yet endearing sixteen-year-old who was out of his reach? A stylishly fashionable creature who was unfortunately too young for him? An embarrassingly ugly frump he couldn’t bear to acknowledge? I winced, knowing the answer. “I’m surprised you recognized me on the beach. I always wore long-sleeved shirts and large hats so I didn’t burn.”
    “It’s paid off for you now. Your skin looks as smooth as cream. You’re lucky you covered up in the sun so much then.”
    Oooh, nice compliment. But, of course, this was Jake The Charmer.
    I laughed and flicked back my hair. “You would’ve been hard-pressed to convince me I was lucky then.”
    “Was it uncomfortable in the heat?”
    “Not the clothes. The lack of male attention was hard for a sixteen-year-old fledgling ego. Boys only looked at the girls parading around in bikinis.”
    His eyes narrowed in seriousness. “Then they were fools.”
    Remember to breathe. Remember to breathe.
    “May I remind you that you were one of those fools on the beach?”
    “So I was. I can only plead that my nineteen-year-old testosterone and nineteen-year-old brain were both very immature. I’m looking now, though.”
    The room stilled, yet, inside me, everything leapt to chaotic life. I bit down on my lip, not knowing how to respond, but Jake continued. “Before you tell me to stop flirting again, I’ll tell you that wasn’t flirting, merely truth. But I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable, so I’ll change the subject. Tell me how someone becomes a fashion designer.”
    I chatted away until my pulse returned to a safe level and our food arrived, telling him about the two-year course I’d undertaken and the variety of part-time fashion jobs and internships I’d had since high school, learning about the industry.
    “That time’s been worth it—I think I’ve made a coup by getting in at the ground floor. I predict your career will go far and fast.”
    “I hope so.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled, tingling all over from the compliment.
    “So,” he raised his eyebrows. “You were going to tell me a bit about yourself.”
    “I was?”
    “Mmm. I commented that you seemed to be at my house a lot when we were younger. Did Kelly go to your place, too?”
    “Yes, but we spent more time at your house.” I looked down at my pasta, determined not to let him know what the prime attraction of Kelly’s house was.
    “Why was that?” He gave me a look of genuine interest.
    Luckily, there were reasons besides his love-godly-self. “Your house was always filled with noise and music and fun. And your mother reminded me of a flamboyant Earth mother—drawing in stray friends, either yours or Kelly’s, keeping us nurtured and entertained. I treasured the time I spent there.”
    “Didn’t you have those things at your house?”
    I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, no. Squealing in delight or dancing to the radio were good things in your house, but my mother thought them not proper behavior in young ladies.” I mimicked my mother’s stern voice.
    “I don’t remember you ever squealing in delight.” He grinned, obviously amused at the thought.
    He had to be kidding. At sixteen, I had trouble breathing around him, let alone squealing. Actually, some things hadn’t changed. “I was more shy when boys were around, so you probably missed the teenage girl antics.”
    “Don’t worry, Kelly more than