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puck-luck · 5 months ago

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new beginnings | june 3 - june 9

note: this chapter features me trying to find the right balance between "slow burn😈" and "OH MY GOD I'M SO BORED CAN THEY FUCK ALREADY", so enjoy that.

here is a link to chapter one! if you've forgotten what took place, i recommend skimming, or just read day 7 over again!

8:90 – HONEY

Mondays are Honey’s lazy days. It’s the last day of her weekend, since The Reading Nook isn’t open. She usually spends her day doing laundry and cooking for the week, but today, all she wants to do is lay in bed.

She hasn’t been unproductive, per se. She started her laundry and took a shower, even shaved her legs. She replaced her sheets, and then the allure of her bed called her back in. She cocooned herself under the covers and cracked open the book from her bedside table, but Honey’s eyes have just been sliding over the page. Her mind is elsewhere.

She can’t stop thinking about Saturday night.

It was fun. She had fun.

From the first moment, she was comfortable. The boys treated her and Bea like their friends, people that they’d known for longer than a week. She had been apprehensive at first, then thankful that Bea was willing to leave with her if she wanted to, but she never really wanted to leave. The time just came and she knew that she couldn’t be there any longer.

The second Jack opened the door and she saw Luke and Cole holding Trevor back, she just felt light.

Since leaving home, she really only had Bea. The old ladies are friendly enough, but it’s not the same. Before coming to Litchton, Honey and Bea went to a big high school. They knew a lot of people between the two of them and Bea was captain of the school’s state-championship-winning volleyball team their senior year. Honey’s parents were well known in the community and they were really involved in their church.

She went from having plans every night with her friends, sneaking out of the house to get up to no good because she wasn’t legal yet, and being miserable because she was overcompensating for a feeling she couldn’t describe to… asking her best friend to go off grid with her in a tiny town that no one from their hometown knew. And Bea came.

Honey was happier this way, and Bea could adapt to any situation with a little time so long as the illusion of adventure was intact, but it was still lonely. She loves the home she made for herself in Litchton and how it taught her to be an adult, her own person rather than a version of her that was molded from her surroundings. At the same time, she misses knowing people her age.

Litchton, as great as it was to Honey, was the kind of little town that you flee when you leave for college after living there your whole life. The only time you come back is when you’re starting your family, or maybe even after your kids move away and you crave that small town life your parents enjoyed so much.

Or, if you’re Honey’s dad, you vacationed in the town as a kid and wanted your child to have the same experience.

Long story short? There is an abundance of people under 18 and over the age of 50 in Litchton, but not so many 19-30 year olds.

It’s more of a problem for Bea. She’s the one who’s looking for a relationship. Honey is not looking for that. She’s not.

It’s nice to have a few new friends, though. Not Trevor, really, even though he seems desperate for Honey’s attention. Honey didn’t talk much with Luke, since the boy was quiet for most of the night. The most animated she saw him was when Trevor started his Zulu Run and Luke cheered him on. Quinn was at the pool table the whole night… until he was upstairs… but he seems like a cool guy. Jack is easy enough to talk to, when he’s not flirting.

Honey’s not ashamed to admit that her favorite is Cole. He’s a sweetheart with a charming smile and thoughtful intentions. He’s a good person. Honey kind of wishes that she had met him when she and Bea first became friends– she can only imagine how precious he was as a child. Their trio would have been something the other kids envied and Honey and Cole would’ve been each others’ date to prom.

He would’ve fit in really well with them, she thinks. He’s kind of like the male version of Bea. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much.

Her phone rings and it’s Bea’s name that flashes across the screen, speak of the Devil.

Honey answers and starts to say hello, but Bea cuts her off.

“I’m at your front door,” she says, then the line goes dead.

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at the screen. She scoffs and shakes her head, tossing the covers off and swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She’s just in the old boxers that she stole from her last boyfriend and a bralette, her laziest outfit. She doesn’t even consider changing as she walks to the door and opens it. Bea’s seen all this, and more, before.

“Good, you’re not wearing clothes,” Bea breathes out in relief as a greeting. She pushes past Honey and makes her way towards the bedroom. “I was going to make you take them off for this anyway.”

Honey rolls her head back and fakes a snore. She closes the front door and trails after Bea, finding the girl sitting on her bed when she reenters the room.

“Okay, before we get started, I want to give you a chance to tell me about your night after I left the room,” Bea says. “Oh, and I should probably tell you that Trevor was upset that you weren’t at church yesterday.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, her laugh strained. “That’s… weird.”

He likes you. He’s good. He’s trying. You should like him too.

Honey shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Not much happened. Trevor did his Zulu Run, each of the boys chose a song for him to run to, and I left during Cole’s song. Jack walked me to the door.”

“Oh,” Bea drawls. She tilts her chin up and taps her nose. It’s a habit they both picked up when they were teenagers– a secret signal of sorts when they were talking shit at parties in their younger years. They do it when something is too ‘on the nose.’ It’s supposed to be clever– Honey thought of it. “So that’s why Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall, while he was naked, might I add, and asked him what the hell he was doing?”

Honey freezes, lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she hopes that she looks judgmental enough to hide the shock.

Bea tilts her head to the side slowly and smiles up at Honey, pulling one of her braids over her shoulder and twisting the end between her fingers. “Isn’t that so… interesting…?”

Honey licks along her top row of teeth and seethes at Bea. “No,” she snaps. “I don’t find that interesting.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you can’t fight this forever, Honey. I’m going to get you laid this summer, while we have this many willing participants, whether you like it or not.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you did with Quinn? I know that’s why you’re here.”

Bea’s face lights up and she grins from ear to ear. “Honey, I know they’re all athletes, but, like… holy shit.”

She jumps into a long winded story that begins with the second Quinn bent over her to hit the 8 ball and she felt him against her behind. (“He wasn’t even hard yet, and I was practically swooning!”) Bea is gesticulating wildly, miming her movements and even climbing onto Honey’s lap at one point to recreate the position Quinn had her in.

Bea’s downright dirty about it, and Honey squirms a bit. This happens every time Bea hooks up with someone, but it never becomes more comfortable for Honey.

After Bea finishes describing the way that Quinn groaned when he came, all the while Honey is cringing because she’ll never look at Quinn the same again, she says: “You know, if you just started having sex again, I wouldn’t have to describe my hijinks to you.”

Honey laughs out loud, her jaw dropping at the statement. “You’re a liar!” She accuses, pointing a finger at Bea and pushing her over on the bed.

Bea giggles into the covers, hiding her face from Honey. She shrugs and nods along as Honey continues her accusation.

“We’re going to keep doing this shit until the day we die!” Honey exclaims, her cheeks tight with how wide her smile is. Laughs keep bubbling up from her chest and interrupting her sentences. “Buzzy, when you get pregnant, I genuinely think you’re going to find some sperm and shove it up my cooch so we’re ‘experiencing everything at the same time.’ You freak!”

Bea howls with laughter, clutching at her stomach. “Fuck off!”

“I swear! When you get married, I’m going to have to get an IUD just so I’m not fearing for my fucking life the whole time,” Honey retorts, grabbing her pillow from near the headboard. She whacks Bea with it as the girl squeals and tries to avoid the weapon.

After a satisfying hit to the side of Bea’s head and a groan of contempt, Honey throws her pillow back up to the headboard and collapses into her sheets, her head turned to face Bea’s. They giggle and blink at each other for a minute, breathing in the smell of Honey’s fresh laundry.

Honey’s eyes are half-covered by the top sheet and for a moment, when she catches a glimpse of Bea’s flushed cheeks, she thinks of all the times that they had sleepovers in Honey’s childhood bedroom and stayed up all night trying to stifle their laughter.

Honey pushes herself up from her position and shuffles under the covers, pulling the sheets up to her chest. Bea joins her with a little groan. They sit together, facing forward, mirror images of each other.

“Was he really that good?” Honey asks softly.

“Better than Overalls Joe,” Bea replies.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Honey turns over, leaning against her pillow. Bea follows her lead and faces her, her hand tucked below her cheek in a little fist. Her face scrunches, catching on the skin of her palm.

“Does that change anything?” Honey asks. “Are you still going to hook up with all of them?”

Bea nods tentatively. She breathes out a sigh. “For a second, after we finished, I thought about not telling him. He was so sweet and great that I thought maybe I wouldn’t want to go through with everything, and you know how much I love the strong, silent type, but like. I don’t know.”

Honey searches her face for a clue. Bea still looks just as uncertain as she’s describing. She purses her lips and avoids eye contact with Honey, turning so she’s facing the ceiling.

“You thought that you’d change your mind and you’d want a monogamous hookup situation, but when you finished with Quinn, you hadn’t,” Honey supplies. She’s still laying on her side, looking at Bea’s profile.

Bea bites the insides of her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“And you felt bad.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still feel bad.”

“Yeah.”

Honey finally shifts to lay on her back, reaching over to take Bea’s hand. They stare up at the fan on Honey’s ceiling. It’s dusty. Honey makes a mental note to clean it later.

“He reacted well when I told him,” Bea says. “He was surprised, which I get, but then he kind of just shrugged. He said if I wanted to have a Slut Summer, then he wasn’t going to stop me. I referred to it as a Slut Summer first, by the way. He wasn’t being an asshole about it.”

“Do you regret it?” Honey asks.

“I needed to tell him. It would be so unfair to Quinn if I hooked up with him, got his hopes up, and then hooked up with one of his brothers.” Bea shrugs and shakes her head. “I feel gross about it because I know he was disappointed for a second, but I’d feel grosser if I didn’t tell him.”

“How did he act after you told him? After the shrug?”

“Well, he also told me that he just got out of a relationship, and then he acted normal for the rest of the day. He drove the boys to church and drove me home after. He was touching me in some way almost the whole time.” Bea drops Honey’s hand and picks at a hangnail. “And we made out when we were at my place.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out in an unimpressed look before she smiles. Good for Bea.

But she's not finished.

“I just— I saw how he looked at me when I first propositioned him.” Bea covers her face with both of her hands. “And he told me that if this had gone down when he was younger, it would've ruined him. I know he meant it to lighten the tension because he laughed… but, like… I can’t get that image out of my head. Baby Quinn getting his heart broken by a girl who didn't want more from him. It makes me feel like shit.”

“Maybe you should go over there,” Homey suggests. “You should talk to him some more and clear the air.”

“I can’t,” Bea complains. “I can't let him know that I care. Then he’ll have all the power.”

Honey rolls her eyes. “I don't think that’s how this works.”

“It's how I think it works!”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Honey picks up her book from her nightstand and begins to read. Bea stares at the ceiling.

Ten minutes of thought later, she sits up abruptly.

“I'm going home,” Bea announces and leaves the bed, pulling her shoes on. “I'm drinking some of my calming tea and going to bed. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Honey looks over to her clock and snorts out a laugh. It’s only 5:15 in the evening. Bea’s going to be overtired by the time she wakes up in the morning. She’s planning to sleep for almost sixteen hours. “Be at work at ten,” Honey tells her. “You're scheduled then and the ladies are coming in.”

“Yadda yadda,” Bea replies, then waves goodbye and blows Honey a kiss. “I’ll get there when I get there, like every day other than Friday.”

Honey sniffs out a laugh, then returns to her book. It's just now getting good. The story follows a girl who is trying to create an anthology based on her hometown’s history and she’s spent the past few weeks interviewing the townies and local historians, just to stumble upon a town secret that no one really wants to talk about.

Honey thinks it’s the best book she’s read so far this year.

Her alarm beeps at a quarter to six, and Honey puts her book away. She stretches under the covers, groaning at the satisfying pop of her joints as she does so. Honey throws the covers off of herself and leaves them messy as she changes out of her pajamas and into some spandex shorts and a long t-shirt.

She grabs her mesh shoulder bag and her car keys, ready to head to the fruit stand outside of the grocery store. She had finished her peaches halfway through the week last time, so she needs to buy more today. She’s feeling like blueberries would be a good investment– maybe some blackberries.

Honey keeps her head down, parking near The Reading Nook and walking along the sidewalk. She shuffles by a few townies with a nod, and turns the corner. She stops dead in her tracks.

Trevor.

He’s standing at the stand, two paper bags in his arms. He’s chatting with the vendor, a sweet woman named Joan who’s been working the booth for twenty years. She’s laughing and smiling at him and holding another little bag. Trevor bends at the knee and makes a joke as she tries to balance it precariously on top of his other groceries.

Honey just hopes he’s leaving soon. She walks up to the booth and starts to peruse the apples, keeping to herself and hoping Trevor doesn’t see her before she leaves.

It’s a futile effort and she knows it.

“Honey!” Joan exclaims. “How are you doing, my dear?”

Honey smiles, soft and sweet at the woman. “Hi, Joan. I’m okay. I did some chores today, so I’m just happy to be out and about.”

“Well, you just let me know what you’re looking for today and I’ll give you my best,” Joan promises and leaves Honey to browse.

“Hi,” Trevor says.

“Hello, Trevor,” Honey replies, not even looking up at him as she scans the selection for the best looking fruit.

“Do you like tarts?” Trevor asks.

“They’re fine,” Honey replies. She picks up a carton of raspberries, ripe and red. “I prefer turnovers.”

“I was thinking about trying to bake something later,” Trevor tells her.

“That’s nice,” Honey says. She’s not an idiot. She knows what he’s hinting at. Trevor wants to hang out with her again, this time in a much more intimate setting. She’d be at their house, because she would not allow him to invite himself over, but the presence of the other boys wouldn’t mean much. “I’m sure Cole would love to watch you try to bake some tarts.”

“Cole would be a disaster,” Trevor laughs, like Honey just made the best joke he’s heard all day.

“Maybe he would surprise you.” Honey turns to Joan, holding up her raspberries. “Are these ready? Or should I wait a little while for the next batch?”

“You know what I always say, Honey,” Joan answers. “The second batch is always the best.”

“Good point. Do you have a quart of blueberries around here somewhere?” Honey scans the stand, but she doesn’t see them.

Joan points to the other end of the stand, past Trevor.

For the first time since making it to the stand, Honey looks up at Trevor. She makes eye contact. His eyes are green and he’s happy and there’s this tiny smile on his face as he looks down at her.

“Excuse me,” Honey says. She tries to keep her voice hard, disinterested.

Trevor continues to smile down at her, arms full of groceries. She focuses on the point slightly past him and squeezes by, her back towards the stand. She tries to avoid shoulder-checking him, but they brush arms anyway. Trevor’s skin is warm against hers, even if it’s just a fleeting pass.

“Would you like to come over and bake with me?” Trevor asks. “I’ll let you take home half the goods. I need someone with some experience to help me out, I’m not much of a baker and you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s an enticing offer, only because Honey had so much fun the other night. She could probably convince all the other boys to help, and Trevor would hate that her attention isn’t completely on him.

“What kind of tarts?” Honey asks. “If I like the flavor, then I’ll come over.”

Trevor’s smile splits his face like he knows something Honey doesn’t. “Joan just sold me some of her best strawberries.” He tosses the older woman a wink.

“What a shame,” Honey muses, and bites back a smile at the way Trevor’s face falls. “I’m allergic.”

“What?” He asks, genuinely taken aback. “Bea said–” He cuts himself off and his eyes go wide, flushing to the tips of his ears at the inadvertent admission.

“‘Bea said?’” Honey repeats, tilting her head to the side. “What did Bea say?”

Trevor scowls at the ground and scuffs his shoes against the sidewalk. “She said you would like strawberries if I bought them for you,” he grumbles.

“Oh, poor baby,” Honey teases. “She tricked you, and you fell for it.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, but Honey can tell that he’s a little bit pleased with the endearing term, even as mean as she said it.

“Go home, Trevor,” Honey says, her voice turning despondent instead of laced with laughter. “Don’t ask Bea for help with me again. If you want to win me over, you have to do it yourself.”

“Me-ow,” Joan chirps, reminding Honey that they have an audience.

Honey picks up a quart of blueberries and hands Joan a few dollars for the berries, placing the basket in her bag. She grabs a few peaches on the way back to her car, the payment covering the cost of those as well. She walks back to her car, catching a glimpse of Trevor loading his groceries into the trunk of his car. She quirks her eyebrows as she sees him scrub his hands over his face and pat his cheek, not unlike the wake up call she gave Jack on Saturday, saying something to himself.

Whatever. Honey came out on top of that conversation, yet again. One good night at the boys’ house doesn’t mean that Honey wants to hang out with Trevor again, even if she’s bringing donuts over on Friday.

9:90 – TREVOR

Trevor gave up on trying to fall asleep around 4 a.m. after tossing and turning all night. For a while, he scrolled on his phone and caught up with his friends’ Instagram posts. The rental house has WiFi, but it’s notoriously terrible being in the mountains and all, so Trevor’s stuff never loads. In the early morning hours, while none of the other boys are awake and scrolling, he’s able to load up three TikToks in a row once he tires of Instagram. It’s a luxury he hasn’t experienced in over a week.

He chalks it up to excitement for the day– they’re getting to go on the ice for the first time since coming to North Carolina. Quinn is planning on packing up Trevor’s car around 9 and they’ll be on the road to Bojangles Coliseum, home of the Charlotte Checkers, soon after that. Trevor can’t wait to be back on the ice and have a real hockey practice, even if it’s self-led.

But, at the same time, Trevor can’t chalk all of his inability to sleep up to excitement for the day.

No, some, if not most, of his inability to sleep was due to the fool he made of himself yesterday.

He was so close to getting Honey to come over, so close to getting her alone in something that he could call a date, even if she didn’t consider it to be one. He had blindly trusted Bea, something he now knows not to do, and gone with the strawberries rather than ask Honey what kind of pastry she’d like most.

Of course she’s allergic to strawberries– it only makes sense that Honey’s conniving best friend wants to enjoy Trevor’s plundering just as much as Honey does.

And Trevor knows that she enjoys it.

Poor baby.

Even with the ounces of condescension pooling around the words, Trevor cannot stop them from ringing through his head on a loop. Baby, baby, baby. He’s never been one for pet names, preferring his name or to be called Z, but he sort of wanted to fall at Honey’s knees and beg her to keep calling him that.

Which is peculiar.

Because Trevor doesn’t fall to his knees for anything, much less a girl, and much less one he barely knows.

He can’t seem to shake Honey from his mind, though. Part of it might be the fact that he’s not in a relationship at the moment and he’s used to being in the city over the summer, where he can go to bars and the country club and chat up plenty of nice girls his age. Trevor’s not sure that’s the case, though. It’s a good excuse, but he knows deep down that the reason he can’t shake Honey from his mind is that he likes her. He wants her to like him, too.

Disgusting.

He’s in his early twenties. He has no desire to settle down with someone yet, especially not at this point in his career. The hockey life is hard for him. He can only imagine how hard it would be for someone who had never been a part of that world, who had never had to deal with the constant travel and practices and commitments of the job.

And yet, he keeps catching himself thinking of moments where Honey is part of his life. She’s not, and he knows she’s not, but like when she came over on Saturday: she went toe-to-toe with Jack, decimated him enough that Cole gave her a trophy and a hug, and dominated the pool table. She never went easy on Trevor, nor on the other guys, and she fit. She was happy to be there, even when she caught herself and took a step back.

Trevor can’t wait to see how beautiful she looks when she finally lets loose.

He’s a little embarrassed by his actions after she left, but only because he knows that the story has probably gotten back to her. Bea probably told her all about how Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall for getting Honey alone, probably overexaggerating the story to make Trevor look more like a fool. Obviously they didn’t do anything– Honey turned Jack down earlier in the night– but Trevor felt a very unfamiliar clench of rage in his gut that caused him to lash out at his best friend.

Not his most shining moment.

He would absolutely do it again.

However, Trevor will never get the chance to do it again if Honey never comes back to hang out with him.

But he keeps coming back to those strawberries. Strawberries, Bea said. Trevor was a fool for thinking Bea would really teach him all the ways to get in with Honey. When Honey turned him down, and told him the reason, it took Trevor by surprise and he slipped up. He revealed that he had asked Bea for help and Honey grew delightedly wicked at the mention. Trevor watched her eyes light up, the joy fill them as she gained an opportunity to tear him down.

She loves to be in control, loves it to the point of reinforcing her walls that she’s built up for years and years, Trevor assumes, at any opportunity. He saw it in the way she switched from teasing to curt and serious within a moment.

When he texted Bea afterward, upset and biting like a rabid dog, all Bea replied was: “you were never going to get her with my help. stop using me as a crutch. freak.”

And then an hour later, “do u think quinn is mad at me”, which Trevor never replied to, because he had no interest in asking Quinn if he was “mad at Bea.”

All he cares about is if Honey is mad at him.

She didn’t seem like she was. Trevor just has a feeling that something is off and he needs to find a way to make up for it before he loses his chance to win her over. It’s dramatic, yes, but he needs to be on her good side. He needs it.

He cannot possibly think about this any longer.

Trevor swings his legs over the side of the bed and patters down to the kitchen, phone in hand. He printed out the recipe the day prior, preparing for Honey to come over and bake with him, but he had been too pouty to follow the directions last night.

He already can’t sleep, so he might as well cook. The sooner he makes those tarts, the sooner his housemates eat them all, which is ideal since he wants to forget this exchange as soon as possible.

Trevor had bought these mini tart shells the day before, pre-baked and thrown into the fridge haphazardly in his frustration. He takes them out to prepare, then assembles the rest of his ingredients.

It’s slightly therapeutic, the baking. He blends ingredients together with a wooden spoon until the lumps are gone, he lets the ingredients simmer over apple juice. He watches as it solidifies and goes from two separate solids and liquids into a sugary glaze. He pours the glaze over the tarts and arranges the strawberries on top of the little shells. It takes him a while to get them all perfectly balanced. They kept falling over, much to his chagrin, and before he knows it, the sun is nearly rising. He’s got a tray of twenty-four tarts on his hands and not enough room in the freezer to chill them before they leave for Charlotte.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, again, he spits out, “Fuck.”

Trevor stares at the piles of frozen pizzas and chicken breast and steak that have accumulated in their freezer, bags of ice to be blended into drinks on hot days.

“Motherfucker,” Trevor growls, then covers his mouth. He glances towards the stairs, expecting one of the boys to make their way down at any moment.

When no one appears, he turns his attention back to the freezer.

Trevor hauls out the bags of ice, the stacks of food. He clears the freezer and grumbles, shoving the tarts onto a shelf. The strawberries fall over again and he has to fix them. He all but slams the food back into the fridge, unorganized and harsh. He forces the freezer door shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.

“Oh,” Trevor hears a sleepy voice say from behind him. He turns around, eyes wide, and finds Quinn in his boxers and a navy t-shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “I should’ve known you were the one making all this noise.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Trevor. “It’s not even six.”

“Are you mad at Bea?” Trevor replies, hearing frustration tinge his voice. He points an accusing finger at the older boy. “Because it’s her fault that I’m in this mess.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, unimpressed with Trevor’s accusation. He opens his mouth to yawn, joining Trevor in the kitchen and sitting behind the counter.

“I’m not mad at Bea,” Quinn says simply. “I admire what she’s doing.”

Trevor makes a face. “What’s she doing? You?”

Quinn growls a warning at Trevor. “I don’t have to explain her business to you. Yeah, she and I hooked up, and it was great. We’re going to keep hooking up. But she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. I told her if she wanted to have a Slut Summer, I wasn’t going to stop her.” He holds up a hand to cut Trevor off. “She called it a Slut Summer first, by the way. I’m not being an asshole about it.”

“Who’s she slutting it out with?” Trevor asks, laughing. “The only non-Hughes boys in this house are me and Cole and, quite frankly, I don’t want Bea like that. Cole’s also too short for her. There are no other guys in the town.”

“She is going to get whomever she wants,” Quinn says, voice cool. His face is calm. “Whether they are in this house or not.” He schools a tight, borderline-annoyed smile across his face. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Trevor snaps.

Quinn snorts. “Sounds like you’re mad at Bea.”

“I am! She fucking– how do you know about that?”

“She told me, you idiot,” Quinn replies. “And I thought it was very funny.”

“When did she have time to fucking tell you–”

“Right when I got in the car, Trevor.” Quinn nods, a smug and satisfied expression on his stupid face. Trevor’s not biased. “She couldn’t stop laughing, even after she told me that you were about to buy strawberries for Honey… who is allergic to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trevor demands. “You knew I was going to the market just for that! We didn’t need anything. You made me pay for beer!”

“Because it was funny.” Quinn slaps his hands down on his thighs and shrugs. “Because I wanted to see this play out. My only regret is not going to the store with you and watching it play out in person.”

Trevor sneers at Quinn. “I hope she never sleeps with you again,” he grits out, sincere and nodding.

Quinn narrows his eyes and leans in, voice quiet. “If she never sleeps with me again, then she will never bring your little friend around again. We both know that you can’t get her to come over on your own.”

He and Trevor maintain eye contact for a minute. Trevor is the first to break it, looking down and away with a clear of his throat. He steps back to the fridge and takes out the carton of eggs to make himself an omelet.

The boys traipse down the stairs in annoyingly long intervals. Jack is the last of the five to mosey down the stairs and make his breakfast, which is when Quinn leaves to pack Trevor’s car for their practice today.

Trevor is glad to be driving to Charlotte alone. Quinn’s words lodged themselves deep between his ribs and left him unsettled. He’s always been able to get the girl he wants and he’s been secure in that. But this is different– this is Honey, the first girl he’s ever wanted so much, and Quinn’s absolutely right. Trevor has no idea what he’s doing and has no chance at all.

And as Trevor runs sprints by himself during practice, just circling in laps over and over, he decides that Quinn is right. It will never happen. Honey would never be interested in him like that and she has made it very clear. Trevor will have to settle for being her friend, and only her friend. It’ll be hard enough to get her to like him, but he’ll have to do it if he wants even a slice of her at all.

And on the drive home, the decision settles like a rock in his stomach. Trevor has never felt quite so unhappy in something that he has to accept. It’s her friendship or nothing at all, and Trevor will be damned if he receives nothing at all from Honey.

10:90 – HONEY

It’s officially summer.

Ada was at the bookstore when Honey came to open it up this morning. Evidently, she had been up since the wee hours of the morning, plucking deep purple blackberries off of the vines behind her home until she had plenty for a pie. She could have baked it at home, but instead, Ada chose to bake the pie in the tiny, barely functional oven in the back.

The Reading Nook has been filled with the scent of sweet, summery blackberries, and Honey cannot think of a better way to start the day.

Bea is late for work, obviously, but she strolls in with a coffee for Honey and a kiss on the cheek for Ada to make up for it.

“Good morning girls,” Bea sings as she walks into The Reading Nook. She’s wearing a navy t-shirt that’s tied in a small knot around her midriff and a long, flowy orange skirt.

“Is that my skirt?” Honey asks, accepting the coffee from her friend and zeroing in on her outfit.

“I’m being Donna from Mamma Mia 2 today and I needed it,” Bea replies.

“Oh, you’re just like Donna, alright,” Honey confirms, the thinly veiled insult darkening Bea’s face.

Bea opens her mouth to retort, but thinks better of it when her eyes flicker over to Ada. The sweet old lady might have a heart attack and die if she learns what Bea is planning for her summer. Instead, Bea paints a smile over her face.

“It smells good in here,” Bea says. “Did you bring us some sweets, Ada?”

“I am baking you a pie right now, Miss Bea,” Ada says, turning the page of her magazine with a polished finger. She doesn’t even look up at the girl as she speaks. She’s immersed in her activity, eyes scanning the page so she doesn’t miss a word.

“Good, I ran out of desserts and no one bought me any strawberries this week.” Bea cuts her eyes at Honey.

“We already talked about this. If you want strawberries, go ask Trevor.” Honey’s expression is impassive. She and Bea had had a long discussion yesterday about her meddling and how it’s overstepping Honey’s boundaries.

Bea had agreed to let up, but she’s still pouting about it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not interested in him,” Bea hissed through gritted teeth, leaning into Honey’s space between the stacks. The knitting ladies are barely out of range, but Honey wouldn’t be surprised if they were craning their necks and listening in. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sacha turned up her hearing aid, just to try and catch their whispers. “He’s cute and he likes you. He bought fruit for you.”

“I don’t want him,” Honey reinforces. She’s repeated the same thing, in so many words, to Bea all morning. She even read the messages that Trevor sent Bea after the strawberry incident, with Bea’s permission, and all it did was stress her out. “And I don’t want you to help him anymore!”

“I’m not going to,” Bea promises. “But you should give him a chance.”

“No, Bea!” Honey looks around and lowers her voice again. “I’m not looking for a man, and if I were, I wouldn’t choose Trevor. I’m not like you, spreading my legs for every cute boy in the room.”

It was a bit too far, to be honest, and Honey apologized shortly after. They’re back to bickering like sisters, annoyed by the other but not enough for it to be a real argument. They easily could’ve ran into “real argument” territory with Honey’s comment and Bea’s pushing, but neither girl felt like that was necessary.

They’re better when they’re not fighting, anyway.

They’re kind of fighting anyway.

Honey gets to work doing her own thing– restocking shelves, checking customers out at the counter when Ada waves her over, while Bea talks to the customers as they shop. When she’s not talking to customers, she’s sitting in the back, typing out little messages on her phone.

It’s suspicious, the way Bea went from rarely texting anybody to suddenly texting all the time. She’s more of a voice note kind of girl, so Honey has gotten used to hearing her record messages for her sisters and cousins, often vulgar and rarely edited. She goes off on tangents often, she yells into her phone whilst sitting in traffic, and yet lately, she’s been putting her thumbs to use. It’s weird.

Hours pass and Honey notices Bea on her phone often throughout the day, usually accompanied by a quick glance up to see who’s around her. If Honey didn’t know any better, she’d say that Bea is watching her movements to make sure she doesn’t creep up behind her.

It doesn’t matter, she decides. Bea can be cryptic all she wants. Honey doesn’t care about what she’s saying or who she’s talking to.

That’s a lie. She’s been fantasizing since lunchtime that Bea found a new boy to talk to over the summer, and she’ll relinquish her grip on her Slut Summer plans, and Honey will be free to ignore Trevor and his goons as long as possible. He will never be a thought in her head again.

Until the next time he shows up out of nowhere, she grumbles to herself. He’s making it so hard to forget that he even exists. She narrows her eyes at the mere thought of him. Trevor.

And the boys have a real knack for showing up out of nowhere, because as they’re closing down the shop for the night, literally right as Honey approaches the door to flip the door sign from “Open” to “Closed,” Quinn appears.

He waves awkwardly at Honey when she approaches the door, both of them reaching for the door handle at the same time. He laughs sheepishly and pulls his hand back, tucking it into his pockets with a soft smile.

Honey opens the door. “Hi, Quinn,” she greets. Her heart feels like mush. He’s sweet and lame, but in a more mature and embarrassed way than Cole’s blatant lameness. Bea made a good choice for her first conquest. “We’re closing for the day.”

“That’s okay,” Quinn replies easily. His eyes are lit up by the lamplight to Honey’s right. “I was just hoping to talk to Bea.”

Honey’s eyes are drawn down by the soft curves of Quinn’s lips. She curses herself for a moment. She’d trade Trevor for Quinn any day, but she’s sure he invoked some sort of bro-code hands-off thing. Not that she cares.

“Yeah,” Honey says with a nod. “She’s in the back. Come on in.” She steps away from the door and holds it open for Quinn.

He walks in, shaking his arms out as he enters the cool bookstore. He’s wearing a hoodie, but he had pushed the sleeves up due to the humid heat outside. The sleeves fall past his wrist and neatly curve under his fingers.

Honey gestures for him to stand near the register. “I’ll go get her.” She retreats into the back, where Bea is slicing a blackberry pie into two, planning to transfer hers and Honey’s halves to a tupperware. She’s startled when she looks up to see Honey standing there with a smile on her face.

“What?” Bea whispers, skeptical. “I wasn’t going to take the bigger half this time, I swear.”

“There’s a suitor at the door,” Honey simpers with a knowing smile. “He’s come to court.” Her voice slips into a British mockery, knowing that Bea had just started Bridgerton’s newest season.

“Which one?” Bea asks, eager and bright. She puts the knife down and licks her fingers clean.

“Anthony,” Honey reveals, giggling.

Bea gasps, her hand flying to her mouth and covering her lips. “You’re kidding,” she giggles back, grinning like a schoolgirl behind her fingers. She brushes her hair out of her face and bites her lip, repeating “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Honey tells her. “He’s at the register, waiting for you.”

Bea bounces on her toes, smoothing out her outfit. The orange skirt makes her sort of glow. Honey’s eyes soften as she watches her best friend. There is no one in this world like Bea. You can never hate her or be angry at her for long because she’s like sunshine.

“Will you go? I’ll put your half of the pie in my fridge and reheat it for you tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll be needing me to bring you breakfast in the morning.” Honey smirks at Bea, still laughing a little to herself. “Do you want me to open the store, too?”

Bea blushes, her tongue poking through her teeth. “Would you?” She teases, considering it. “I’ll text you, yeah? I should know what kind of encounter this is, and how we should proceed, in about thirty minutes. Thank you, Honeybear.”

“Of course,” Honey agrees with a smile, walking forward to take Bea’s place. As Bea walks away, Honey calls, “Hey.”

Bea turns, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What?”

“I guess he’s not mad at you,” Honey replies with a final laugh at the finger guns Bea shoots at her before she walks away.

She hears the door jingle open and closed five minutes later, after she’s split the pies and packed them into her bag. She fiddles around the kitchen a little longer, making sure to give them a head start before finishing up in the main room.

She straightens a few books on a few carts, sorting a few books onto a different cart.

Finally, she walks to the door. She pulls it shut and locks it behind her, walking the short distance to her car. She drives home in silence, listening to the wind whistle through her windows.

She enters her home with a one-handed turn of her key, slamming the door behind her with a kick of her foot. She puts their food away, then decides to take hers to bed and eat it while reading. She grabs a fork on the way out of her kitchen, turning out the lights with her elbow as she walks.

She enters her bedroom and navigates in the dark until she finds her lamp and flicks it on. The room fills with soft light and she settles into her bed, balancing her plate on her thigh as she reads against her bent knee. Honey raises the fork to her mouth as carefully as she can until she’s finished a slice of her dessert.

She puts the plate away and tosses her book down to the end of her bed, leaning over to turn off her lamp. She barely touches it for the thousandth night in a row, swinging wildly to reach it. She settles against her pillow, snuggling in.

She waits. And waits. And waits, but her eyelids never grow heavy. Fuck. Her phone lights up with a text from Bea, so she gets up to read it: “So….. can you open the store for me tomorrow?” with a picture of Quinn’s legs extended next to her on the couch, stretched toward the ottoman. His thumb is rubbing over Bea’s knee in the live version of the picture.

Honey’s stomach flips. Fuck. That can’t be what she was missing.

But immediately, as Honey watches Quinn’s thumb move over Bea’s skin, she gasps at the idea of a heavy, warm body behind her, ready to touch her in the same way.

She cringes, exits away from the message, choosing not to respond. Of course she will. Of course she’ll open the store for Bea, she doesn’t need to confirm. She just needs to get away from that picture and the things she shouldn’t be thinking about. This is dangerous. Honey’s not looking for this. She’s fine on her own.

Yeah, she’s fine on her own. Honey nods to herself, eyes wide as she readjusts under the covers. Her bed is just big enough for her to stretch out her limbs. She’d have to squeeze if there was another body here. It was fine when it was her and Bea for that year, but a man? He’d never fit. He’d have to hold Honey in place to keep from pushing her off the bed. She’d have to– God, feel another person against her all night. Ugh.

But it’s a little appealing, if the man behind her pulls her tight against his front and nudges her neck before he kisses it with his perfect, tan, delicately curved nose–

Nope. Honey shakes the image away, opening her eyes to observe the still aloneness next to her on the mattress. She clears her throat and physically shakes her head. She closes her eyes again and focuses on the blackness behind her eyelids until she finally, mercilessly falls asleep.

She’s not looking for that.

11:90 – TREVOR

Today brings a huge challenge to Trevor and plops it at his feet like a dog spitting out a bird. The challenge is helpless and sad. He stares at it for minutes, hearing the seconds from the clock on his mantle nearby tick away.

He has to return his library book today. He finished it last night in the game room while Cole chased Luke around with his own pool cue. Luke was surprisingly agile and able to escape upstairs without getting hit once.

Trevor came out of his trance with a knock to his bedroom door.

“Get up!” Jack pesters. “Going to store! More beer! More fire! More tarts for you to bake!” He continues to pound on Trevor’s door with each word. His shouts are like a caveman’s, annoying and short. He must’ve watched that episode of the Office where Kevin shortens his sentence over breakfast this morning. Why say long word when short word do trick? or whatever.

Trevor grabs his book, feeling like it’s burning his hand. It’s like an anvil in his palm. He wrenches the door open mid pound and Jack stumbles into him. He whacks him over the head with the book.

“I told you I was up,” he reminds Jack. “I just had to grab something before we left.” He holds the book away from Jack when he tries to snatch it.

Jack reaches for it anyway, playing the game, clawing at Trevor’s arm. He struggles out, “Now that you’ve given up on wooing Honey, maybe I want to be the one to give her a visit.” He manages to snatch at Trevor’s book one last time before it turns into a weapon and beats him away. Eventually, Jack surrenders and Trevor stalks away, starting the car and locking the doors so Jack can’t get in for the next minute.

Luke giggles in the front seat, videoing Jack on his Snapchat through the passenger side window. Trevor watches Jack glare at Trevor through the phone screen while he pulls on the doorhandle, shaking it over and over and yelling at Trevor to unlock the door.

Bea giggles in the backseat, perched mostly on Quinn’s lap, Cole’s arm pushed dangerously far away by Quinn’s elbow. Bea shakes her hair back into Cole’s face and he crinkles his nose, sad that he’s in the middle seat.

“I hate it when we all ride in one car,” Cole grumbles under his breath, trying to breathe through Bea’s ponytail. He reaches over and kicks the door open for Jack, more aggressive than necessary.

“Chill out, Sweetie,” Bea teases, leaning over to press a lipgloss-kiss onto Cole’s cheek. “You’re more eco-friendly this way. Big rich boy doesn’t care about the environment?” She faux-pouts at him and Cole makes a face at her.

“Airlines hate him,” Quinn jokes quietly in Bea’s ear, causing her to howl and clutch at his chest. Quinn smiles, proud of himself.

Trevor speeds all the way to the town center, glaring at Bea and making Quinn hold onto her so she doesn’t spill into Cole’s lap. He hopes she’s getting carsick. She’s the reason he had to stop pursuing Honey. She ruined everything.

And, because Trevor is full of good fortune lately, Bea takes his hand and flounces toward The Reading Nook with him in tow. She waves at Quinn as they walk away, and laughs when he whistles.

“Didn’t you wear those clothes yesterday?” Trevor spits out, walking faster than her.

“Jealous you can’t get laid?” Bea retorts, succeeding in snatching the book from Trevor’s grasp in a way Jack didn’t. They come to a stop a hundred feet from The Reading Nook. Bea plants her hands on her hips and heaves out a breath at Trevor.

“You fucked me over,” Trevor accuses. He stifles his temper, pushing it down. “Like… really, Bea?”

“I thought she would find your effort cute,” Bea explains. “And I thought she would go, because she loves to bake. And watch you struggle.”

“Well, it didn’t, and now I have no chance.”

Bea scoffs and shoves his book back to him. “You know what? Good luck in there. Let’s see if you’re right.” She stomps to the store and holds the door open for Trevor “Come on in.”

The Reading Nook has barely opened, so the only person there is a doe-eyed Honey, startled, behind the counter. She’s holding a book in front of her, on its final pages. She stares at the open doorway, monitors Trevor’s movements as he approaches. Her lips are slightly parted and it looks like she might even be chewing some gum.

The book tilts down as Trevor comes to a stop in front of her. Her pupils grow behind her eyelashes. Trevor blames it on the shadow he cast on her face when he stood in front of the light.

Trevor clears his throat and inches his book between her elbows, patting both hands on the bottom edges of the cover. He watches himself do it, centering the book perfectly. Then, he looks up into Honey’s eyes.

He lathers on his best charm and says with a smile, “I’m here to return my book.”

Honey stares at him, quirking an eyebrow.

Trevor continues, voice soft and prodding, “See? I can be good, you didn’t have to chase me down.”

Honey blinks up at him, then breathes out a high laugh. She covers her mouth as it grows louder, muffling it as much as she can. “Oh my God,” she marvels, hand shaking as she places her index finger on the tip of her nose. “Is that how you treat your girls in California? Do they fall for that?”

Trevor’s smile drops and he glares at her. “Thanks. Can you point me in the direction of another book? I want to check out Alexander and the No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day, please. I need to plagiarize it but change Alexander’s name to Trevor.”

He pushes the book towards her and she flinches back, offense splashing across her face at the movement. Trevor clenches his jaw and steps away. He watches her face sour, growing deadly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to take it out on me,” Honey snaps back.

Trevor just scoffs and shakes his head and leaves the store. Bea never stopped holding the door, but she makes sure to slam it behind him in celebration.

Is it that fucking laughable? His affection is something to make fun of, something to tease. It’s obvious. He really never stood a chance.

When they go to the golf course later, Trevor drills the ball farther than he’s ever driven it before.

12:90 – HONEY

It’s National Chocolate Ice Cream and National Donut Days. Honey promised Jack she’d bring donuts to the house tonight.

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t want to see Trevor. She pales at the fact that she was ready to be nice to him until he turned against her. It was disgusting, the way his eyes rolled in annoyance.

But she made a promise to Jack, and she likes to be with Cole, and Quinn is a sweet guy, so it can’t be that bad. It can’t be. She’ll hang out with them, maybe even get to know Luke. Bea can come, and probably fuck Quinn again, ask him if she can put his dick through the donut hole.

That makes Honey laugh enough to push away the panic that comes with seeing that version of Trevor again. He was like– an entitled rich boy, very… West Coast surfer bro. It makes her shudder. She doesn’t want to see that again.

It makes her think of the look her father gave her after she handed him the last check for the mountain house. He was protecting himself. He couldn’t show her he was sad. Bea insists that he was, that he couldn’t be that apathetic. Honey wishes desperately for that to be true.

She opens her eyes, staring at herself in the vanity mirror in Bea’s bedroom. She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath, evaluating the gold eyeliner Bea coated on her waterline, into a neat little cat-ear. She shakes her hair out, watching it catch the light, and clears her throat.

“You okay over there?” Bea asks, adjusting the pastel yellow strapless maxi dress on her chest. “You look rattled.”

“It’s nothing,” Honey deflects.

“Baby-Honey, you haven’t been yourself since Quinn and I left the Nook the other night,” Bea muses, walking to stand behind Honey and run her fingers through her hair. “What’s up?”

Honey shakes her head again, causing Bea to pull back. Honey stands. She plasters a smile on her face and makes eye contact with Bea. “Absolutely nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s go.”

She’s struck by how different her outfit is than Bea’s. Her best friend is in a dress with cute clogs, earrings in her pierced holes and everything. Honey’s got on a homemade muscle tee, sleeves ripped off after cutting a small hole and a faded Nascar graphic on the front. You can’t even read the number anymore. The car could be 15, 16, 18, 19… she doesn’t know. She’s wearing those little biking shorts under the tee- barely peeking out due to its length. She looks like a slob. Bea looks regal.

Good. Why would Honey really need to impress anyone? She’s even only wearing this makeup because Bea wanted to try out her new palette. Honey has no one to impress.

Not fucking dipshit, angry Trevor, that’s for sure.

She grabs the box of donuts from Bea’s counter and stomps out to the car, biting her tongue so she doesn’t jostle the donuts too much as she holds the dozen with one hand and opens the door with the other.

It’s Honey’s car, but Bea drives there, cradling the new bottle of red wine that she picked up at the liquor store before it closed for the evening like a baby. “It pairs well with chocolate,” Bea explained to Honey when she first revealed it.

They drive to the house with the windows up, one of Bea’s cutesy new girl-pop songs on the radio. She sings quietly and Honey smiles as her friend enjoys herself. Eventually, she picks up on the chorus and begins to sing along. Bea puts it on repeat and they sing together, up until they pull into the driveway and Bea turns the car off, drawing the key out of the ignition. She hands the key to Honey, who drops it in her purse.

She adjusts the bralette beneath her muscle tee, then grabs the donut box and follows Bea into the house.

The wood isn’t any less jarring the second time. The boys have also never heard of mood lighting before, since each switch is set to its brightest setting. Honey squints into the brightness. Someone peeks out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening and shutting and Honey is relieved to see that it’s Quinn. He waves them over.

Bea flutters over like a butterfly, kissing Quinn on the cheek as Honey turns the corner. She places the donuts on the counter near the island, across from Cole and Jack. Trevor is on the other end of the counter, the third seat down. She makes sure to place it out of his reach.

“I brought wine,” Bea tells Quinn, handing him the bottle. She starts to open drawers and rifle around for a bottle opener.

Honey finds it on the counter and waves it at Bea, catching her attention with a whistle. She tosses it to the girl, Bea catching it with both hands and grinning like she’d won an egg toss.

“Who wants some?” Bea asks. “We have to kill this bottle in record time.”

“Record time? Who needs that,” Jack laughs. “We should make a game out of it. Spin the bottle? Truth or dare?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Okay, Rom-Com,” Bea laughs. “You think that’s such a good idea?”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Jack says. “I think we all need to bond more, and playing a game is one of the best ways to bond.”

“Hmm,” Bea hums, tapping her finger against her chin. She turns toward Quinn and scrunches her nose at him. “It couldn’t hurt?”

“No.” He leans down and pecks her lips. “Could be fun for you.”

“What should we play?” Bea asks, turning back to Jack. She takes a few steps back, until she’s wrapped up in Quinn’s arms with her back plastered against his chest.

“Just Truth or Dare, probably. And if you don’t want to do your thing, then you can drink from the bottle. When we finish the bottle, we can have a little Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Jack shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but it’s clear that he thought this out.

Bea and Honey look to each other. “So frat,” Bea says knowingly as Honey grumbles, “Spin the rapist.”

Bea reacts to Honey’s comment and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head at the reference. 13 Going on 30 has been Honey’s favorite rom-com for years, since they first watched it when they were teens. The impact Billy Joel’s Vienna had on Honey since first watching the film is unquantifiable.

“Okay, Jack,” Bea decides. “In that case, you get to go first. Truth or Dare?”

“Obviously dare,” Jack laughs out.

Honey stifles a giggle as Cole rolls his eyes and finally opens the box of donuts, looking at each of them before choosing one. She joins him on that side of the counter, able to watch Bea and Quinn cuddle up to each other and fortunately removing Trevor from her line of sight.

“Strawberry with sprinkles, huh?” Honey asks. “I didn’t peg you as a pink boy.”

“I love pink,” Cole replies through a mouthful of donut. “Hi, Barbie, and all that. Trev made some good tarts the other day that were strawberry, too.”

Honey chuckles, then chooses her own donut– a caramel one with brownie crumbles on the top. She had asked Mark, the man who runs the small bakery near The Reading Nook, for an assorted dozen and he had given her some of his best work for the price of a plain glazed dozen. If she had revealed that the extras would probably go to the boys’ house, Mark likely wouldn’t have given her that discount.

He likes his beers, and the boys keep buying up pack after pack from the grocery store, and Mark is left with the scraps. He told Honey that he’s looking forward to the end of the summer, when he’s the only man showing up at the store twice a week to get his beer. They restock it just for him.

That’s not to say he’s the only man in the town that drinks, but he’s the man who has the most opinions about different kinds of beer and how it’s made– a funny trait for someone who works with wheat and flour just as often as a beermaster.

“I dare you…” Bea trails off, tapping her index finger to her lips and looking around the room. She spots a broom hanging near the laundry room, a little offset from the kitchen. She points to it. “Oooh, you have to give us a little sexy pole dance around that thing.”

Quinn laughs into Bea’s hair at her dare, watching carefully as Jack looks between the broom and the wine bottle. Eventually, he shrugs.

“Yeah, why not?” Jack agrees, pushing away from the counter and grabbing the broom off the wall. He holds it out in front of him and evaluates it, the bristles pushing against the floor. “Huh. This would be easier if I had music.”

Luke laughs quietly. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at Jack, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I don’t really want to see this,” Honey whispers to Cole, a joking tone in her voice.

“Oh, but how can you look away?” Cole asks, taking another bite of his donut. “It’s like a car wreck.”

“It really is,” Honey agrees, laughing as Jack starts to circle the broom, then howling along with the rest of the room when he drops low and spreads his knees, bucking his hips forward.

“That’s enough,” Cole exclaims, holding his stomach and laughing so hard that he’s almost bent at the waist. His forehead almost rests on the counter.

Honey pats him on the back, rubbing his shoulder as it shakes.

She catches Trevor’s eyes over Cole’s back, over Jack’s abandoned seat. They’re dark and she notices that his own laughter has stopped. She pulls her hand away from Cole and takes a step back, putting distance between them like she’s been burned.

Trevor blinks, then looks away.

Honey suddenly realizes that he hasn’t said anything since she and Bea got here. Her lips part to say something– what, she’s not sure– but she changes her mind and looks away.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed, though.

“Z,” Jack says, hanging the broom back up on the wall. “Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll take a dare too, I guess,” Trevor says.

Jack smiles, devilishly. His eyes turn to Honey and for a moment, her heart stops as she thinks of all the things Jack could make Trevor do– all the things that she’s sure involve her. She shakes her head and looks away, missing the way Jack’s smile deflates and Trevor’s jaw clenches.

“You gotta give Cole a foot massage, my friend,” Jack decides, clasping his hands together.

Cole fist pumps, kicking off his house shoes. “This is the best day ever,” Cole says. “I get donuts and a foot massage?” He raises his leg, pointing his toes and reaching out towards Trevor with them.

“Get that away from me,” Trevor snaps, leaning back in his chair as Cole’s foot begins to encroach on his personal space. “Let me see that wine.”

Luke passes him the bottle and Bea tosses him the bottle opener, which she was still holding onto. Honey thinks she had the full intention of opening it herself, but she’s too comfortable in Quinn’s arms to move at the moment.

Ew.

Trevor pulls the cork from the bottle deftly and drinks straight from the spout, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Honey watches it move. When he wrenches the bottle away, his bottom lip is stained purple. Honey feels her eyes go wide, but she manages to school her face before anyone notices.

Hopefully.

“Bea,” Trevor says.

“Hmm,” Bea hums in acknowledgement, looking at the hair on Quinn’s arms wrapped around her chest.

“Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll dare,” Bea decides.

“Let Quinn go through your phone for a minute,” Trevor says.

“A minute?” Bea laughs. “He won’t be able to do anything on there.” She dips her hand into the waistband of her top, just under her armpit, and digs out her phone. She hands it over to Quinn after unlocking it.

He scrolls along, holding the screen out in front of Bea so that she can see what he’s doing. They laugh about something, she cringes at something else, and Quinn kisses her cheek when she blushes. He shuts the phone off after a minute, true to the dare, and slides it into his back pocket. One of his hands makes its way to her hip, crossing over her stomach to rest there. The other remains across her shoulder, sweeping along her collarbones and holding her flush against him.

“Q,” Bea sighs. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he says into her ear, voice low.

“What’s the worst thing you would do if you became invisible for a day?” Bea asks. “Like the most corrupt thing. I find it hard to believe you have a bad bone in your body.” She pushes her hips back, quirking her eyebrows as she does.

Honey notices that Jack’s drinking her in, like her wiggling hips are a show for him.

“That’s a good question,” Quinn says, both hands flush on Bea’s hips now, dragging her movement to a stop. “I don’t know. It’s not bad, really, but I’d probably just blow off all my responsibilities and go out on the boat for the day. Drive myself around a bit, have lunch under the sun.” He shrugs. “Not think about hockey for a few hours.”

Bea pats his chest and tilts her head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. “You’re very dangerous, Quinn.”

“Very,” Quinn agrees. “So now it’s my turn to pick?”

“Yeah,” Bea says. “Don’t act like you don’t know how to play the game. You’re not that sheltered from the world. You had a life outside of hockey.”

Honey wonders when they had all this time to talk about hockey. She guesses it was some kind of pillow talk, knowing how Bea operates, trying to keep her man talking into the early hours of the morning. She always has so many questions and wants to know everything about everyone.

“Lukey, Truth or Dare?” Quinn asks.

Cole shakes his head and nudges Honey’s shoulder. “Always picked last, you and me, huh?”

Honey smiles at him and rolls her eyes.

Luke decides on truth as well, just like his oldest brother. Of course he does. Honey hasn’t seen much from Luke, but it’s obvious he’s not a “dare” kind of guy. At least, not while she and Bea are there. Maybe he’s more outgoing when it’s just him and the boys.

“Okay, be honest,” Quinn reminds Luke with a smile and a shared look at Jack. “What did you and that girl do last summer when you went upstairs and locked yourselves in Mom and Dad’s room?”

Honey’s jaw drops, mirroring the expression on Bea’s face. The rest of the boys break out in laughter, especially Jack.

“Yeah, Lukey,” Jack teases. “First, second, or third?”

Luke blushes to the roots of his hair and opens his mouth multiple times, with nothing coming out.

“Don’t tell me you went all the way to home base,” Quinn adds, his smile wide and wolfish. “In Mom and Dad’s bed?”

Luke looks absolutely tormented, miserable at the question. Honey can tell that they’ve been ragging on him about this since it happened and he’s desperately trying to maintain his dignity.

“Have a sip of the wine, Luke,” Honey comforts him. “You don’t need to be the guy who kisses and tells.”

Luke nods, sheepish and red to the tips of his ears, reaching forward to take the wine bottle from in front of Trevor.

The boys boo and try to cajole him into revealing rather than drinking, and Honey for that matter for her role in the turn of events, but Bea shushes them with a finger to her lips.

“You’re all acting like cavemen,” Bea admonishes. She turns to Luke. “I think it’s sweet that you’re keeping your private matters to yourself. That’s very respectful of yourself and the girl. Good job, Lukey.”

Honey smiles and giggles when Luke blushes red again and takes another sip of the wine after quietly stammering out a “Thank you.” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his curls, making them messier than before. “Cole?”

Honey’s not even surprised that he doesn’t pick her or Bea. She wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t even look at them without blushing again.

It was unfair for the boys to bring up the past, especially since he doesn’t want to share.

“Dare, buddy,” Cole replies, cool and confident. His cheeks are dimpling as he waits for Luke to think of a dare.

“You should eat the rest of your donut out of someone’s mouth,” Luke suggests.

“Whose?” Cole asks, waving the last few bites out to everyone. “Bea?”

“Honey,” Jack corrects with a glance at Trevor.

Honey puts her hands up in front of her and she and Bea open their mouths at the same time, but Trevor beats them to it.

“She’s allergic to strawberry,” Trevor states. His voice is hard. “She can’t do the dare with Cole.”

“Why don’t you do it, Jack?” Bea asks. “Since you’re so willing to volunteer others for the job. Why not volunteer yourself?”

“Cuz I don’t want to Lady and the Tramp with Cole,” Jack replies, making a face.

Honey doesn’t really like how Trevor jumped in and corrected Jack like she wasn’t even in the room with them. “I can do it,” she decides. “But we just have to finish my donut instead.”

“Yes!” Cole celebrates, raising his hand to high five Honey. “You and me, dude!”

Honey lets out a little laugh at that, raising her hand to slap it against Cole’s. She bites down on the end of her donut, holding most of it out far enough for Cole to take it between his teeth. He’s not going to kiss her or anything. Honey just has a feeling in her gut that Cole isn’t the kind to take advantage of a situation like that, and plus, she and Cole have a friendlier relationship. He has to understand that.

Honey looks over his shoulder at Trevor, who is watching her with steely eyes. He’s rigid in his seat. He doesn’t understand, not in the way Honey and Cole do.

He takes in a deep breath, pinching his lips shut as Cole leans closer to Honey, taking a good ¾ of the last of her donut before pulling away. The dough rips in a weird way, leaving a bite dangling from the right side of his mouth. He smiles wide and gives Honey another high five. Trevor lets out a breath when Cole leans back in his chair and finishes chewing Honey’s donut.

“Mm, that’s good,” Cole tells her. “What flavor was that?”

“Caramel with brownie,” Honey says, chewing her own bite.

Cole nods in approval. “Can’t leave my buddy hanging,” he says. “Truth or Dare, Honey?”

“I’ll do a dare too,” Honey says. It’s an easy choice. She loves a good truth, but almost everyone has done dare, and she’s never one to back down from a challenge.

It seemed like a safe choice too, with Cole choosing what Honey is supposed to do. Until he opens his stupid mouth.

“I’m gonna pull out our whipped cream bottle and I think you’re gonna have to lick it off someone,” Cole announces, jumping down from his perch behind the counter and rounding the island to the fridge. He pulls out the red can and shakes it, uncapping it.

Honey watches, knowing exactly her luck, as Cole points from man to man saying “Eeny, Meeny, Miney… Mo.” His finger, and the nozzle of the whipped cream can, land on Trevor. “Shirt off, Z.” Cole lifts the whipped cream bottle to his mouth and sprays a little bit onto his tongue.

Honey feels frozen. Her feet are stuck in cement at the corner of the island and she eventually has to put her hand on the counter to ground herself. Her eyes flicker to Bea’s, wide like cornered prey. Bea meets her there.

In that split second, it’s like they have a conversation. Honey can’t describe the thoughts that fly between them, given how quick they pass.

With a slight shrug of one shoulder, Bea leaves it up to Honey. She could end it, take a sip of the wine if that’s what she wants. Honey isn’t even sure what she wants to do. She doesn’t– she doesn’t.– want to lick whipped cream off of Trevor. She doesn’t want her tongue to be that close to his body.

And yet, she finds herself nodding when she meets Trevor’s eyes. He waits until she does to pull off his shirt, revealing skin that makes Honey feel even more sluggish. She takes a moment to drink in his tan skin, adorned with his tattoos on his arms. Her eyes zero in on the delicate words on his ribs and she feels her lips part in surprise. Her fingers twitch at her sides, begging to reach out and trace over the script.

NO.

Not Trevor.

Yes, Trevor.

“I have a vision,” Cole announces, pulling Honey from her thoughts. He takes Honey’s hand and pulls her over towards the inside of the island. “Hop up.”

She follows his directions, skin crawling with anticipation for what’s coming next. She can’t believe she agreed to do this– with Trevor. With Trevor. The skin is cool against the tops of her thighs and she’s very aware of the way her muscle tee falls around her waist and reveals the edge of her bralette, and the skin around her middle. She clenches her fists as much as she can, fingers rounded around the edge of the counter. She doesn’t want to seem freaked out. She’s not going to be the girl who messes up the game and doesn’t go through with their dare.

Cole nudges the whipped cream can against one of her hands until she turns it over and takes it, feeling the cool aluminum in her hand. “Z, come stand in front of her.”

Honey hears him, refusing to turn around and look at him as he gets down from his chair and make his way over to Honey. She hears the movements loud as day, like there’s nothing else in the room except Trevor and her racing heart.

Trevor stations himself between Honey’s knees, resting his hands on either side of her legs. Her eyes are level with his here, on the counter, and she tries to ignore the thrill that his proximity sends down her spine.

“Alright.” Cole claps his hands and smiles. “You ready, Honey?”

Honey turns her head and takes a sharp inhale. “Yeah.”

She keeps her words short so her voice doesn’t shake.

“Why don’t you put some whipped cream on his collarbones for me, yeah?”

Bea’s mouth drops at Cole’s words, still in Quinn’s grasp. Honey has to stifle a giggle at her reaction.

Honey presses her lips together and refocuses, hand shaking as she brings the can up to Trevor’s clavicles, startling herself at the sound when she pushes the trigger down to release the whip. She makes a tiny squeak, an embarrassing noise that has her closing her eyes.

Trevor’s thumb moves closer and nudges her thigh.

Honey looks up, her eyes meeting his. Her breath is caught in her throat. His eyes are no longer steely and guarded. They’re soft and they’re searching her eyes for something.

His thumb starts to move against her skin and she jumps, wrenching her eyes away from Trevor’s and quickly spreading another line of whipped cream on his other collarbone. She’d do anything to be able to ignore the pit in her stomach and the heat that is very rapidly filling it.

She turns to Cole, holding the can out to him.

Cole raises his eyebrows. He raises his hands. “You’re not done yet.”

Bea twists in Quinn’s arms, staring up at him with an affronted, offended, betrayed look on her face. Honey can tell exactly what she wants to scream: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Honey’s jaw drops a little, then she clenches her jaw and takes the can back, cradling it on her thigh. It leaves a round circle when she picks it up again.

“From his belly button to his sternum.” Cole’s voice is hard and definite, but not mean. Honey wonders how long he’s been thinking about this, probably doing it at Trevor’s bidding. The only problem is, Trevor looked just as unaware as her and Bea. Just as unaware as the other boys– at least, the two in front of her.

Honey takes it back. Cole is her least favorite.

She sprays the whipped cream, grinding her teeth as she sees Trevor’s stomach muscles jump at the sensation. His hand comes to the top of her thigh, index finger tracing the ring of the can. Honey’s not even sure that he’s breathing. She’s not sure she is, either.

“His nipples,” Cole commands with a cheeky smile, looking past Honey and Trevor to Jack.

Honey whips her head around and looks at the other boy, smirking at Cole. He makes eye contact with Honey and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them like a devil. She almost wants to throw the can of whip at him, then pounce on Cole and take out his knees.

She scowls and dispenses a small amount of whip on each of Trevor’s nipples. He hisses at the cold and she looks up to check on him without a thought, only realizing what she’s done when his eyes meet hers.

“It’s fine,” Trevor breathes out. “Just cold.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, hoping he could even hear her. The statement might’ve died in the air between them and never reached his ears.

The can of whip starts to sputter like it’s running out, so Honey gives it a shake. She goes to set it down on the counter next to her, but Cole stops her again.

She’s going to break every single one of his fingers.

“One more,” Cole says with a nod and a lick of his lips. “Open up, Trev.”

“No,” Honey forces out. She’s just as taken aback by the word as Cole is– her refusal cut through the air like it was broadcast through the bluetooth speakers that run through the home. She takes a shaky deep breath, pushing away the image of her licking into Trevor’s mouth to get her final mouthful of whip. “Sorry. No.”

She refuses to look Trevor in the eye after that.

“That’s okay,” Cole says. He shrugs, not deterred. “His nose. Just the tip. Like Rudolph.”

That, Honey can do.

She uses the last little bit to cover the tip of Trevor’s nose, focusing on the line of his nose and the recently shaved skin above his top lip instead of the eyes that she can feel are boring into her face.

Finally, she sets the empty can down with a rattle and flicks her hair over her shoulder, facing Cole.

“Can I go?” She asks, hoping she sounds sassy and bored rather than freaked out, like how she is on the inside. She feels like her brain is on fire, completely fried and burning from the inside out. Her heart is pounding loud in her ears and her cheeks are stained red.

“Start in the middle, then go down. Lick it off his nose last.”

Honey closes her eyes to calm herself, but she hears a slap of a hand against skin. She can only imagine that Bea reached out and slapped Cole’s arm– the yelp from the blonde and soft laugh from Quinn being tell-tale signs while Honey breathes.

Trevor’s hand drops from her thigh and he takes a step back, putting a little space between them.

Honey’s eyes snap open and they flash at Trevor’s. Where hers were once panicked and his were seeking, they seem to have completely switched roles now. Trevor’s fingertips still touch the counter next to Honey and their absence, but their closeness, feels like frostbite on Honey’s skin. It turns to steam against her fiery cheeks, releasing air into the space between them in time with Honey’s exhale.

His breath catches in his throat and Honey sees the whipped cream start to drip from his stomach.

In an instant, right as the dollop of cream starts to separate from the rest of its line, Honey finds herself sliding off the counter to her knees to catch it in her mouth.

Her lips slide against Trevor’s skin, the muscles contracting and his happy trail brushing her bottom lip as she mouths over the sticky trail marking Trevor’s stomach.

She looks up, up to Trevor’s face. He’s already looking at her with nothing but shock on his face, his mouth open and his eyes wild. His chest is heaving, trembling between breaths.

Oh my God.

Honey’s gaze drops back to his skin, then finds that unbearable to look at as she rises up to his sternum. She can make out edges of the script on his ribs in her peripheral vision and squeezes her eyelids shut. She quickly realizes that she can’t navigate up Trevor’s body on feel alone. She has to look.

Fuck.

She opens her eyes and finishes her path up to his sternum. She carefully licks the whipped cream off Trevor’s nipples, trying not to come into contact with them too much. She can’t just lick Trevor’s nipples. It’s not the same as if…

Trevor was licking whipped cream off of her nipples.

She forces the image away, like she’s spraying an asteroid with a fire extinguisher.

Honey rises to his collarbones, mouthing over the sharp edges and dipping her tongue inside the pooled skin to get every drop.

She pulls away, barely, aiming to zero in on the dollop on Trevor’s nose, but fails. She finds herself face to face with Trevor, who still has the same expression on his face. His eyebrows are quirked, he can’t stop licking his lips between breaths, and he’s practically vibrating in front of Honey with the ache to stay still.

She suddenly feels fabric under her fingers and looks down, jaw dropping at the sight of her index fingers sneaking under his waistband, nestled snugly like they’ve made a home there. She wrenches them away, clutching the bottom of her muscle tee instead.

She doesn’t move far, Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Honey heaves a breath in, stepping away from him and his fingers’ trembling brush against the lace band of her bralette. She gulps.

Trevor’s fingers catch on the bottom edge of her sleeves, or lack thereof, and her shirt ripples against her twisting stomach as the digits fall lamely to his sides.

Honey knows that her eyes mirror Trevor’s now, matching instead of swapping roles like previously. They’re both wild and racing away from each other in their minds, but unable to look away. They’re tripping over their feet and running like there’s something chasing them, but their eyes are fixed on each others’ like they’re running towards each other in a starry reunion.

Honey wants. She’s overcome with this desire, so much so that she can’t even describe it. She just wants. She aches to go back in time and place the dollop of whipped cream on Trevor’s tongue instead and loses herself for a moment before the panic reminds her:

She’s not looking for that.

“You got a little something there,” Honey says, quiet and ashamed and a bit like the kid who does get picked last every time, reaching up to wipe the whipped cream off Trevor’s nose with her thumb. She licks the white dessert off her own skin, stepping away from Trevor. He’s following her, turning with her as she moves away. His own fingers twitch at his sides, one of his thumbs actually making its way up and hovering over the place where Honey’s index fingers rested on his waistband.

She looks at Bea, tearing her eyes away from Trevor like a physical rip of a picture. She opens her mouth and locks her eyes with Bea’s, tilting her face so it’s slightly pointed towards the front hall. She chokes back a haggard gasp, feeling her throat start to grow sore with a teary ache.

I need to go. Please. Come with me. Be there for me. Please.

Bea untangles herself from Quinn’s arms, letting them drop to his sides without another thought. She eyes Cole and Jack, gaze piercing and hard, but it softens as it slides back to Honey.

“Goodnight, boys,” she bids, taking Honey’s arm and escorting them both to the door.

A duet of goodbyes follow them from Quinn and Luke, but the jarring silence that echoes from the kitchen afterward scars Honey while Bea wrenches open the front door. It’s the same silence that surrounds them in Honey’s car.

She shivers in the passenger seat. Bea plucked the keys from Honey’s purse without asking and loaded them in the car, getting behind the wheel. She holds Honey’s hand over the middle console, fingers intertwined and heavy. She drives one-handed, her hair whipping her face. She hates to mess it up. Honey is grateful for the fresh air that chips at her face. It dries up the tear that escapes from the corner of her eye.

Bea stays over. She cuddles Honey under the covers, clinging to Honey’s arm like a koala. Honey lies on her back and stares at the ceiling for hours. Bea is asleep, or close to it, next to her. The even breaths help her to regulate her own, enough that she can speak.

“It was like–” Honey gasps, pressing a hand to her chest as a breath escapes her like it was punched out. She centers herself. “We were back in Charlotte.”

“I know,” Bea breathes out, eyes still closed. She wraps one of her legs under Honey’s, her knee bent under Honey’s own, and her ankle crossing over Honey’s.

“I felt– seventeen.”

“I know,” Bea repeats, her eyes fluttering open. Her hand comes up to rest on Honey’s own, monitoring the rise and fall of her own chest. Her heart is slowing and her gulps of air are less frequent. She’s fine.

“I’m not looking for that,” Honey mumbles, shaking the words out of her mouth.

Bea just takes a deep breath at that, pressing her forehead into Honey’s temple.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Honey’s bottom lip quivers and she starts to leak tears, Bea’s reassurance turning the faucet and making the water flow. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Bea replies. Simple. Easy. No hesitation. Like there’s no other option.

“I came here to leave that behind me.” Honey squeezes her eyes shut, ashamed at the hot trails making their way down to her chin. “Not to, just, repeat it with some guy who’s leaving anyway.”

“Do you really see yourself as someone who’s going to be alone forever?” Bea wipes the tears from Honey’s cheeks with the hand that used to rest on her chest. “You love so hard, Honey. You need someone to give that to. It weighs on you.”

Honey shakes, turning so her body faces Bea’s. She reaches out and buries her face in Bea’s shoulder.

Bea pets her hair. “He likes you.”

Honey nods.

“You feel– something.”

Honey sniffs, but nods again.

“I think it’s time you turn to face all of that,” Bea teases, her voice soft enough and just a little mocking of Honey’s words, the way only a best friend does when you’re crying into their shoulder.

Honey pulls her face away and breathes out a little laugh and quirks a shy smile at Bea. She reaches up and pushes her hair away from her face. She wipes under her eyes with both thumbs, shaking the wetness away and laughing for real.

“Elephants are kind of big, huh?” Honey replies, sniffing between giggles. “Hard to ignore?”

Bea nods, tears prickling at the edges of her own eyes.

The girls stare at each other and giggle, a fresh round of tears staining their cheeks. Honey’s hand slaps at her own chest, knocking at her heart like a concerned parent at a teen’s door.

Honey can breathe again. She uses her lungs to make her laughs louder, harder. She curls into Bea’s hug, squirming on the bed together. They calm down eventually, and their eyes meet for a final time in the dark.

“I just– Trevor?” Honey giggles. “Really?”

“Love at first sight,” Bea snickers back sarcastically.

Honey waves a finger in Bea’s face. “That’s a little dramatic,” Honey corrects. She scoffs to herself. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Okay,” Bea agrees, shrugging. “Let me know.”

They’re quiet for a minute, smiling at each other. Honey rolls her eyes and turns over, facing the ceiling again. Bea cuddles back into her, latching onto Honey’s arm in her koala-way.

“I invited them to our lake day tomorrow,” Bea announces just as Honey starts to fall asleep. She nudges her nose against Honey’s bicep. “You can see if you still feel the same way then.”

Honey inhales and holds the breath, eyes opening and focusing on the ceiling again.

Bea’s breaths even out and she falls asleep, but Honey barely manages to close her eyes before the clock flips to the dreaded “tomorrow.”

13:90 – TREVOR

Trevor hasn’t been fully soft since the first moment he stood between Honey’s legs last night. It’s proving to be a problem.

First, she had bolted from the house looking no better than a wild deer in the midst of a hunt, leaving Trevor standing with the ghost of her fingers in his waistband and a cock so hard that he could feel the blood rushing through it.

Second, Cole and Jack had laughed at him for his very prominent hard-on when the girls left. It was their idea to have this stupid drinking game in the first place, and Cole’s bossiness that had set Trevor up. They had to have planned this out in advance.

Third, the cold shower he took right after Honey left hadn’t even done anything for him. Sure, it had caused his erection to flag briefly, just long enough that he could let out a breath and delude himself into thinking the moment was over.

His biggest problem is that each time he closes his eyes, he’s confronted with the vision of Honey on her knees below him. He can feel her tongue licking up his stomach and chest. He can feel the pressure of her fingertips against his skin.

It’s pure torture.

Trevor has never felt more torn. He spent all of the last few days believing what Quinn said to him– that he doesn’t have a chance with Honey. He convinced himself to accept that he would only ever be her friend. Other than her dare last night, Honey made no moves to talk to Trevor or acknowledge him at all.

He’s confused. How on Earth can you go from ignoring Trevor to looking up at him, cheeks slightly hollowed as she laps up the whipped cream covering him, as if she were blowing his dick?

Fuck.

Trevor presses his palms to his eyes and leans his head back, causing the rocking chair he’s sitting in to wobble beneath him.

He was barely able to sleep last night and found that fresh air helped, so he sat out on the balcony. He watched the sunrise, barely conscious of the passage of time. He was trapped in an endless loop of Honey, on her knees. Honey, removing the cream from his nipples with a careful touch of her tongue. Honey, mouthing over his collarbones and sliding her fingers into his waistband like she wanted to touch him.

He’s helpless.

Trevor blinks and stares out into the woods, the dew from the morning making the wood of his balcony wet and shimmery. He feels… despondent, really. Like he’s tied to reality by a thin string of dread that accompanies his confusion.

The fact is, she doesn’t want him. Anyone would’ve gotten lost in the moment.

He knows that if any of the boys were in his position, they wouldn’t have been better off– Jack would’ve damn near come in his pants, Cole would have giggled because he’s ticklish and still would have found a way to get the girl to kiss him at the end, Luke would’ve frozen and would’ve spent the night in the same spot near the counter, replaying it over and over again.

Quinn might be the only one left who would have a shred of dignity after a whipped cream encounter, and only because he’s been keeping up with Bea so well.

Ugh, and Bea’s name brings another problem to mind.

Trevor can’t bail on the lake trip that Bea invited them on when she stayed over the other night. The boys have been so excited, so ready to rent out a boat and a wakeboard so they can surf. They’ve been planning the trip meticulously, down to the minute. Trevor knows that he can’t bail because he’s the only one with Bea’s phone number– something she refuses to give out to the other boys, for some fucking reason. She won’t even rattle it off for Quinn to put into his phone– it would make the light night booty calls a little easier, Trevor thinks.

Not that they’ve had that many. Just the two. Trevor was expecting a third last night, but with the way Honey ran out of the house…

Fuck, it was no surprise Bea went with her.

Honey looked rattled to her core, staring down at her hands and back up at Trevor like she had never seen them, or him, before in her life. She had guarded herself almost immediately, stepping away and flicking the whip off Trevor’s nose rather than licking it off and completing her bet.

It’s Cole’s fault, and yet Trevor can’t help but feel responsible for the panic in Honey’s eyes and the abrupt end of the night.

He can’t talk to her today. He can’t sit on the boat and see her in her little swimsuit. He wants her so badly– and not just to see if she really looks that ethereal when her lips are wrapped around his dick.

He wants to talk about Leaving Orbit with her, the book she recommended that he so clearly enjoyed, even despite his bad mood the other day. He wants to poke fun at the other boys with her, team up to get revenge for that dare that made the air so tense between them. He wants to cuddle up next to her on the couch, pull her into his lap, and watch Shark Week documentaries and the Olympics later in the summer. He wants to hold her hand.

He has never wanted anything like this from any woman before. It’s never been this bad.

But he can’t have it– Trevor can tell that there’s something nagging at Honey. Maybe he’s too similar to an ex-boyfriend, or someone else that she doesn’t have the fondest of feelings for. Maybe she truly believes her little quips about his California lifestyle, and she can’t see herself with someone like that.

God, maybe she looked him up. He’s never had the best attitude on the ice, especially when he gets frustrated. He knows he’s a good player. He wants to show that off. He knows that sometimes, it comes at the expense of his team. He’s heard it all too well from the staff, from his coaches, from his teammates.

He’s dreading today.

Trevor can’t even hide from it up on the balcony. Yeah, anyone who entered his bedroom wouldn’t be able to see him. His bed is perfectly made up, untouched from the night before. He was so frazzled last night that he cleaned his room, just to regain some order in his life. For all they would know, he disappeared– and yet, Cole manages to spot him below, from the chairs near the fire pit in the yard.

“There you are!” Cole exclaims, brandishing his spoon at Trevor. He looks down at his shorts for a split second. Trevor can only assume a drop of milk from his cereal splashed on his lap. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah, you tried really hard,” Trevor replies, an edge to his voice. He still hasn’t forgiven Cole, or Jack for that matter, for their ploy last night.

Cole’s face falls, then he shakes his head. “Are you ready for the lake or what?” His voice starts to mirror Trevor’s.

“All I need to do is put my fucking swimsuit on,” Trevor snaps. He stands from the rocking chair.

Somehow, the meanest retort Cole can think of is “Don’t forget to bring your sunscreen!” like a nagging mother who’s just one complaint away from sending her child to his room. His words clash with the slam of Trevor’s sliding door.

Trevor grumbles to himself as he changes into one of the swimsuits he packed for himself, only ever really planning to use it in the hot tub. He’s excited, deep down, that they get to go to the lake and do some of the stuff that they usually do at the Michigan house. God, he can’t shake the Honey problem.

He does pack his sunscreen, the face lotion and body spray that he picked up last week at the grocery store when he and Jack wanted to lay out by the rink and tan. He even grabs the browning lotion he bought for pale ol’ Luke. It smells like bananas and coconuts.

Trudging downstairs, Trevor finds himself back at the scene of the crime. Instead of Honey on the counter, it’s the cooler, and instead of Trevor in front of her, it’s Quinn transferring beers from the fridge.

He chuckles when Trevor stops and stares at the cooler on the counter.

“Thinking about something?” He asks. Trevor scowls when Quinn’s eyes pointedly drop to Trevor’s crotch and the semi that he’s, once again, sporting.

“Shut up,” Trevor growls, adjusting himself in his swim shorts. He clasps his hands in front of him, shielding himself from Quinn’s knowing smile.

Quinn shrugs and goes back to transferring beers to the cooler.

Trevor steals a piece of ice and chews it, hoping to cool himself off. He makes himself a little bowl of cereal and scarfs it down. He checks the clock. It’s almost time to leave.

Fuck.

Bea’s picking them up in the truck she’s borrowing from Earl (only because Vera offered it up to them) in ten minutes. She and Honey are going to ride in the cab, while the boys are supposed to ride in the bed of the truck. It’s legal in North Carolina, apparently. Plus, it’s just a fifteen minute drive. The lake isn’t too far from their house. Trevor barely remembers reading about it on the AirBnB website when he booked the rental for the summer, but the host had referred to the place as a “reservoir” rather than a lake. Semantics. They don’t matter.

He takes a deep breath, still not sure how to feel about seeing Honey again. He answers a couple questions from Quinn about how many beers he wants (a lot), if he has a towel for the lake (no, but Quinn can grab him one from the hall closet), and why he’s sulking so much (he doesn’t want to talk about it).

The minutes drag on and Trevor is scalding his hands with hot water washing his bowl when Bea honks from the driveway. He’s the last to make it to the front door and he’s shocked when he’s whacked in the face by a stray pool noodle. Where did Jack even find that?

Quinn is standing with his arms against the window pane of the passenger door, his head dipped and Bea’s phone in his hand. She takes it from him and says something quietly, then brings her hand to his jaw to draw his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

Trevor can see Honey’s silhouette behind the wheel, her hair knotted up on top of her head. There are flyaways everywhere, probably because of the open windows, but somehow it doesn’t look messy. Trevor can’t even see her face, but he has to close his eyes because she’s so pretty.

He climbs into the truck bed, Quinn following shortly behind him, and tucks himself neatly into the corner of the tailgate. He takes in the other boys– the gray trunks on Cole, the towel around Luke’s neck, Quinn’s terrible navy crocs that he’s had since he was in high school. They kind of don’t fit him anymore, but they’re molded to his feet and he swears that they’re still perfect. Jack is using his pool noodle– origin still undetermined– as a method of recreating a certain Drake video. It would have been more funny if the video weren’t old news by now.

Trevor still kind of feels the string of dread and uncertainty tugging at him, but all of that crumbles away when Honey takes the first curve up the mountain. She speeds up in the old truck, dragging the wheel. Jack falls off the hump of the wheel where he was sitting as she turns, yelping wildly and losing his pool noodle in the fray. Cole snatches it up and takes the chance to hit him with it.

With each curve, it only gets worse. She’s got the boys in a fit of shouts and giggles as they scramble to find purchase in the back of the truck. Bea is laughing from the front seat, turned around to look out the back window, to take in the chaos firsthand. Her left hand is reaching out the window and holds Quinn’s right, keeping him in place.

Trevor’s laughing too, especially when Luke starts to slide into a supine position, his knuckles white with how hard he’s trying to stay upright. He continues to laugh as he looks up, past Bea, and meets Honey’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Her gaze turns from soft to wide and alert in an instant, returning to the road the second she locks eyes with him. He can only imagine his own eyes look the same when he turns to face the peeling paint at the bottom of the truck bed.

They arrive at the reservoir in due time, parking in the lot near the boat rentals. Bea and Quinn take care of that, having called ahead a few days prior to get one of the bigger boats that could fit their entire party. Quinn shells over a few dollars in thanks, the cash seamlessly transitioning to the worker’s hand.

The employee leads them to a ramp, where a boat not unlike the one they have at the Michigan house is parked. The boys climb on. Jack has reclaimed his pool noodle and has it tucked under his armpits, safely away from Cole’s grubby fingers.

Trevor finds a spot near the front of the boat, knowing that Quinn will want to drive and Bea will want to sit next to him. Or on his lap. Ew. He doesn’t want to see the blatant PDA from the two, but that’s not the only reason he’s strategically choosing his seat.

Honey’s going to do the same thing– she’s going to stick to Bea’s side, if Trevor’s gut feeling is right, and that’s going to be that.

He’ll avoid her, she’ll avoid him, and the day will be over before they know it.

Trevor pulls his shirt over his head and lays out on the cushions at the bow of the boat, covering his face with the item of clothing. He blocks out the sun and closes his eyes, feeling the sun prickle at his skin.

“Did you put your sunscreen on?” Cole asks, his annoying voice far too close to Trevor’s ear for his liking.

Trevor swings out with a hand, hoping to connect and clock Cole on the side of the head, but as he rips the t-shirt from his face, all he sees is the boy jumping back and laughing with the rocking of the boat.

“Why, do you want to help me?” Trevor retorts, frowning.

Cole smiles. The edges of his mouth quirk up in a mischievous way and Trevor gears up to snap his shirt at the boy. Whatever’s about to leave his mouth is just going to piss Trevor off more.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not until he’s skipping away towards the back of the boat. Trevor squints at his retreating figure, but relaxes his shoulders a bit.

“Honey!” Cole calls, dancing around the girl who has only just managed to get both feet on the boat. She watches him move around her, expression impassive. He extends a hand to help Bea onto the boat, to the chagrin of Quinn behind her.

Trevor’s shoulders snap back up towards his ears, the line of his spine long and tight. He looks around for something to throw at Cole, something harder than just his t-shirt, but there’s nothing.

Cole talks on. “Trevor needs help with his sunscreen and he was asking for you.”

Honey’s gaze turns to Trevor’s expectantly. Her lips are slightly curved and her eyebrows are raised.

“I wasn’t.” Trevor’s voice comes out strangled. “He’s just– causing trouble. Like yesterday.”

Immediately, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He shouldn’t have brought up what happened last night. It causes her lips to press into a thin line and makes her expression grow calculated. She’s scanning him like a robot would and it’s making his skin crawl.

She opens her mouth with a tsk and says, “I’ll do your back if you do mine.”

Cole and Jack hum and haw at that, dapping each other up. Bea finally flounces her way onto the vessel, creating waves and casting a spare look at Trevor.

“And Cole, you have to do mine,” Bea adds, blinking at the boy innocently. She smiles at him, not quite reaching her eyes. “Since you’re so concerned about sun safety.”

“I’m pale.” Cole shrugs. “Someone has to think about it.”

Bea’s attention has already shifted past Cole’s shoulder. Quinn and Luke have both shrugged off their shirts and twisted their Yankees caps so they’re backwards on their heads. Luke has laid the towel along the swiveling passenger chair behind the raised console in the middle of the boat, blissfully unaware of the five pairs of eyes gawking at him and his brother.

“You’re pale?” Bea asks, incredulous. She points at the Hughes boys. “Look at that.” She fishmouths for a moment before rediscovering her voice. “Quinn, you didn’t look so fair-skinned when I last saw you without a shirt. Luke, you’re like a beacon at a lighthouse!” She turns back to Cole, her finger finding its way to his face. “You, at least, have some pink undertones. You’re made to burn. These guys are made to tan and it’s clear they’ve been neglecting their time in the sun.”

“That’s what I said,” Trevor agrees. He remembers the tanning lotion, sitting in one of his pockets, and digs it out. He waves it in front of Bea’s face, then tosses it to her. “I even brought some tanning lotion for them.”

Bea catches it and her face lights up. She shows Honey the logo on the front of the bottle and grins. “This kind always smells so good,” she praises. “Good choice, Trev.”

She stomps toward the boys, intention written all over her face. Luke’s back is turned to her once again, reverting back to the way it was before she called his name, but Bea views it as a canvas. She clicks open the bottle and gives it a shake, squirting the cool liquid all over Luke’s back in curves and twirls.

Luke squeaks when she does it, lurching forward, but Bea chastises him and makes him hold still so she can rub it into his skin.

Trevor’s eyes move from that scene to the girl in front of him. She’s wearing a sweatshirt over her bathing suit, the cuffs rolled up above her wrist. It’s long enough to hide any shorts that she could be wearing. She’s looking at Bea with a tiny smile on her lips, head tilted to the side. Her legs are long and tan and she’s got a freckle behind her ear.

Trevor aches to press his lips to her skin. Her flyaways would tickle the side of his face, the shell of her ear would smooth itself against the tip of his nose, and he’d be able to wrap his arms around her to pull her against his chest…

That’s enough of that.

He wants to touch her, he does. He wants to put sunscreen on her back and let her return the favor. He wants to be the one to slide his fingers under the straps of her top and dip into the waistband of her bottoms, just to make sure all of her skin is covered. Obviously. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Oh my God, he wants to touch her so bad.

Trevor has to tear his eyes from Honey and clench his jaw, biting his tongue between his teeth to bring him back to reality. He’s back to sporting a semi– if it isn’t the consequences of his own thoughts– and he knows that if he touches her, if she touches him, he won’t be able to control himself.

“Looks like Bea’s out,” Trevor says, thinking quick on his feet. “I think Cole’s sunscreen is more important than mine, since he’s ‘made to burn.’” He takes out his sunscreen and claps it into Cole’s palm. “You and Honey can do each other up. I’m going to take a nap at the front. Wake me up when we start surfing.”

His eyes slide over Honey just before he walks away, and she looks puzzled. Trevor swallows a smile and returns to the bow of the boat, laying out and dropping his shirt over his face.

He zones out, eyes closed and breath even. Someone joins him on the cushion at some point, just before the boat starts to lurch away from the dock. He feels the spray of the lake dampen his shirt and cool his skin. The sun is already starting to pick at his chest, his tolerance not as high as it is when they’re always on the boat in Michigan.

“You’re burning, Trevor.”

Trevor startles, sitting up and ripping the shirt away from his face. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the sun.

Honey holds out his sunscreen. The can is in one hand, the face lotion in the other. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and staring at him.

Trevor reaches out and plucks the items from her grasp, purposefully avoiding her fingers.

“Thanks,” Trevor says, looking anywhere but her face. He can’t look her in the eyes. He can’t touch her. He tucks them away, tying them into his shirt and tossing it to the side. He misses the way her eyes flash and fix on the movements of his fingers, her lips parting. He’s too busy making his way to his feet and turning away. “I think I’m going to borrow the tanning oil from Luke, though. I’ll probably get him to do my back. Cole already did yours, right?”

Honey just hums and nods. Trevor looks up just long enough to take in the tight smile on her face. He can see that her eyes are rimmed with sunglasses, so he’s safe from the look in her eyes.

Trevor raises his fingers in a half-hearted wave before he walks away, joining Luke and Jack at the back of the boat. They’ve each got a hand in Cole’s pockets, making sure he doesn’t fly away as he stands on a bench and ties the lead-ropes they brought to the canopy.

Bea sits on Quinn’s thigh as he drives the boat, arms around his shoulders and laughing at the boys. Her eyes flicker with alarm as Trevor approaches, and she turns to face the front of the boat, rising off Quinn’s lap slightly to peek around the console.

Trevor hears her scoff and hop off Quinn’s lap, pattering away with light steps. He pays her no mind– just gives Cole a lovetap on the stomach so he doubles over. Jack and Luke laugh and Cole glares at Trevor, but the bickering transforms their area of the boat into a bubble where only they live. Quinn visits sometimes, to switch out once they’ve got the surfboard ready, but the day belongs to Jack, Luke, Cole, and Trevor.

Honey and Bea tan in the front and Trevor misses every pointed glare from Bea and sneaking, evaluating glance from Honey that comes his way.

14:90 – HONEY

Honey and Bea are sitting at the picnic table in Honey’s backyard. They’re sipping tea and the sun is setting. Honey blows on the surface of her mug, keeping it raised to her lips to take a sip.

She and Bea have been hanging out all day.

Honey was in this position at sunrise, sipping coffee out of the same mug and looking at the same mountains.

They’ve mostly sat in silence all day, reading their books or scrolling on their phones. Honey finishes the book she had been reading, so they break into The Reading Nook as soon as Bea wakes up, and Honey borrows a new one. She’s over a quarter of the way through the new book now, but the sun has set too much for her to continue reading.

So, they drink tea. They drove to Bea’s house to get some calming tea, then back to Honey’s. Bea made the tea while Honey sat and breathed, listening to the birds sing their eggs to sleep. They sip their tea, but Honey knows that time is running out. Bea’s been patient enough.

“I think it’s time we talk about what happened these past two days,” Bea says, setting her mug on the flat of the table. “Really, really talk.”

Honey sighs, putting her own mug down. “Yeah, I know.”

“I only have two questions for you, Honey,” Bea says. She laces her fingers together and leans in, like a principal or a school counselor.

Honey wants to laugh. It’s like an intervention. “What are your questions, Bea-girl?” She asks with a breath of a laugh and a roll of her eyes.

“Question one,” Bea pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side and widening her eyes. “How did you feel about Trevor after you licked, uh, everything off of his body?” She gestures with her hand, waving it in a circle. She tilts her chin up and smiles, sarcastically in pain, at Honey.

“I was thinking–”

Bea interrupts. “Nuh-uh. I don’t care about what you were thinking. What were you feeling about Trevor? And not once you started thinking about home, or any of that. The second you looked at him: what were you feeling?”

Honey’s face twists, her nose crinkling. She hates when Bea plays therapist.

“I felt like…” Honey trails off, thinking back. She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking at the dark masses of leaves rustle on the trees surrounding her home. “It was warm. I felt… light. If Trevor hadn’t had his hands on my waist, I might’ve… been like that puddle guy… in Sky High.” Her voice gets quieter with every pause and Honey is very conscious of the fact that she’s referencing the cult-classic ‘DCOM’ Sky High in her therapy session with her best friend.

Bea’s conscious of the reference, too, staring at Honey. Her jaw is dropped and she’s filled with mild aghast, just like Honey. She shuts her mouth, closes her eyes, and nods to herself before opening them again.

“Question two. How did you feel after Trevor went to the back of the boat yesterday?”

Honey knew it was coming, but the memory still tugs at her.

She doesn’t get it. Trevor had been so… talkative, at first. He had sought Honey out and, as much as she hates to admit it, being chased was nice. Trevor had stood out from the first day, so much so that she wouldn’t even consider the other boys if they asked– and Jack did ask, that one time.

It was like a complete 180º after the dare. He steps away from her, he can’t meet her eyes, he found not one, but two excuses to get away from Honey after she offered to put sunscreen on his back. Yeah, she figured Cole was joking and setting them up for disaster, but she was ready to role with it after having that conversation with Bea on Friday.

Trevor froze when she was around and avoided Honey like a fucking. plague.

Honey’s silence speaks for itself, because Bea opens her mouth to continue.

“Maybe–”

Honey talks over her, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t– think he likes me.”

She takes a breath before opening her eyes again.

Bea stares at Honey, her first two fingers covering her mouth.

Honey blinks and looks down at her hands, wrapping them around her mug to save them from the sudden frostbite spreading over her fingers. “If he felt like I did after that dare… he wouldn’t have ignored me yesterday.” Honey presses her tongue into her top teeth, clamping her lips shut. The edges of her eyes are prickling with wetness again.

Bea reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.

“If that’s how he feels, then he’s stupid,” Bea says, voice definite. “He would be an idiot to stop chasing you.”

“I wish it was as easy as you and Quinn,” Honey admits. She stares at the warped and chipped wood under their hands. She’s sick to her stomach for a second, having déjà vu of the same image five years earlier, when she and Bea left Charlotte and spent their first night here. They didn’t even have mugs yet. They just talked and held hands and took in their new home. It’s the same feeling.

Bea shakes her head. “It’s not the same. Quinn and I aren’t–” She pauses to scoff, a grimace across her face. “We’re hooking up. We both know that and we don’t want anything more. That’s why it’s so easy.”

“But you felt so bad when you had to tell him,” Honey argues.

“I felt guilty.” Bea shrugs. “It passed.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. Bea drops Honey’s hands and returns to her tea.

Honey looks down at her tea and brings it to her lips, sipping. She takes a second sip, clearing her throat.

“I want to be wanted,” Honey says. She feels silly saying it, the phrase obvious. Everyone wants to be wanted. She’s not special. To make herself feel better, she adds, partially as a joke: “And I want to have sex.”

“It’s been a long time since you said that,” Bea replies and Honey’s heart soars. She always understands exactly what Honey means. She always knows exactly what to say. Honey covers her face with her hands, overwhelmed. Bea continues. “It doesn’t have to be silly old Trevor, since he’s a loser.”

“Yeah… I don’t want any of the others,” Honey laughs.

Bea scoffs, defensive. “Yeah, and I wasn’t gonna give you any of ‘em.”

They laugh together, heads thrown back. Bea’s foot stomps against the dirt.

When they quiet down, Bea adds with a grin, “I was just thinking that we could have a night out or something. Wilkesboro has to have something you can settle for. Just for a fuck, you know?”

Honey nods, smiling. She raises her tea to her lips and swallows the last of it. The mug clatters when she sets it down.

“Would it,” she starts, her smile breaking into a toothy, tilted beam. “Would it be so bad if I wanted it to be Trevor?”

Bea squeals and wiggles. She grabs Honey’s hands and squeezes, bouncing in her seat. She’s so excited that it causes Honey to break out into a fresh round of embarrassed giggles, shielding her face from the aftermath of her admission.

“We’re going on double dates,” Bea makes Honey promise, linking their pinkies. “We are. Just talk to him… tomorrow…” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tell him that you want him to flirt with you again.”

“Well, it’s not that easy,” Honey denies, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bea squints one of her eyes shut and tilts her head, making a face at Honey. She smooths her expression and makes her eyes wide, blinking innocently as she mocks: “‘You know, you should really keep flirting with me, Trev. You never know when it’ll pay off.’ See?”

Honey laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, okay. I’ll say exactly that.”

“Fine, if that’s so hard, go find me a pen. Then I have to go home. It’s late.” Bea bosses, pointing towards Honey’s living room. When Honey stands, she smiles again, sickly-sweet. “Thank you, Baby-Honey.”

“Whatever,” Honey replies, standing and finding a Sharpie in her junk drawer. She overemphasizes the nickname sarcastically when she returns to the table: “Buzzy.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey and holds her hand out expectantly. Honey clicks her tongue in annoyance, but puts her hand in Bea’s, her palm facing up. Bea leans over her, stretching Honey’s skin so it’s taut. She scribbles something onto Honey’s hand, at one point pulling out her phone to read a message. She nods when she’s done and reaches up to draw a little heart on the inside of Honey’s wrist. She blows a kiss at Honey and slaps the marker in her hand, closing her fingers around the marker. Bea stands, takes her mug, and drops it off in the sink before she walks out of Honey’s front door.

Honey raises her other hand in a belated wave, barely looking. She returns to her other hand, unfurling her fingers. Scrawled on her palm are ten digits and Trevor’s name.

It’s a phone number.

Honey pales. She can’t text Trevor. She has to tell him to keep things going in person, not behind a screen. That’s not who she is. She hasn’t acted like this in five years, and she’s not planning on reverting to old habits. No, she has to go see Trevor tomorrow.

Monday!

Tomorrow, the fruit stand is open. Trevor knows that Honey goes to the fruit stand on Mondays, and if he’s interested at all, he’ll show up. It’s, like, a ‘thing’ now, right?

Yeah. She’ll see him at the fruit stand tomorrow. If she doesn’t, then she’ll know how he feels for sure. She won’t have to text, she won’t have to go track Trevor down– it’ll be easy, like how Honey wants it to be. Quinn and Bea aren’t the only people who can have it easy.

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