Both my hands grip the back of my neck, my teeth grinding together. “Fuck,” I mutter, blowing out an angry breath.

“That probably could have gone better,” Reid says, sidling up next to me.

I glance at him, my fist itching to take my frustration out on someone. “I suggest you run the fuck away unless you want me to slam my fist through your skull.”

Chuckling, Reid walks backward, hands up. “Still sour about Harper. Noted.”

Sour doesn’t even begin to describe it.

CHAPTER TWO

ROGAN

Sophomore Year, High School

“Capri Sun?” Harper asks, sitting down next to me. This time I remembered to bring a blanket, which I spread out over the sand. Forgetting one last Saturday was a huge mistake.

“Do you even have to ask?” I hold my hand out. She reaches into the cooler and tosses one over her shoulder. I catch it with ease.

“I only brought six, so don’t drink it all in one gulp like you usually do.”

“You brought six? Harper, you should know by now six is never enough.”

On her knee, she knocks the straw out of its plastic slip and sticks it into the juice bag. “I didn’t have time to go to the corner store.”

“And here I brought extra fudge from the shop for you.”

“That’s what best friends do; they steal stuff from their parents for each other.”

“Yeah, and what are you stealing from your dad to hold up the best-friend responsibilities?”

She eyes the Capri Sun in my hand. “Uh . . . bringing the drinks. It’s not my fault you have zero self-control and can’t limit your drinking habits.”

“How long have we been friends, Harper?”

She rolls her eyes, knowing where I’m going with this. “Four years.”

“That’s right. And how long have we been coming to the beach every Saturday during the summer?”

“I get it, okay. I’m responsible for drinks, you’re responsible for treats. If it makes you feel better, I brought two Gatorades as well. Lemon Lime.”

My favorite. She knows me too well.

“Okay, maybe you’re forgiven.”

She chuckles and pulls her long red hair up on top of her head. From her wrist, she secures a rubber band and cinches her hair into a ponytail. I’ve seen her do it countless times, and even though I know she’s a pro, I still watch in awe.

Harper has been in my life for as long as I can remember, but we really didn’t become best friends until sixth grade, when we were stuck doing a science project together. At first I was pissed I was paired with a girl, but what I found out quickly was Harper wasn’t your ordinary girl. Where I’d assumed she’d be girly or flirty, scared to get her hands dirty, she was the opposite. She was the first to jump in the mud and the last to clean her shoes off.

After our science project, we were inseparable. Rogan and Harper, we’re a BOGO; if you buy one, you get one. And nothing has changed.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Some things have changed, like this growing instinct I have to make sure no guy ever looks at her. Or this feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when she smiles at me. Or the racing of my heart whenever she gives me a hug. Or the spike in my blood whenever her hair whips by me, filling my nose with her sweet vanilla scent.

Things have changed, but she doesn’t know it.

She doesn’t know I think about her at night.

She doesn’t know every time I’m around her, I’m tempted to hold her hand.

And she doesn’t know I’ve thought about kissing her so many times, on days like this when the sun is beating down on us and we don’t have to worry about anything other than hanging out, eating fudge, and drinking Capri Suns.

“When are you going back-to-school shopping?” Harper asks, burying her toes in the sand. “School starts in just a couple weeks, you know.”

I pop open the container of the fudge and toss a raspberry chocolate in my mouth. “Uh . . . I don’t know. Mom said she was going to take us up to Pottsmouth at some point. I need new pants badly.”

“Yeah, you do.” Harper chuckles. “The ones you wore the other day were kissing your ankles.”

I inwardly groan, hating that she noticed. I want to impress her, not help her realize what a dork I really am. I’m pretty sure I grew three inches this summer and put on at least ten pounds of muscle. I have plans for this new school year too, a new image. I’ve been working hard with the varsity football team the last few weeks, and I want a starting position. I’m good, really good. I just hope Coach Turner has been noticing. But even more than Coach, I just want Harper to notice me—in a different way.

“It’s not my fault I grew this summer.”

She assesses me, her eyes scanning from my toes to my head. “You did, didn’t you? Your legs are much longer.”

“Checking out my legs, Harp?”

She rolls her eyes and picks up a piece of fudge, taking little bites, which is how she always eats it. While I pop one whole piece in my mouth, she nibbles.

“Dad is taking me on Monday. We’re going down to Bar Harbor, to some vintage places and boutiques. I’m hoping to find some cute tops that fit, stuff that not everyone has.”

Tops that fit . . . yeah, I wasn’t the only person who grew this summer.

Harper got boobs.

They’re not huge like some of the girls in school, but they’re noticeable, really freaking noticeable, especially when she doesn’t wear a bra. And when it’s cold out . . . shit, her nipples don’t even pretend to hide. I know I shouldn’t stare or even notice for that matter, but it’s Harper. I spend almost every day with her; I can’t help but stare sometimes. And I can’t help it when my palms go sweaty and I can feel myself getting excited around her.

Like right now, with the wind pushing her ponytail to the side, her lips pursed, her eyes looking out at the ocean . . . her nipples taut against her shirt. She’s so beautiful, and I hate that I’m finally starting to notice it. She’s my best friend, but I’m crushing so hard on her and have no idea what to do about it.

Do I tell her I think she’s hot?

Do I tell her I wish there was more between us?

Do I just go for it and kiss her?

Inwardly I cringe. No way—the mere thought of doing that makes me so sweaty. And I know for a fact that I would mess it up. I’ve kissed a few girls before, but no one like Harper. Plus, there’s no way she would like me back, not when she sees me as a friend.

I swallow, tearing my gaze away from her chest. “Did your dad give you another allowance for clothes this year?”

“Yup.” Harper tilts her head to the side to look at me, a grin turning up her plump lips. “And he doubled it because I helped him a lot this summer with the lighthouse.” She playfully rubs her hands together. “I’m about to get a lot of pretty things.”

I chuckle. “Not too many pretty things. I don’t want you thinking you’re too fancy to hang out with the likes of me.” A flash of insecurity rolls through my belly. Harper’s one of those girls who’s beautiful no matter what she does; she could be with any guy at our school. The thought of losing her because I’m not cool enough is way too overwhelming.

She scoffs and tosses a piece of fudge at me. “Please, you’re a Knightly; your family practically owns the town. If anyone should be worried about being too fancy, it’s you.” She holds up her pointer finger. “Remember that blood pact we made? Always be friends no matter what?” I nod, getting lost in the golds and greens of her eyes. “So when you become a rich and famous pro football player, you can’t forget about me.”

“Never going to happen.” I link my pointer finger with hers. “You’re going to be crusty and gross and still hanging out with me.”

“Poking you with my cane until you stop annoying me.”

“Exactly.”

I might not know much. I’m the first to admit I’m a hormone-driven sixteen-year-old with two thoughts on my mind at all times—football and girls—but I do know that Harper is special and that no matter what comes our way, I’ll always make sure she’s in my life.

CHAPTER THREE

HARPER

Present Day

“The usual,” I say, slumping into a bar seat of the Lighthouse Inn’s restaurant. Situated just outside of town, on the Port Snow Peninsula, is the Lighthouse Inn, along with the Lighthouse Restaurant, the lighthouse, and . . . get this—the Lighthouse Inn Restaurant. Seems like there could have been more creativity where our dining establishments are concerned, but they all feed off the picturesque lighthouse that’s still in use to this day, the very same one my dad takes care of.

I spent my entire childhood on this peninsula, climbing the rocks, getting lost in the tall beach grass, and reading up in the gallery of the lighthouse at night when my dad was sleeping.

I have so many memories from growing up in this small town, and they’re all flooding in, some good, most heartbreaking.

“You look like crap,” my best friend, Eve, says, taking my order and passing it to the chef behind her. “I’m going to guess the party at Griffin’s last night didn’t go as planned.”