A Midsummer's Nightmare by Kody Keplinger Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t
me
he wasn’t interested in, it was all girls. Still, not what I needed tonight.
    “Shit,” I muttered, slumping back against the bar with my arms folded over my chest.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s nothing personal. You’re a hottie, but boobs just aren’t my thing.”
    “Whatever.”
    He smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re Greg Johnson’s daughter. That’s so awesome.”
    “It isn’t that glamorous…. Actually, it sucks ass at the moment.”
    “How is that possible?” Harrison asked. “He is so
hot
.”
    “My dad? Christ, that’s gross.”
    “He is.”
    “Ew.”
    He reached forward and put a hand on my knee. It was the least sexy knee-rub in the history of knee-rubs. “You get your looks from him, if it helps.”
    “Thanks. But that is still gross.”
    He laughed and grabbed his glass of soda. “What a pout you’ve got on you,” he said, lifting the drink to his lips.
    What a jerk. My misery was
not
funny. Or cute.
    “Here,” he said, putting his glass back down on the rickety bar. “Let me buy you a drink. What do you want?”
    No matter how frustrated I felt, a free drink just wasn’t something I could turn down.
    “Something strong,” I groaned.
    “Coca-Cola strong enough?”
    “Hardly.”
    He shook his head and looked down the bar. “Joe!” he called. “Hey, honey, can you get the pretty girl a Coke?”
    “Only if you stop calling me
honey
,” the bartender, a bearded man in his thirties, replied. “We’ve had this discussion before, Harrison.”
    “Aw, Joe. It’s so cute that you think I listen.”
    The bartender poured some Coke into a glass and slid it toward me. Harrison winked and handed the cash to Joe, who rolled his eyes before walking back to the other end of the bar, where more customers waited.
    “He hates it when I flirt with him,” Harrison whispered to me. “Which just makes it funnier.”
    I laughed and reached for my Coke. “Thanks,” I said, taking a big gulp. I tried to pretend it was tequila—or even just beer—but my body knew better. Goddamn it, I couldn’t even trick myself out of sobriety. Like those cases you hear about sometimes, when people have convinced themselves they were drunk through the power of persuasion. I wanted to persuade myself that I was wasted.
    Apparently, I’m not very gullible.
    I took another drink, wishing I’d thought to smuggle my bottle of cheap tequila in with me.
    “So, how long are you in Hamilton for?”
    “Just the summer,” I said. “Then it’s off to University of Kentucky.”
    “Nice. What major?”
    “No fucking idea.” I sighed. “Kind of hoping Dad will help me figure it out this summer. He went to UK, too. What about you?”
    “I graduated a year ago, but I took a year off to figure out all the ‘rest of my life’ stuff, so I know how you feel. But I’m off to UCLA this fall. I’m majoring in fashion design. Maybe not the smartest choice, but it’s what I love.”
    “California,” I mused. “I bet you’ll be happy to get out of this shithole.”
    He shrugged. “I guess. You know, the place is lame, but it’s home. And it’s not that bad if you know where to go. You just have to have friends.”
    “Then I’m screwed.”
    He chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll be your friend, okay?”
    “I don’t really do friends,” I told him.
    “Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to ‘do’ me. We’ve established the flaws in that plan already. But we can hang out. Oh, or shop. Your outfit is super cute…. Though I’m not a fan of the flip-flops. They look cheap.”
    “Thanks, Tim Gunn. Anything else you’d like to critique?”
    “I’m just being honest. You’re a fashion slut.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You have good taste, but you’re stepping into too manystyles,” he said. “Those flip-flops might be all the rage this season, but they don’t fit you. The rest of your look doesn’t scream ‘beach babe.’ Nope. You need to stick