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I try not to think about what that means.

I know it’s a mistake, however, the second I get into Cat’s pickup truck and she speeds all the across town to the lake, nearly killing several old ladies, a mailbox, and us in the process. When she finally skids into the small parking area overlooking the water, the car is moving so fast that I half-expect her to drive all the way through it and plunge us into the lake. Admittedly, I’m surprised when she doesn’t. I grip my seat hard as she swerves in, does a dramatic U-turn, and hits the brakes at the last second, causing the truck to jump up violently before it settles into parked position. My heart is in my throat at this point, and I turn to her, wide-eyed.

“I forgot what a terrible driver you are,” I say, taking a breath
of relief. I’m actually surprised I’m still alive.

Cat raises her eyebrow
, giving me her “oh, no you didn’t” look. “Please. I’m a badass driver.”

“You almost killed an old lady
on the way over!”

She sh
rugs. “The woman had it coming,” she says like it’s nothing.

I
suppress a laugh. Sunlight floods in through the car window, warming my back, my legs, my stomach. I turn to Cat, unintentionally noticing how her skin seems to glow in the sunlight. It’s warm out, really warm for a winter day, and her red hair looks so suddenly perfect on her shoulders. I take her in, bit by bit, my breath catching.

I should be used to looking her.
Wait, I
am
used to looking at her. So why does she appear so different now? Why does it feel like, for the first time, I’m seeing what’s really there?

I shake my head. No.
No.
This is not happening. We’re friends. That’s it.

“One day,” I say to her, “I’m going to call you cupcake.”
The words roll off my lips before I can stop them, and I regret saying it instantly.

Cat pushes open
the driver door and turns to me, narrowing her eyes. I glance out at the rest of the small parking lot. Aside from an abandoned SUV, we’re the only ones here. “Cupcake?” she says suspiciously.

“For your red velvet hair.
What? Would you prefer to be called ‘red velvet?’”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Red Velvet.”

Cat frowns at me.
“That’s… entirely not romantic.”

“Of course it isn’t.
We’re friends, remember? Friends
aren’t
romantic.”

“Right,” she says, giving an awkward nod. “Friends.”

I roll my eyes. “You really couldn’t make this weirder, could you?”

Cat
doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shoves her foot against the door and lets it swing open. More light pours into the car as she steps out, turns back, and smiles at me. “For the record, West: I so can.” And by the devilish glint in her eyes, I know she isn’t lying.

With a sigh, I
push open the passenger car door and hop out, only to be blinded by the sunlight, and follow her across the lot toward the lake entrance. There are no trees anywhere here, just a dirt parking lot and a crumbling staircase that leads to the lake below. Cat walks briskly, not even looking at me, and I have to jog to keep up with her. Dust flies up from under my feet as I move, and I can feel the breeze bat it back after me. I follow Cat down the stairs, then the next pair, then the next, until she stops so suddenly toward the bottom that I almost run into her.

“What—” I start to say,
wondering what exactly has gotten into her this time, but then I follow her gaze out to the lake before us. I can’t help myself; I gasp. But, I mean, it’s beautiful. Like, actually beautiful. The water is so glass-like, shimmering under the bright sunlight, barely even ruffled by the breeze. Behind it, halfway across the lake, lies a distant island my parents and I used as our kayak race destination. A few boats surge through the vast of expanse of lake here and there, and I can hear the distant sounds of kids laughing and playing, the barking of a dog, the sound of water lapping against the shore. It’s all so peaceful. So perfect. I turn to Cat, but her gaze is still focused on the water. The hot air warms my skin, making me shiver in a good kind of way, and I finding myself smiling. It’s good to be here again. With Cat. Like old times.

I realize then that n
o one else is on our part of the lake, which is really just a patch of twenty feet of rocky land and a beach chair positioned in front of the water.

It’s ju
st us.

On
the most beautiful day of the year.

Alone.

Warm.

Lonely.

My heart stops. Oh my god. Cat planned this all, didn’t she? This whole setting, this complete perfection, was her idea? And she is a romantic genius, too. Oh shit. She knows my weakness.

As if on cue, Cat hops off the last sta
ircase and onto the rocky shore below. She turns back to me after a second. I feel myself sweating under my “I SUPPORT RIGHTS FOR CHOCOLATE CAKE” t-shirt, because of Cat or the heat or possibly both I do not know. I go with the heat.

“So,” Cat finally says, reaching for a rock on the ground.

I try to hide my nerves, not wanting to know what she is planning next. “So?” I say with attempted calmness.

She stares at me like I’m an idiot. “We’re at the lake. It’s hot out. Let’s go for a swim.”

My gaze shifts to my feet. “Oh…”

When I
don’t look excited, she edges closer to me, frowning. I watch, unmoving, as she looks me up and down as if trying to determine what my deal is. Then a light bulb seems to go off in her head. “Oh my god,” she says. My breath catches. “Please don’t tell me you’re too scared to swim with me.”

I shake my head.
“No, I…”

Her hands are on her hips. Again. “Then what?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” I’m not.

“Good,” Cat says.
“Then let’s swim.” At that, she turns and walks back over to the beach chair. I follow her, taking a tentative step off the stairs and onto the tiny strip of land we’re on in front of the lake. Water laps at the shore, sweeping up some gray and brown rocks nestled in its path, and the sunlight seems to follow me everywhere. It’s good, though—a refreshing change from the freezing winter nights.

I watch as
Cat drops her bag off on the old, rickety beach chair, shakes her long hair, and reaches for her shirt collar. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she pulls it upward. It takes me a second to realize she’s taking off her shirt.

My whole body freezes up. “What
are you doing?” I say quickly. All the alarms in my brain seem to go off at once, like special Cat Trigger Warnings that are telling me this is not good. Not good at all.

It’s not that I’ve never seen Cat in her bra before—I have
on multiple occasions—but now it feels… different. Wrong, even.

She stops what she’s doing and turns to me. “I’m taking off my shirt,” she says blankly. “It’s what people tend to do at beaches when they go swimming.” I open my mouth to
argue, but really what am I going to say? There is no argument here, so I clamp it immediately shut. My heart has started up again, and my breathing comes in rapid fire. Cat looks into my eyes. My jaw tightens. “Holy shit, West. You’re scared of seeing me in my bra, aren’t you?” she exclaims like she’s just won some prize.

“No!” I say, shaking my head and bl
ushing madly. She’s totally right, though. “It’s not…” I murmur. “No.
No
.”

Wow
. I don’t remember being this un-smooth.

“Well,” Cat says, still smiling, “sorry to disappoint, but this is just a bathing suit.”

I blush even harder. “A bathing suit?”

“A bathing suit.”

I glance at my feet. “Oh…”

Cat sighs. “Can I take off my shirt now so we can swim
or are you still too terrified to see me without it on?”

“Yeah… okay.
Fine. You’re way too amused by this,” I add, forcing a smile.

She throws up her hands. “Guilty as charged.”

After a second, she turns back around. She drops her gaze to her shirt again, grabs the collar, and starts to pull it over her head. The fabric makes a slight swishing sound as it slides over her body, revealing a slice of lightly tanned stomach. I try to look away—I try, I really do—but for some reason, I can’t. My eyes won’t let me. So I watch as her shirt comes off, as it brushes against her body, slides across her shoulders and over her head, and suddenly she’s wearing nothing but a bathing-suit-bra and jeans.

I hold my breath.

Her pants come off next. (I feel dirty just saying that.) After she places her shirt by her towel on the beach chair, she turns back to the water. She doesn’t look at me as, ever so slowly, she presses her chin to her collarbone and reaches for her jean zipper. My skin crawls as the zipper slides slowly down, and I feel my face heating by the second. But I can’t look away. I don’t
want
to look away. I stare at her, the hot sun on my back, as she slides her jeans down her legs and off her body and places them in a neat pile next to her shirt.

Just like that, she’s wearing nothing but her swimsuit. I stare, my eyes wide,
unable to look away. I swear to you, two-piece bikinis will be the death of me.

Cat
smiles shyly, glancing at her feet and blushing. I’m still staring at her and not even hiding my incredulity. Cat just did that. Took off her clothes in front of me.

Holy shit.

Then, an alarming thought strikes me: why can’t I look away? Does that mean…?

I don’t let myself
answer the question.

“Now you,” Cat says, glancing back up at me.

That snaps me back into reality. “Wait, what?
” I say. “What do you mean?” My stomach sinks, and all of a sudden, I’m back on edge.

She rolls her eyes. “
I mean
, now it’s your turn to take off your shirt.”

A knot tightens in my stomach
. “But—” I start to say, my mind racing to find an excuse, to think of
anything
to stop this.

“But? We’re swimming, West. No one wears clothes when they’re swimming.”

I raise my eyebrow at that. Wait, does she mean…

“No one wears
shirts
, I mean. Jeez, you perv,” she says. Then, Cat’s lips break into a smile and so do mine. Relief washes over me.

“Whatever,” I mumble. “It’s cold. I don’t want to take off my shirt…”

For an instant, nothing happens. Cat just stares at me blankly, and no matter how hard I try I can’t read her expression.

Then, without warning, she
breaks into a fit of full-on, amused, in-my-face laughter. “It’s cold? Dude, you’re sweating all over. There is no way in hell you’re too cold right now.” My face flushes harder as I glance back down at my shirt. She’s right. I
am
sweating all over. I hadn’t even realized, and now I need a new excuse. “I think you’re just scared of my hotness,” Cat adds.

“That’s so not it.
Actually, that’s probably the last possible reason. I just… I don’t want to this time, I guess.”

“Like I’m going to believe that.”

“It’s true!”

“Wimp,” she says.

“Jerk.”

“Freak.”

“Bully.”

Cat shakes her head, suppressing a smile. A few birds fly overhead, and I can hear more splashes
somewhere across the lake from people playing, laughing and shouting and being normal, like I wish I could be. “What? Do you need me to take your shirt off
for you
?” Cat says, still way too amused.

Okay. I think my jaw seriously drops here. “No, no,” I say quickly, jerking my head from side-to-side. “That’s not—”

But Cat isn’t even listening. She’s already stepped forward, her body inches from mine. “Here,” she says, reaching for my T-shirt. “I got it.” I don’t even realize what she’s doing until her fingers wrap around the collar of my shirt and she starts to pull upward. My whole body stiffens, and I feel a million tiny kinds of shock, confusion, and—horrifying enough—excitement wash over me.

Her stomach is pressed against mine, and I can
smell her breath, feel her warmth, the overwhelming rush of our closeness. Her fingers work effortlessly, gliding my thin shirt along my stomach, my chest, then over my head. I shiver hard, my whole head a mess of emotions and warnings tangled with desire. For an instant, our eyes lock. She stares at me, hard and strong. I look away immediately, but I can’t hide the blush—or the smile. My whole body feels on fire, and I don’t want her to stop. She keeps dragging my shirt over my head, her thighs touching my thighs, her lips hovering a millimeter away from my own.

I stand there, unmoving, my jaw tight, my skin so hot and cold all at once. Finally, as she tugs the last bit of my shirt off my body, her finger brushes against the
hardness my stomach for one beautiful instant, and then she lets go altogether as the shirt comes off. Cat steps back.