Boy Crazy (2 page)

“This is Greta’s favorite theory,” Keagan murmured. “Believe me, she will not stop talking about it. It’s been like a year and a half.”

“Tell me more,” Cassie said.

“My philosophy is that dating like guys is the only way to have fun with the whole process,” Greta explained, with a mild glare at Keagan. “Because what happens if you date like a girl? You get played like a girl. And meanwhile, he’s off with the skankier clone of an MTV reality star or scampering around Europe with a posse of available women.”

“Ouch,” Cassie said, only half kidding. Keagan raised her eyebrows in agreement.

“So why can’t we do the playing?” Greta continued. “That’s the beauty of the ten-boy summer. We’ll have an agreement—a quota that must be reached. You have to make it to ten, so you can’t get too close to any one guy.”

“What if you want to get close?” Keagan asked.

“You don’t,” Greta retorted. “Getting close is what made you cry in the first place. Why would you want to repeat the Zachary experience?”

Keagan made a gagging sound, but she sat up and paid closer attention.

“Exactly,” Greta said triumphantly.

“So, what?” Cassie asked, frowning slightly. “We’re players all of a sudden?”

“Not players,” Greta said. “There’s no game. This is how I operated all year. And, unlike you two, I didn’t get my heart broken. And it’s how guys always live their lives, by the way. What’s the harm in enjoying a cute boy for exactly as long as the fun lasts and not a second longer? Not everything has to be a big relationship drama, right?”

Cassie grinned into the darkness. “Am I crazy?” she asked Keagan. “Or is she making sense?”

“I thought it was the sugar rush,” Keagan replied. “But I could definitely do without any more heart stomping.”

“If you don’t let yourself get close,” Greta said, making eye contact very deliberately with Cassie and then Keagan, “then you can’t get hurt. You could spend your whole summer moping around after one guy, or you could have month’s worth of fun kissing ten different ones.”

Cassie bit back a giggle. “Why does this sound so appealing?”

“Because it’s the wave of the future!” Greta cried. “Come on, ladies—this calls for an official pledge.” She placed her right hand over her heart and held her left hand in the air. “I, Greta Crocker, do solemnly swear that I will kiss
at least
ten boys this summer, so help me God.” She finished and raised her eyebrows at the other two, issuing her challenge.

Keagan laughed again. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I give in.” She assumed the position. “I, Keagan Ellison, do solemnly swear that I will kiss ten boys this summer and forget all about Zachary Malone, that evil loser.” She shrugged. “So help me God.”

“You’re up, Cassie,” Greta said, eyeing her. “Or are you going to sit around and
observe
all summer?”

Cassie sighed, pretending to be put out.

“I
guess
I can try to kiss some hot guys,” she said, pursing her lips as if it required an internal battle. “I mean, it’s gonna be a struggle.”

“Poor baby,” Greta teased.

“I, Cassie Morgan, do solemnly swear that I will kiss ten extremely cute boys this summer,” Cassie intoned, her left hand in the air and the other tight against her chest. “I swear that I will have fun, as ordered by Greta. So help me God.”

“Bring it on!” Greta cried.

“Watch out, L.A.!” Keagan called, and then collapsed into giggles.

“Let the ten-boy summer begin,” Cassie pronounced, feeling the magic of summer spool out before her, drawing her in. She’d act like Greta for a change, confident and bold. She wanted Greta’s take-charge attitude and her strength. Being herself had only gotten her dumped and made her mopey, neither of which had been as pleasant as kissing ten boys promised to be.

Cassie grinned. She wanted the late June night to spontaneously combust into fireworks above her to celebrate what felt like such a big shift inside her. But she was just as happy to turn to her friends instead. It was time to hash out some details.

“So,” she said seriously, eyeing the other two. “Does anyone know where Robert Pattinson hangs out? Because I think we should start there.”

C
assie was happy and relaxed that Saturday as she rode the ferry out to Catalina Island for her first day of work. Cassie loved Catalina. It was everything she adored about SoCal, all wrapped up into one gorgeous, mountainous island that rose out of the water twenty-two miles off the coast. Cassie had spent tons of weekends there throughout her childhood, hiking the interior, hanging out on the pebbled beaches, and cruising around in the golf carts that outnumbered cars in the tiny bayside town of Avalon. She’d been addicted to Big Olaf’s ice cream before she knew that addiction wasn’t generally a good thing, and she’d watched the fireworks over Avalon Bay on more Fourth of July nights than she could remember.

Cassie had been thrilled to cash in on her mother’s longtime friendship with the owner of Billy’s Bikes to hook the perfect summer job—giving bike tours in one of the most beautiful spots on earth. It certainly beat working retail in a trendy Third Street boutique like Greta, no matter how gorgeous she claimed the clothes were. And anything was better than waiting tables in too-cool West Hollywood like poor Keagan.

As she walked along the pedestrian walkway from the ferry terminal toward Avalon, Cassie soaked in the island’s Mediterranean vibe. From the summer-browned hills to the sparkling Pacific water, everything about Catalina could’ve been out of a storybook. Even the foggy marine layer, which would burn off as the day wore on, made Cassie feel like she was part of the beauty surrounding her. After three winters way up north, the cooler morning temperatures didn’t bother her the way they had when she was a thin-blooded L.A. girl. She pulled her red Siskiyou Academy hoodie tighter around her and drank in the sight of the houses and inns clinging precariously to the green and brown hillside.

It was still too early for the smell of sugar and waffle cones to fill the air outside of Big Olaf’s and waft downwind as Cassie walked down Crescent Avenue, Avalon’s main drag. Obvious tourists, complete with fanny packs and cameras, snapped photos of the bay and the storefronts that lined the street. Cassie smiled in anticipation
of her favorite scent and turned up a side street, her steps quickening when she caught sight of the familiar sign outside of Billy’s Bikes. She couldn’t wait to get out on the roads and start her summer of sun, sea, and ocean breeze.

MY NEW BOYFRIEND
, read Greta’s text a few hours later.
TOTALLY WORTH GIVING UP THE OTHER
9,
YES
?

Cassie clicked on the attached picture, and almost choked as she half laughed, half groaned. The “boyfriend” in question was rocking the L.A. party-boy look, all battered jeans, too-tight T-shirt, and sculpted hair. But he was hot, no matter if he was Cassie’s type or not.

GO
4
IT
! she texted back, then slid her BlackBerry Pearl into her pocket, feeling guilty.

So far, this had turned out to be the easiest summer job in the history of summer jobs. She’d been met by a bear hug from aging hippie Billy, who had immediately sent her off for a round of morning coffee—herbal tea for him. When she’d returned, they’d gone over maps and equipment, as well as Billy’s “house rules.” There were only two: No “drama” and “nothing heavy before noon, because I can’t process negative energy until the sun starts to descend.” Which sort of both sounded like the same rule.

“That’s it?” Cassie had asked, dubiously. She also wondered how her overly organized and anal mother had remained friends with this guy for so long. And whether Billy’s faded, tie-dyed, Grateful Dead concert T-shirt was the real deal. “You think you should have more rules?” Billy had asked, grinning while he sipped his tea and lounged against the chipped red paint of the shop’s front door. “That’s intense. You’re too much like your mother.”

“Nothing too crazy,” Cassie had said. “Just, you know, for safety reasons, I’ll try not to get drunk or anything while giving tours. And to let you know if there’s some big accident, so you can call a rescue team.”

“Whatever works for you,” Billy had told her. “As long as you’re having an organic experience, I’m not going to judge you, Cassie.”

Whatever
that
meant.

When noon rolled around, Billy declared it lunch-time as if they’d been slaving away all morning instead of sitting around listening to old Creedence Clearwater Revival albums at top volume. Cassie had wandered down toward the water, then over to the shops at the Metropole Hotel. She’d grabbed a sandwich before heading back toward the water, where she could daydream and stare at the sea. Talk about a perfect lunch hour!

Finally, around two, Cassie’s first ever tour group was
finishing their paperwork and choosing their rental bikes. She sat on the little bench outside the shop looking down the hill toward Crescent Avenue and the sparkling bay beyond. The sun had eaten away the marine layer, and it was a glorious day. Cassie had peeled her sweatshirt off and stashed it in her backpack. She wore a snug tank top that wouldn’t annoy her by flapping around when she was riding, her bike shorts, and her hiking sneakers. Her bright orange helmet was strapped to her bike, which was parked a few feet away. As soon as Billy finished with the family inside, Cassie could take them out—though not as far as she might like, since it was already midafternoon. She eyed the hills and figured she’d take the two-mile ride up to East Summit—which was a thousand feet up. Not too hard for an afternoon’s ride, with acacia trees and panoramic views of the San Pedro Channel and the mainland all the way.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out, repressing the urge to look over her shoulder and see if Billy was watching her. She had to get over herself. If there was no work, why shouldn’t she check her messages?

OOOH, TASTY
! Keagan’s text read.
YOUR NEW BF USES MORE HAIR GEL THAN ALL THREE OF US PUT TOGETHER. HOTT
.

U R JEALOUS
, Greta had retorted, switching over to a group e-mail.
HIS NAME IS JANN (YOU SAY IT YAHN) AND HE
IS EUROPEAN. HE IS IN HOLLYWOOD TO PURSUE HIS DREAM OF ACTING IN CW DRAMAS, AND HE IS DRESSING—AND HAIR GELLING—THE PART. HE’S GOING TO EAT LUNCH AT TOAST WITH SOME INDUSTRY BUDS AND GUEST STAR ON SMALL-VILLE NEXT SEASON. HIS EYES TOLD ME THIS
.

Cassie laughed, imagining Greta composing life stories for all of her attractive customers.

I DON’T THINK TOM WELLING NEEDS TO WORRY ABOUT HIS JOB JUST YET
, she replied to the girls.
NOT TO INTRUDE ON YOUR LOVE OR ANYTHING
.

A few seconds later, Keagan responded:
CHECK OUT THE GUYS IN MY SECTION
! The attached picture was a covert shot of three guys lounging around a small table out on the sidewalk in front of Keagan’s restaurant. Their menus blocked key parts of their faces, but still, the essential hotness of all three was discernible.

WAIT
, Cassie replied.
THEY TRAVEL IN PACKS NOW
?

ONLY IN WEST HOLLYWOOD
, Greta e-mailed back at warp speed.
IF U KNOW WHAT I MEAN. JANN LEFT ME FOR A NASTY, TRAMPY-LOOKING CHICK WITH THE FULL HOLLYWOOD MAKEOVER
—
FAKE, FAKE, FAKE
, Greta replied.

I THINK
#1
IS MY NEW BF
, Keagan e-mailed a few moments later.
HIS NAME IS OBVS FREDDY AND HE’S A TOURIST FROM OHIO. HE EVEN SMELLS NICE
. She attached another surveillance shot picture of “Freddy.” He was round-faced, with freckles, and an adorable glint in his brown eyes.

FREDDY IS LOOKING TO HEAL A BROKEN HEART ON A SUMMER EXCHANGE PROGRAM FROM DARKEST OHIO
, Cassie wrote, seized with the spirit. She jumped to her feet when the door to the bike shop opened in a jangle of chimes. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

Then she got a good look at the guy standing in front of her, surrounded by the peeling red paint that gave the shop door a speckled look. He was tall and lean, with a smooth kind of build that made Cassie think he was a runner. And he was checking her out, all the way up her legs and over her tight tank top. Cassie was suddenly thrilled that she was sporty, or whatever Greta wanted to call it, and could rock the bike shorts and the tank top. She knew she looked good. She felt a surge of Greta-style confidence, and smiled at him.

“Hey,” the guy said. “Are you Cassie? We’re supposed to find a Cassie.” His mouth crooked up in the corner, giving him a tall, rumpled Chace Crawford look.

“That’s me,” she replied, smiling back. Who knew that her very first tourist would be
cute
? She’d been expecting scowling older women and tired family groups. Those had always been the people on the bike tours
she’d
taken, anyway.

“My parents said this would be a great vacation,” he said, his dark eyes moving over her in obvious appreciation. “I thought they meant, you know, the beach. But we’ve got one of those in Boston.”

“Just wait until we actually start riding,” Cassie tossed back at him, trying not to giggle outright.

“I want you to know that if we get lost in the interior, I’m cool with that,” he said, his grin deepening. “I’m TJ, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, TJ,” Cassie replied. When his parents and two sisters came outside, TJ turned away, and Cassie whipped out her phone to snap a picture.

TJ, FLIRTY FIRST CLIENT
, she typed quickly.
FROM BOSTON. MAY HAVE SEVERAL GFS NAMED THINGS LIKE ELEANOR OR ASHLEY, BUT TOTALLY KISSABLE
!

KISS HIM FOR ME
! Greta wrote back at the speed of light.
WHO CARES ABOUT GWYNETH OR AYNSLEY
?

“Okay,” Cassie said, stowing her phone and smiling at Summer Guy Number One, though he didn’t know it yet. “Are we ready to get started?”

When Cassie caught the ferry back toward Long Beach that evening, she was tired in that delicious outdoorsy way. She spent the hour-long ride catching up on the day’s e-mails. She scrolled through her messages with her feet up on the hard plastic bench, her head cushioned against the side of the boat by her backpack.

Greta claimed that she had staked out Jann by walking past Toast a few times, pretending to be God only
knew what, while taking pictures of Jann and his plastic girlfriend as they sat out at one of the sidewalk tables.

SHE MUST BE CASTING DIRECTOR
, Greta texted at one point.
ONLY EXPLANATION
.

Keagan, meanwhile, had flirted up a storm with Freddy from Ohio, only to be heartbroken when he left without leaving his number—or a decent tip.

I BET HE LEFT A SWEET GIRL BACK HOME
, she wrote sadly.
SHE THINKS HE’S ON A SAFE FAMILY TRIP TO YOSEMITE OR SOMETHING. I FEEL SORRY FOR ME, BUT I REALLY FEEL SORRY FOR OHIOGIRL
.

Cassie giggled like a fool as she read, but she didn’t care if everyone on the Catalina Express stared at her. She pulled her hoodie back on and snuggled into it. Even though the sun was still out, the ferry kicked up a strong breeze as it crossed the channel.

Greta and Keagan were as delightfully silly as she remembered. She loved that they had all jumped into their ten-boy mission with both feet. Even if TJ from Boston had remained, sadly, unkissed at the end of his bike tour, Cassie felt good about giving him a few of her best smiles ever.

It occurred to her that she’d spent the entire day having fun—and not once thinking about Daniel Fletcher or his need for space. She actually laughed out loud when she realized it. There had been no wondering which of the seventeen single girls he was snuggling up to in Paris,
or Munich, or Prague. In fact, this was the first time she’d even thought of his name.

Cassie sat up straight, suddenly energized, and hit “reply all.”

TJ FROM BOSTON GONE—THOUGH WILL LOVE ME FOREVER
, she texted.
NO KISSING. BUT BIKE TOURS
=
HOT GUYS, APPARENTLY. WHO KNEW
?

ASSUME THAT’S WHY YOU TOOK THE JOB
! Greta texted back.

Amen,
Cassie thought.

Daniel Fletcher could have space. He could have the entire continent of North America and the Atlantic Ocean that separated them. Cassie had everything she needed right here.