“Sydney,” John said, rapping his knuckles on the table so I’d stop staring off into space. “Just say the word and we’ll cancel this. Mom and Dad are still thirty minutes out. We can go home and order takeout. They’ll bitch but whatever.”

Leaning my head on the back of my plastic lawn-chair, I groaned. “They’re already going to bitch because we came here instead of somewhere nicer. Might as well suck it up and get this over with.”

“Is something else wrong?” Leave it to John to be persistent right now.

“Just the fact that high school sucks.”

A pained expression filled his face. And I instantly regretted saying that. John and I had a good thing going. He was my guardian, my parent, and my brother. He was ten years older than I, and he took care of me, thus preventing me from having to live with our real parents. I hated making him worry. He didn’t have to take care of me and it was wrong of me to burden him with my problems. Being forced to raise a teenager—that had to be difficult enough.

Two years ago, when John had simply asked, my parents had given me over like they were loaning someone a sweater. They were really just children themselves. Rich, impulsive, spoiled children. Their life was one long vacation, and they never took a moment of it seriously. They were fun people, but sucky parents. Neither worked. Instead they lived off the fruits of my grandfather’s labor. It wasn’t an ideal lifestyle for a child. So when I turned fourteen, John, who proved to be more mature than both of them combined, suggested that I come live with him. They’d jumped at his offer.

So that was how I ended up living with John in our family’s beach house in North Carolina. My parents visited us often enough, but in actuality he was my real parent. And I didn’t need to worry him with my silly teenage heartache and drama. He gave up so much for me, and I appreciated that more than anything. Living with him was so much better than the alternative.

“I just need some fresh air before they get here,” I explained, feigning a smile. “Would you order me a milkshake whenever the server comes over? I’m in a milkshake kind of mood.”

John nodded. So I slipped out of my seat. I cut through the restaurant toward the hostess stand and the front door. Outside, I walked around the building in search of a decent place to hide. It was frigid and windy, since Chancy’s was next to the ocean and it was February, but I found sanctuary by the dumpsters. No one would bother me here.

I sat down on a crate and for the second time today cried my eyes out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Not to mention silly. How could I believe that Ben would ever want me? My hair was this weird dishwater blonde and my eyes some ugly pea-green color. I had freckles and glasses. My best friend was my teacher, for crying out loud! My butt was about as flat as John’s pancakes and my boobs even flatter. I spent all my time watching hopeless romances, living in a dream world waiting for Prince Charming to come rescue me from my mundane life. But this wasn’t Sixteen Candles and Jake Ryan wasn’t about to ditch his hot girlfriend for pathetic, naïve me.

I sniffled into my sleeve. God, I was so lame…crying by the dumpsters on my birthday.

“Um, is everything okay?” a voice asked.

Yikes! And apparently I wasn’t alone.

Using the heel of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks, I quickly turned my back away from the person who’d just walked outside through a door on the side of the building. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that he wore a Chancy’s Claw employee t-shirt and was bringing out the trash. I knew his name too. Rhett Morgan. He graduated three or four years ago from my school. He never went to college and still frequented high school parties—or so I’d heard. That’s the thing about being invisible. I always heard everything because people often forgot I was around and talked openly in front of me. And Rhett Morgan…well, he was a constant topic of conversation at Kill Devil Hills High.

Even Ms. Whittle had spoken of the infamous Rhett once or twice. She’d mentioned something about how funny he was. I’d always kind of assumed Rhett had been her ‘Ben.’ That he’d been the popular, good-looking boy she’d worshiped from afar in high school. But Rhett wasn’t a boy. Nope, definitely a man, and definitely still standing outside with me. I hiccupped, trying to mentally shrink myself into a tiny ball. Maybe he’d go away if I ignored him.

I heard a heavy clank as he must have heaved the trash into the dumpster. Then, much to my horror, he came to sit beside me. He pulled out another crate and plopped down.

“You’re seriously crying,” he stated. He had a deep, husky voice—kind of soothing. “Was it something you ate?”

Looking up, I glared at him. “No,” I snapped. “It wasn’t something I ate.”

He smiled. “Figured. Got you to look at me, though.”

I huffed.

“So,” he said, running his hands across his thick, jean-covered thighs then resting them on his knees. “I just started as a bartender a week ago. People—well, drunks mostly, but that’s beside the point—they keep telling me all their personal problems. I’m quickly becoming a certified therapist. I’m probably better than a therapist—because who wants the opinions of some stiff in a suit? So how about you tell me what’s up? I’ll try to help.”

“Are you serious?” I groaned. This guy had to be insane. “You actually want to hear my problems? Willingly?”

“Yep. Let’s test out how good of a bartender I am. If you don’t feel better after talking to me then I’ll quit tomorrow. Fair plan?”

He couldn’t be serious, could he? But the thing was…he might have been Ms. Whittle’s ‘Ben,’ but he wasn’t my ‘Ben.’ Just because he was gorgeous, kind of cocky, built like an MAA fighter, and actually talking to me, that didn’t mean I was about to fall instantly in love with him. So, shrugging, I decided why not.

“I accidentally saw the boy I like having sex with his girlfriend today. I walked in on them in the school locker room. That’s not something I can unsee. It was a reality check on how lame I am, since I’ve never even been kissed before, and a reminder of how he’ll never be mine. So there. That’s the pathetic reason I’m crying. Oh, and today’s my birthday. My parents will be here soon, and I’ll have to suffer through a “fun-filled, excitement overloaded” weekend with them.”

I waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Serious as a heart attack, he asked, “You’ve never kissed anyone before?”

“No.” God, this was mortifying.

“Just today alone I’ve already kissed three different women.” He said this with pride. I already knew he was a manwhore from the rumors at school, and now he’d confirmed it.

“Ew,” I groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Okay.” He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw like he was thinking. Did guys like Rhett even have complex thoughts? “I have a plan to make you feel better. How about you and I…how about we kiss?”

I gasped and nearly slipped off my crate.

“Don’t look so stunned,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

Beautiful? That confirmed it; he had to be high. Or a flat out lunatic. Or maybe this was the reason he’d already kissed three girls today—he was a total player.

“How old are you?” he wanted to know next.

“Sixteen.”

“Yikes.” He jumped to his feet. Actually, he’d been kind of leaning toward me and I hadn’t even realized it until he ripped himself away from me. “You’re practically a kid. Is kissing a minor legal??”

With a giant huff, I stood up. “You are officially the worst bartender-turned-therapist ever!” I yelled at him.

“Oh yeah,” he yelled back, “well, you have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen!”

What?

“And you shouldn’t let one guy define you. You should never cry over someone as stupid as a guy. Because trust me, we’re all stupid when it comes to women. And you shouldn’t kiss me either. Your first kiss should be memorable and special—something that makes you smile for the rest of your life. Ask anyone, I’m not ‘first kiss’ material. I’m not ‘last kiss’ material either. And you are—”