PARKER

It's been a year and a half. Eighteen entire months since I last saw Isla.

If FaceTime counts, which it doesn't, it's been four. Four months since she picked up my call, frazzled, cheeks flushed, telling me now wasn't a good time. Four months since I heard a guy's voice calling her name through her apartment door. Four months since she butt-dialed me and left a voicemail of sex noises.

She was fucking someone named Dalton.

With a name like that, I'm certain he's a scrawny trust fund kid from Cape Cod. The image of a pile of Vineyard Vines at the foot of Isla's bed makes me want to hurl.

James told me to chill, that he's probably a fuck buddy. He reminded me that I've had multiple since Isla and I broke up, but the thing is, Isla Talbot isn't the no-strings-attached type. When Isla has sex, it's meaningful. The guy she commanded to come inside her couldn't be her fuck buddy.

Nope. That was a boyfriend.

I don't know if I had any right to be angry, but I sure as hell was. I stopped answering her texts. After a month, she gave up. We haven't spoken since.

And now, here she is, sitting in the driveway next door, drawing chalk flowers with her little sister while she chats with her mom and Austin. I rest my head against the steering wheel, planning my walk from the car to my front door. Ducking my head down and booking it inside is rude, but a quick wave is neighborly. Waving while walking tells them that I'm too busy to talk but still courteous enough for a hello.

God, I hate the suburbs.

I push open the door, and Adrienne immediately foils my plan. At the top of her little lungs, she shrieks, "Day!"

In toddler-speak, Day translates to James. Isla's sister is obsessed with my brother. He took her on a wagon ride around the block once, and that's all it took to earn her loyalty.

As an identical twin, I'm used to cases of mistaken identities. Our parents and Isla are the only people who call us by the correct names a hundred percent of the time. Most of our friends and relatives have to pause and assess before greeting us.

Being referred to by my brother's name doesn't usually bother me, but today, I wish we were fraternal and discernable to toddlers. Adrienne is so excited to see "James" that she scrambles up from her driveway and runs straight towards me as quickly as her tiny legs will carry her.

So much for rushing inside.

"Day!" she squeaks. "Day home, day home."

"Hi, Adrienne!" I say back. She collides with my shins and kneecaps, wrapping my legs into a hug. I pat her back a couple times, chuckling.

"That's Parker, right?" I hear Mary ask Isla.

I don't catch Isla's response, but I guess she confirms, because Mary hollers, "Hi, Parker!"

I start to shout back a hello, but I'm distracted by a tugging on my hand, which is now covered in pinkish dust. "Day, play?" Adrienne asks, staring up at me with huge doe eyes.

I try to find the resolve to say no, but her toddler charm is irresistible. She's bouncing on her heels with excitement, and there's a gap between her two front teeth. I can't disappoint someone so adorable, no matter how awkward the situation I'm agreeing to.

"I can play for a few minutes," I tell her.

She emits a squeak of joy and leads me to the sea of chalk drawings and scribbles on her driveway. Mary and Austin shoot me friendly grins. Isla, kneeling between them, avoids eye contact like the world will explode if our gazes meet.

"Hey, guys," I say.

Mary and Austin's greetings are friendly and loud. Isla mumbles hers. Something seems to switch in her mind, though, because a second later, she rolls her shoulders back and looks straight into my eyes. "Hi, Parker."

The world remains intact.

"Hey." My throat dries. She's fucking gorgeous. Her hair is shorter than before, cut a few inches below her shoulders. Her eyes are just as blue as I remember. She's dressed in a skirt and blouse, like she just came from a business meeting. A piece of metal glints under the sunlight, and I have to actively focus to keep my jaw from dropping.

Isla pierced her nose?

As if she's confirming my inner question, her hand jumps from her lap to the stud and begins fidgeting.

She must have a secret twin or a clone gone rogue. The Isla Talbot I know would never stick a needle through her nose.

"Help yourself to chalk," Austin offers, gesturing at an overturned bucket of colorful cylinders.

"Thanks." I grab a green one and sketch a smiley face on the pavement. It isn't an accurate representation of my mood right now, but I'm a shitty artist. My options are limited to smiles, basic geometric shapes, and the weird three-dimensional 'S' everyone drew in elementary school.

"You graduated this year, right, Parker?" Mary asks.

"Right," Isla and I answer at the same time.

Mary glances at Isla for a split second, raising a brow, but her focus quickly returns to me. "Congratulations. What's up next for you?"

"I start my new job next week," I reply, grinning. "I'm going to be a contracts manager at Union Shelter in the city."

For a second, Isla seems to have forgotten that we haven't spoken in months. A huge smile lights up her face, but it fades in an instant. Her eyes dart to Austin's drawing.

"That's awesome," she finally says quietly.

"Really awesome," Mary agrees. "Wow. So soon after graduating."

I smile at Mary, then flash one at Isla too, just to be polite. "Thanks. I'm exc—"

"No boo!" A piece of blue chalk skids across the driveway. Adrienne stomps her foot, sending multicolored dust into the air.

I jerk my head up and meet Austin's weary expression. "Nap time," he sighs.

"No nap!"

Isla giggles into her palm. Adrienne, clearly feeling betrayed by her sister's laughter, pouts. "Sissy, no nap!"

Isla lowers her hand, biting back a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Adri. I don't make the rules."

"No nap!" she shrieks.

"Yes, nap," Mary deadpans. Turning to me, she says warmly, "Nice to see you, Parker."

"You too." I brush off my jeans and jump to my feet, grateful for Adrienne's tantrum. I mean, I feel kind of bad for Mary and Austin, but I'm relieved to have an excuse to leave.

"Nice seeing you, Austin and Isla," I add.

Austin hoists a kicking and screaming Adrienne into the air. "See you later," he calls over his daughter's wails.

"Wait, Parker."

It's Isla's voice. Vulnerable and soft and low.

Even if I wanted to keep walking, I'd be incapable. That tone freezes me in my tracks. On the rare occasion that Isla opens up, her voice always drops an octave.

Maybe she's dying to confess that she thinks of me while she's with trust fund boy. I pivot in place.

Isla steps towards me, a nervous expression on her face. "Did, um..." She swallows. "Did your phone break?"

Not the question I was expecting.

I pull my phone from my pocket to inspect for damage. I'm pretty sure the chalk only hit a doodled butterfly, but Adrienne has a hell of an arm for a one-year-old. I could have missed it. A quick glance at the screen assures me that the cranky toddler overshot her expensive target.

"Nah. Looks good," I tell Isla.

"I mean, in January. We haven't..." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You kind of stopped responding to me, so I was wondering what happened."

I tilt my head, shooting her a look that says, C'mon. We both know she's aware of the voicemail. She texted me after to apologize. I don't know why she's suddenly playing dumb four months later.

"Parker?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened?" she presses.

"Come on, Isla," I sigh.

Her brows knit in confusion that must be feigned. I mean, she has to know about the voicemail. She acknowledged it in the apology text.

Didn't she?

Fuck. Did she?

"I feel like I'm missing something," she says in a choked laugh.

"I have a five-minute audio clip of you fucking someone named Dalton in my voicemail," I explain. My words come out a lot harsher than I intended, and Isla flinches.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, her voice wobbling.

I scroll through unopened voicemails until I reach January 20 and press play. A couple seconds of audio is all Isla needs to understand. She gasps, jumping backwards, as if my phone's about to punish her for her sins.

"Oh my God," she breathes. "I'm so sorry. I never would have done that on purpose. Oh my God. I'm so—"

"Isla," I interrupt, "I know it wasn't intentional. No worries."

"Oh." She sucks in a deep breath of air before slowly exhaling through her still-clenched jaw. "Wait. Why'd you stop talking to me if you know I didn't send that trying to hurt you?"

"I mean..." I trail off, hoping she'll figure it out on her own before I find the right words. No such luck. She stares expectantly, and I clear my throat. "I, uh, figured I shouldn't talk to you if you have a boyfriend, you know?" And I was mad, but I don't want to admit that now.

Her brows come together one more time. "A boyfriend?"

"Yeah." I shove my hands into my pockets, wishing I had something to fiddle with. "Wasn't he your—"

"No."

I'm skeptical. "You told a random guy to come inside you?"

Her hands fly to her mouth. "Oh my God. The voicemail has—" Her eyes widen "—everything?"

Yep. Isla should find herself a man who lasts longer.

"Yeah. All of it. Do you have him saved in your phone as dozen-pump Dalton?"

"Oh my God," she groans. A tiny giggle escapes before she composes herself. "For your information, he usually lasted longer than your average voicemail. I wouldn't settle for a fuck buddy that bad."

A fuck buddy? Isla Talbot has a fuck buddy?

She narrows her eyes, interpreting my surprise as anger. "Don't tell me you were celibate for two years," she scoffs.

I recoil. "No." I pause. "Hold on. You have a fuck buddy?"

"I had a fuck buddy." She folds her arms impatiently, like she's waiting for the next question.

"Not a boyfriend?" I clarify.

"Not a boyfriend." Her crossed arms tighten against her chest. "You really think I'd only sleep with someone if he were my boyfriend?"

I shrug, feeling like an idiot. The Isla I knew two years ago wouldn't have slept with someone who wasn't her boyfriend, but this Isla... I don't know this Isla. This Isla poked a brand-new hole through her nose.

"I learned a lot about myself two summers ago. One of those things is that I like sex." She pauses. "You're allowed to take credit. You aren't allowed to get mad."

Before I can respond, she's spinning on her heel and flouncing into her house, leaving me wondering, Who the fuck was that?