Chapter 1

I’m drowning.

It’s that same feeling I have every morning, that same floating sensation, as if my mattress could sink and swallow me up. I lay there in my cold apartment, the AC always thrumming in my ears, my breaths coming out in mists, traveling like the last ghosts of the night, chased away by the early morning sunlight. I don’t like to live in the shadows, but I can’t escape them at night. It’s hard to catch any sleep with the lights on so I just close my eyes in the dark and pretend that I’m somewhere brighter than I actually am. It’s not that I’m afraid of the dark—I’m just tired of the emptiness. That’s where all the worst things live, the darkness.

I give into the water for a few minutes, laying back in my bed like I’m in the middle of the ocean, counting the raised impressions on the popcorn ceiling to ground me so that I don’t forget that I’m still in my apartment, that I’m awake now, that nothing can actually pull me under the water. I keep wondering when I’ll sink, when my thoughts will become my reality, but I guess that’s a little overly dramatic. People don’t actually sink—they give up.

I’m not giving up. I’m still kicking.

But still, somehow, I’m drowning.

The weather was way too hot, like disgustingly hot, the kind of hot that leaves you wiping sweat off places that you shouldn’t even be sweating from. I probably wouldn’t even be out if it wasn’t for the fact that I really, really needed to go to the farmer’s market. There’s a cart that has the best avocados, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that I have a serious addiction. Sure, send me to a 12-step program. I probably still won’t give them up. I might even convert my sponsor with visions of avocado toast and guacamole.

Do I sound like a millennial? It shouldn’t surprise you because I am one. My generation is apparently fucking up the housing market and running fast food places out business or some shit like that. It’s our fault that McDonald’s, real estate, the stock market, and golf were dying. Sure thing, it was all us.

Because we buy avocados.

In my case, it was the literal truth though, so I really shouldn’t be one to talk. Plus, I don’t know any better. I can act innocent and coy. Nobody really raised me. I spent the better half of my childhood in the foster care system, but that’s a story for another day.

I wasn’t really expecting much but avocados and sweat stains in all those places that I mentioned (or didn’t mention because it’s too gross to talk about), but life has a way of taking you by surprise sometimes. No, the avocados weren’t the highlight of my day.

He was.

Over by the strawberry booth, flirting and joking with the old-as-balls strawberry lady, making her smile because that was just the way he was, those were just the kind of things he did. He had one of those dazzling Hollywood smiles, all straight white teeth and deep dimples that looked more like laugh lines because yeah, this guy was always smiling. He was a t-shirt and jeans guy; a windswept black hair guy; a starless dark blue eyes guy; a golden Californian tanned skin guy—in other words, exactly the kind of guy I would’ve walked past without a second thought because guys like that usually walked past me without a second thought too. I was weaving in and out of the crowd, looking for my avocado guy so I probably wouldn’t have even noticed him if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t walk past me. He did something really suicidal: he grabbed my bag and pulled me to a halting stop.

I wasn’t impressed the first time I saw him. He was a good-looking guy; probably some creep that thought I was an easy lay.

He had the grace to let go of the strap of my bag after the look I gave him, holding up his hands as if trying to show that he wasn’t some creep, but I wasn’t buying it. I know from experience that only the worst kind of creeps have to go out of their way to prove that they aren’t creeps.

“What?” I asked, annoyed.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding up a ring of keys. My car keys.

“Oh, shit,” I said, suddenly feeling like an ass. Cue the donkey haw.

He put my keys in my palm with one of those shit-eating grins, clearly amused by my embarrassment. Whatever.

“Thanks,” I said, dropping my keys in my bag. “Sorry, I’m kind of a bitch this early in the morning.”

He shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky.

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly,” I said.

He, the creep, laughed. One of those deep, throaty laughs that sound genuine, but I wasn’t really feeling up to laughing with some hotshot creep at the farmer’s market. I had more important things do. Like finding avocados.

“Want a smoothie? It’ll wake you up.”

Yep, the whole easy lay conversation that usually begins with some nice gesture.

“My body doesn’t exactly react well to that kind of stuff so it’s gonna have to be a hard pass.”

“Your body reacts badly to smoothies?”

“Anything healthy in general. Except for avocados.”

“You don’t eat anything healthy except for avocados?”

No shit, wasn’t that what I’d just said? But he had returned my car keys, something he hadn’t had to do, so I decided to cut the guy some slack.

“Healthy things throw my whole immune system out of order. My body is used to working overtime to accommodate the cheeseburgers or whatever other shit I’m engorging myself with for the day. I don’t want my body getting lazy. I’ve got to keep it working.”

“You’d probably make a terrible boss.”

“I’m a good boss, actually.”

“Alright boss, so how do you get your day started then?”

“I get out of bed.”

He laughed. Another genuine one, throwing me off a little.

“But what really wakes you up in the mornings? Anything in particular?”

“My alarm clock.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t make me have to explain what I’m really asking you.”

“Alright, you got me. Coffee.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about my addictions with strangers.”

“You’re making it really hard for me to ask you on a date.”

Bingo. There it is.

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Obviously.”

“Didn’t seem so obvious to me.”

“You’re full of shit. Come on, I know a place.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to a date.”

“You got anything better to do?”

“I’m looking for my avocado guy. Another addiction.”

“Perfect. It’s on the way.”

I did kind of want a coffee, iced preferably, and he had returned my keys so I just shrugged.

“Try not to look too excited,” he teased, motioning for me to follow him.

I bought twelve avocados from the avocado guy (shut up, don’t judge me) and gifted one to the creep just for the hell of it. He seemed really pleased, acting like it was the best gift he’d ever received, cradling it carefully like it was a baby. This guy was weird, but in a frustratingly charming way. I tried not to make it too obvious that I was warming up to him, but I was pretty sure he’d caught on. He was smiling a lot more, like approval from this mean brown chick was boosting his confidence or something.

He seemed to know the farmer’s market backwards and forwards because he led me through it like it was a maze, catching my wrist in one of his big hands at some point to keep from losing me in the crowd. I didn’t shake him off, but I still couldn’t tell you why. He stopped us in front of a food truck I’d never seen before.

“Hungry?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

“Meals are strictly reserved for second dates,” I said, humoring him.

“Alright, you’re not wrong,” he said grinning and walking up to the truck. “Two coffees.”

“Iced,” I corrected.

“Iced,” he agreed and flipped his wallet open.

“I can pay,” I said, catching him by the sleeve. “To repay you for returning my keys.”

“First of all, you already got me a great avocado. And secondly, these are first date rules 101. I’m buying.”

“Are we living in the stone ages? I can pay.”

“Our first argument already,” he said, laughing. “You move this fast in all your other relationships?”

I rolled my eyes and shoved him out of the way, sliding my credit card across the counter. He tried to act like he was really offended, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, suppressing a smile. The sun was shining down on him, making him look like an absolute dream beneath the cloudless blue sky. He really was attractive and something told me that he probably knew it.

Two coffee cups and a picnic table later we were introducing ourselves. The avocado sat next to his hand. He was lovingly stroking it. Weirdo.

“Eugene.”

I snorted into my coffee.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, laughing and passing me a napkin.

“Not that Eugene’s bad,” he added. “I have a second cousin once removed named Eugene. Or is he a first cousin twice removed? Shit, I can’t really keep up at the family reunions. Nice guy, though.”

Family reunions. I’d forgotten that regular people had to pencil those into their schedules every once in a while. If you haven’t guessed already from my brief mention of being a foster kid, I have no family. Not even extended family.

“So what’s your name then?” I asked. “Can’t be any worse than Eugene.”

“It’s not,” he said. “My name’s Chauncey. Great name, right?”

“Oh my god,” I said, laughing even though I’d been trying really hard not to. “Really?”

“Nah.”

“I don’t go on second dates with strangers, you know.”

He leaned in across the picnic table, his face inches from mine. His dark blue eyes flashed mischievously.

“Ever kissed a stranger before?”

“No,” I said, inching back.

“Let’s get that checked off your bucket list. Kiss me and I’ll tell you my name, I promise.”

“No.”

“Your mouth says no but your eyes say yes.”

“You don’t know a damned thing about my eyes.”

“I know that they’re beautiful.”

I had to cover my nose with my hand to stifle a snort.

“You’re really cringey,” I said.

He reached out and curled a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me so close to his face that I could feel his breath warm on my lips. My mouth hung open in shock. I recovered quickly.

“Ever heard of personal space?”

“I don’t see you pulling away.”

Screw it.

“Jesus, just kiss me and get it over with already.”

And that was our first kiss. Under the blazing hot sun at the buzzing farmer’s market, teeth knocking for one awkward moment, smiling against each other’s mouths, and then we forgot where we were. His fingers slipped into my hair, his hand warm and soft, making me lose myself until my hands left the coffee on the table and ended up in his black hair, thicker than I was expecting, finding a grip and pulling him even closer, tasting that first date coffee on his lips. He kissed me like I was air in his lungs, like he needed my lips to breathe, inhaling, groaning, running his tongue along mine the second my mouth opened.

“Oh shit,” I gasped, pulling back. I’d only intended for it to be a short little kiss to make him lose interest. I’d always been a terrible kisser.