My head jerks up, pulse spiking. “Shut the fuck up, Walton.”
“Jesus, relax,” Chase says, clearly delighted he got a rise out of me. “Didn’t know you were this sensitive about PTA moms.”
Across the room, Eli’s thankfully not listening, too busy scrolling his phone, brow furrowed. Distracted. He barks out the occasional laugh when Chase says something especially dumb,but his head’s not here. His jaw’s too tight, his gaze flicking to nothing.
It should ease me that he’s not drilling down on me anymore, but it doesn’t.
Because when I glance up, Reid’s there. Sitting back against the wall, tape in hand, calm as you like. His eyes track from me to Eli to Chase, then back to me. Reading the room the way he reads the crease. Composed and patient, waiting for a tell.
Chase throws an arm across my shoulders. “You know what we should do, boys? We should all volunteer. Storm takes over Career Day. We’ll blow their tiny little minds.”
Jake snorts. “Yeah, because nothing screams child development like you teaching eleven-year-olds how to shotgun a beer.”
“Educational!” Chase protests. “It’s basically science—all about pressure and gravity.”
I shake my head, smirk tugging despite myself. It’s easy with them. Easier than it should be, considering how fucked my head is.
But then Reid’s knowing gaze cuts across me again, and it lands heavier than all of Chase’s chirps combined.
I keep my head down and tug on my hoodie, but the itch under my skin won’t quit. By the time I shove my bag into my locker and fish my phone out, I’m already strung tight.
And then I see them.
A whole string of notifications, one after another.
First pic: Flamingo Lagoon 2.0. Except now there’s a goddamn unicorn float shoved in the mix, rainbow mane and all.
Second: an inflatable pizza slice floating happily on the surface, complete with plastic pepperoni.
Third: an army of rubber ducks lined up along the pool’s edge, in Storm colors. She’s actually taken a Sharpie to them—jersey numbers scrawled across their chests, captain’s “C” on one, an“A” on two more. My number’s right there, glaring at me from the beak of a bright yellow duck.
Fourth: a flamingo drink holder with a garish, umbrella-stuck cocktail. She’s scrawled a note on a napkin next to it that saysHydration is important, Coach.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I shuffle through them, but by the fifth, I’m choking on air.
Because it’s her.
Sprawled across the giant flamingo, one leg kicked lazily over the side, yellow bikini tied high enough to bare the smooth skin of her hip. I want to undo those ties with my teeth.
Her sunglasses are crooked, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, and Dusty is passed out in the grass behind her as the world’s happiest bodyguard.
Lulu:See you soon, Coach.
My grip tightens on the phone. Heat crawls up my neck, pounding low and heavy.
I’m fucked. Fully and completely.
Across the room, Chase is hollering about dinner, Jake is chirping him back, Eli’s still distracted with his phone—thank Christ. But when I glance up, Reid’s eyes are already on me, watching me grin like an idiot at my screen.
I force my mouth back into something neutral and shove my hood up over my head, but the damage is done. Reid doesn’t say a word, but the crease of knowing between his brows makes my stomach twist. He’s clocked something, and if he has, Eli won’t be far behind.
I thumb out a reply before I can stop myself.
Me:You think you’re funny, don’t you?
Me:Don’t get too comfortable. Those ducks are dead the second I get home.
Three dots appear instantly.
