GEMMA:Mmm. Jack in a bathing suit.
ME:He can see that, you know.
GEMMA:I know.
Eight
So yeah. Jackin a bathing suit.
By the time we arrive at Nick’s parents’ house in the Hamptons—beachside, obviously—we’re all hot and cranky, so we change into our suits, grab a few beers, and head directly to the pool. Because why not have a pool overlooking the ocean? Rich-people logic.
But not even the intensely spectacular view can pull my attention from this other, much more interesting view. Jack may have stepped up his fashion game in recent weeks, but this is my first time getting a real peek at what’s been hiding underneath those mostly baggy clothes. And it’s, uh... not what I would’ve expected.
He’s long and lean and cut like a swimmer. Even though I’ve never once seen him don workout attire, or, you know, work out, there are faint ridges of abs lining his stomach. A smattering of dark hair grazes his chest, trailing down into a thin line leading right into the edge of his waistband. His arms are sculpted without being beefy. To sum up,he’s hot. Certifiably hot. And I’m definitely not the only one who notices.
“I was mostly joking in that text thread, but damn.” Gemma looks him up and down from her perch on a poolside lounge chair.
“Sadie, did you know all that was under there?” Harley tilts her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose to get a better view.
I push my own sunglasses farther up on my nose, hoping to block my eyes so no one can tell how hard I’m staring. I make my shoulders move up and down in some kind of motion slightly resembling a shrug. “It’s—he’s—I—it’s—what?”
Gemma and Harley exchange a look before bursting into laughter.
“I hate you both.” Rising from my own lounger, I yank my cover-up over my head and toss it on the chair before diving into the pool.
The cool water rushes over me, and I relish the chill, though it does little to dampen the heat of my skin. Heat that is purely a result of sitting in the sun, of course.
Because Jack is nothing more than a friend. A good friend, and a supportive roommate, and really, what does it matter how good he looks in a bathing suit? It means nothing.
Even though it’s really good.
I push through the turquoise surface of the pool, gliding into an easy breaststroke, hoping a couple of laps will help clear my head. By the time I’ve swum the length of the pool a few times and I make it back to the shallow end, the rest of the group has planted themselves in my path. Nick splashes me, which he knows I hate, so I jump on his back and attempt to force him under the water.
But the man outweighs me by a hundred pounds, so my efforts are futile. Until Harley and Gemma jump on too. The three of us manageto shove his head under for a few seconds at least, and he comes up sputtering.
Jack watches our roughhousing from his perch, leaning against the side wall of the pool, away from the fray. His lips are quirked up in his bemused smile, but when his eyes meet mine, the smile drops and his eyes darken. He swallows a couple of times.
I start to wade my way over to him, but as soon as he sees me coming, he jumps out of the pool.
“Drink time?” Jack calls over his shoulder as he heads to the cooler we brought outside with us.
Gemma catches my eyes and gives me a sympathetic smile. I shrug it off, dunking back under the water so I have an excuse to block out everyone around me. Because that rebuff actually hurt. But it shouldn’t. It’s not like seeing Jack in a bathing suit is so earth-shattering it changes my totally platonic feelings for him. And these feelings are only platonic. Jack is totally wrong for me. More important, I’m totally wrong for him.
After our long drive, dinner with Nick’s parents, and a night swim, everyone is wiped out. We all say good night at the bottom of the stairs and head off to our respective rooms. Nick and Jack are sharing, and so are Harley and Gemma, which leaves me on my own. I should be grateful to not have to share, but I’m kind of longing for my own sleepover buddy. I need a distraction. I could crash in Harley and Gemma’s room, but it’s only equipped with two twin beds and I don’t want to sleep on the floor.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, instead of drifting off into apeaceful and dreamless slumber, as one should, my brain decides to replay the highlights from this afternoon like a super-annoying sportsball show.
Jack rising out of the pool like some nineties perfume-ad model, tossing back his wet hair, water droplets creating a perfect trail down his cut stomach.
Jack’s eyes visibly heating as he takes me in in my fabulous and definitely sexy bikini.
Jack turning and sprinting from the pool, doing anything and everything to get away from me as quickly as humanly possible.
Thirty minutes of that super-fun torture reel is enough to push me out of bed and send me tiptoeing down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Enough moonlight trickles in from the eight million windows of this fancy-ass house that I don’t need to turn any lights on. I pull gently on the fridge, looking for a water pitcher.
“Sadie!”
