Harris’s house is ... massive. Like, “I got lost looking for the bathroom” massive. Like, “I was half convinced there was a wing I wasn’t allowed in” massive.
His pool is where I now live.
Floating on a giant inflatable donut, I bob up and down on the clear blue water—sunglasses on, hat tilted over my face—while Harris splashes around beside me like an overgrown Labrador puppy.
“I bet you five bucks I can flip you over without using my hands,” he announces, wading closer, water dripping down his smooth, muscular chest.
I love that chest. Could stare at it all damn day, especially soaking wet.
“Don’t you freaking dare. I will kill you.” I’ve been threatening him all weekend. Another thing I’ve learned about him (that Ibasically already knew)? Harris loves making bets—and making things interesting.
It’s cute.
Until it’s not.
He grins at me, pearly white teeth and mischief, and then—he disappears. Full-on submarine mode.
I freeze. The donut bobbles beneath me, and I tighten my grip, heart racing. “Harris?”
Silence.
The water ripples ominously.
“This isn’t funny!” I warn him, squinting over the side of the pink sprinkled tube, peering into the crystal water below me; unfortunately he is nowhere to be seen.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “I swear to God ...”
The tube shifts. I squeal.
When his hand brushes my ankle, I shriek overdramatically, flailing as if my life depends on it, desperate to get away from his grasp.
I Refuse to go under!
He surfaces a few feet away, splashing water at me. “You’re jumpy.”
I glare, pushing soggy strands of hair off my face. “You are so annoying!”
He circles me slowly in the water like a shark, predator-style, shoulders bobbing above the surface. “You look nervous, babe.”
Because I am. “Will you leave me alone if I take my top off?” I offer.
He tilts his head, considering it. “No. ’Cause then I’ll want my hands on you more.”
He goes under again.
I yelp. He wouldn’t dare! “Harris! No!”
The water goes still. I whip my head side to side, searching.
