Reed on the other hand is unfazed by my presence. It’s clear he does this all the time, interacting with girls his age. He motions at the clothes still clinging to my body like a chastity belt.
“Well... I imagine you wore a swimsuit if you planned on going boating.”
Yeah, I did, but not the Speedo one-piece you’re used to seeing me in, I want to argue with him.
“Turn around,” I say instead. I’m not feeling brave enough for him to see me in it just yet.
I see him swallow. Hard.
“You DID wear a swimsuit, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and his shoulders wilt a good foot with his sigh.
I didn’t peg Reed to be the afraid-of-skinny-dipping type, but then again, I still don’t know him well. When I work up the nerve to strip off my clothes, I’m not even looking to see if Reednotices. I’m fixed on the front windows of my cabin to make sure my dad isn’t watching out of them. I shed them a lot faster than I put them on and dive feetfirst off the dock into the water. When I come up for air, Reed is still standing there watching me, a smirk playing on his lips.
“You look good in black,” he says before cannonballing off the edge.
He swims closer to me as we both tread water.
“Want to play a game?”
“Something tells me I’ll regret saying yes given the way you’re looking at me right now,” I say.
There’s a wicked grin on his face.
“Say yes anyway.”
I hesitate. He’s pushing me far out of my comfort zone.
“Okay, yes.”
We swim back to the edge of the dock so we can grip the side with one hand.
“Two truths and a lie. I’ll go first,” he says.
I knew I was going to regret this.
“Rom-coms are my favorite movie genre. I sleep with the hall light on. I can count the number of girls I’ve kissed on one hand.”
I study his answers. There’sno wayall three of those aren’t a lie. I have no idea which one to pick.
As if he can sense my growing distress, he says, “I’ll make it easier on you. My favorite movie isThe Holiday.”
What?
“As in, Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet?”
“Yes,” he says with a grin.
“Ilovethat movie, but I’m kind of shocked that wasn’t your lie. Most guys our age likeSilence of the Lambs, not watching Cameron Diaz cry over Jude Law.”
“What can I say, I’m a weeper,” he says, quoting the movie.
I giggle. “You are not!”
“Are too. Now are you going to guess or what? You have a fifty-fifty shot at this point.”
His lips lift in another shameless smirk and draw my attention to how full they are. There’s no way he has only kissed a handful of girls by now.
