“Considering I’ve joined the team,” Sumner says through a grunt, “I don’t exactly need them.”
I whirl around. “Since when?”
“Since Monday.”
I face the open water. Sumner. On therowingteam. The last sport I’d expect him to join. It does, however, fill in the gaps of his absence. But Sumner does not have an athletic side. A gaming side, sure, but he’s the guy with equations scrawled across his skin and a mental database of calculus so extensive it givesmea headache.
Except—maybe that’s not true anymore. He’s now also the guy laughing with Hailey Collins and getting on with a whole new group of friends. The very group that shoved William out into the lake.
Now he guides us toward the canoe with speed and dexterity I don’t expect. As we grow closer, I notice William’s removed most of the armor, all of which lies abandoned by his feet.
Leaving him very much shirtless underneath.
Sinewy muscle expands and contracts as he sucks in shallow gasps, his hands white and knuckling the frame of the boat. My eyes catch on the slopes of his lean shoulders, momentarily occupied by taut curves and smooth skin. Wind whips through deep honeyed strands of hair, and when he tries to push them from his face, they only fold back into place. His jaw clenches, tense.
Somehow Sumner aligns the boat beside his. A strong exhale tickles the back of my neck.
“I’m in need of assistance,” William offers uneasily.
“Yeah,” Sumner rasps. “No shit.”
I ignore him. “How did this happen?”
“They insisted it was tradition,” William says as he rubs his hands together to create warmth. “I assumed I was meant to do what they asked.”
There are a few seconds of shuffling as Sumner removes his olive jacket and tosses it to William. “Here,” he insists, eyes ticking from me to him. “I’m going to move in front of you.” He steers us a few inches ahead. “See that there? The bow ball? If you can grip it with both hands, I can tow you back to the dock.”
I glance behind me. William stuffs his arms inside Sumner’s jacket and then secures his grip on the sphere lodged on the narrow end of our boat. Sumner’s eyes swoop to mine, pausing as he senses something.
“What?” The word is flat and lifeless.
“You just”—I can’t stop the childish grin—“kindly asked he grip your ball.”
“My phrasing,” he emphasizes pointedly, “was much less crass.”
Sumner’s labored breaths hitch from behind me as he guides us toward the dock. It takes us longer since he’s hauling William this time, but eventually he eases us next to the sturdy post.
He steps out first, then lends me a hand. Without his jacket, he’s only in a gray Ivernia tee and worn jeans. Another faded equation is scrawled across his wrist. Sweat beads around his hairline. I am, admittedly, a little impressed. Not that I’ll feed his ego by saying so.
Once I’m stabilized on the dock, we each reach for one of William’s arms and hoist him up, the armor clattering on the wood as he awkwardly pushes himself into a standing position. A hint of soft skin gapes through the slender opening of Sumner’s jacket, revealing the waistband of his boxer briefs hanging on his hipbones. I’m briefly preoccupied by the tight muscles of his abdomen, and my throat works around a swallow as I turn away.
Is this my fault? Because I told William to try blending in? It must have been all too easy to get him to agree to this.
“Thank you,” he breathes, resting a palm against his chest.
“I told you they’ll leave you alone if you’re a good sport about it,” Sumner says. “It happens to everyone in Segner. And this is way better than having to climb a tree to retrieve an entire drawer of your underwear.”
My gaze darts toward Sumner as William begins tugging at the plate armor on his thighs. “That happened to you?”
“Jared’s idea, actually.” Sumner arches an eyebrow. “Stop picturing me in my boxer briefs, Carmichael.”
I click my tongue in my cheek, ignoring this. “Jared wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes. He would.” He smirks. “It’s how we became friends.”
Guy friendship will forever remain a mystery to me. I don’t know how you go from light hazing with a side of personal property invasion to best pals.
“That’s—” I shake my head. “Jared’s notmean.”
