He’s wearing a blue T-shirt that shows a sliver of stomach. His denim shorts are loose with distressed tears on the knees—clearly intentional, unlike the damaged tears I grew up with in my own clothes.
“Hey,” I call out as I approach him.
He glances up and grins, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Hey.”
“So, where are we hammering stakes today?”
“Just a little further up in the dunes.”
I fish the mallet out of his backpack and flip it in the air, catching it skillfully by the handle. “Lead the way.”
We walk side by side through the sand, the summer heat clinging to our skin. His backpack looks heavy as he hoists it over his shoulder, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from offering to carry it. That would be too forward.
When we reach the site, I raise an eyebrow. It’s perched high in the dunes, conveniently offering an unobstructed view of the lifeguard tower.
“Did you pick this spot so you can stare at me all day while you’re working?” I tease, nudging his shoulder.
His cheeks flush. “No. Shut up. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Mhm, sure.”
We start working. I hammer the stakes while Hunter strings them together, scribbling notes in his battered notebook. At one point, he passes me a stake, and our fingers brush—just for a second. It’s nothing, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
After the plots are marked out, Hunter lets out a sigh of relief. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then rummages in his backpack for a metal water bottle. The ice inside rattles as he lifts it to his mouth, lips curling around the straw tip.
He catches me looking and thrusts the bottle toward me. “Thirsty?”
I hesitate. “Oh. I, uh—”
“I promise I don’t have cooties,” he assures with a wink.
My mouth feels as dry as the sand. I’d forgotten to pack my own water this morning, too worried about my stupid outfit. I hesitantly grab the bottle from his hands and take a sip. The cold water feels amazing as it glides down my throat.
He grabs a granola bar from his backpack and unwraps it. I shake my head when he offers me one, keeping quiet about the fact that my blood sugar is already too high. I don’t hide my diabetes, but it’s not something I volunteer either.
He munches on his granola bar in silence, staring out into the shimmering lake. I watch the way his jaw flexes with each bite, the way his throat bobs with each swallow.
I bet his throat would look so pretty covered in hickeys.
Jesus. What is wrong with me? That was completely inappropriate. I should stop staring at him.
To distract myself, I glance down at his water bottle, examining the cluster of stickers. Most of them are peeling and faded. My thumb gently glides over the sticker of the university’s mascot, a sturgeon fish.
“I used to go to Lakeview University,” I blurt.
Hunter looks at me, startled. “Really?”
“Yeah. I majored in political science. I was on the swim team, too.” My voice dips. “Got an athletic scholarship, which was a blessing, because my high school grades were… mediocre at best.” I let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.
“When did you graduate?”
I pause, eyes fixed on the horizon. “This September would’ve been the start of my senior year.”
“Would’ve…?” he echoes, a crease forming between his brows.
I grab a handful of sand and watch it trickle between my fingers. “I dropped out at the beginning of my sophomore year. Family crisis. Had to come back home.”
He hesitates, his gaze locked on me, unwavering. “I’m sorry… about all of that.”
