“We’re done for the day.”
She chews her lip. Then she peels off her tank top.
My throat goes dry.
Underneath, she’s in a black sports bra. But it doesn’t matter. All I can see is the curve of her waist, the dip of her lower back, freckles scattered across her shoulders.
“Turn around,” she says, her hands on the waistband of her shorts.
I turn. Behind me, there’s a shuffle of fabric. I stare at a tree and count the knots in the bark. Try to remember the capital of Montana.
Art’s face. Think about Art’s face.
But Art’s face keeps getting replaced by the sound of her laughing at breakfast, or the way she says “Champ” like it means something, the weight of her hand on my chest this morning.
A splash. “Okay, you can look.”
I blow out a heavy breath.Get it together. She’s just a girl.
When I turn, she’s in the water up to her waist, wet strands clinging to her neck. Her shorts are in a pile next to her tank top.
Which means she’s in there in her underwear.
Water drips from her collarbone, travels down her chest, over the fabric of her bra, and falls into the pool below. I drag my eyes to the sky, and then to the trees again—at every single thing in this clearing thatisn’twet and half-dressed and ruining my life.
“You coming in?”
“I’m good.”
“Wow.” She tilts her head, water lapping at her shoulders. “The great Lance Calloway, afraid of a little cold water.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I don’t know,” she singsongs. “Maybe my self-defense prowess intimidates you.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely it.”
She sends a wave in my direction. It catches my shorts and soaks them to the knee.
“Oops.”
“Did you really just do that? What are you, five?”
She does it again.
“Oops,” she repeats, grinning.
I pull my shirt over my head and wade in, both because I need the cold water for reasons I’m not going to examine, and because apparently the only way to shut her up is to prove a point. I sink up to my hips and let it cool the fever under my skin.
Cavall launches himself in with a spectacular splash. Genevieve shrieks as the wave hits her, then she’s laughing, shoving water at him as he paddles around her in delighted circles.
“Your dog’s a menace.”
“He’s probably picking up bad habits fromyou.”
She laughs again, and I smile at the sound.
Cavall eventually tires out and paddles to the shallow end. Genevieve floats on her back, arms spread, eyes closed, her hair fanning out like copper streaks.
