Page 30 of The Summer We Lie

"Hey, Harp," the blonde one—Logan—says with a warm smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners.

"Hey, Logan." Harper walks up to hug him, and they seem close, comfortable in a way that speaks of years of familiarity. "Hey," she says to the other one, Ethan.

"Hey, trouble maker," he replies with a fond smirk, dark eyes warming slightly at the sight of her.

"Oh, hey, this is my friend Skye," she says, and all eyes turn to me. I can feel each gaze like a physical touch, making my skin prickle with awareness.

"Hi," I say, trying my best not to seem as intimidated as I feel standing almost naked in front of these three gorgeous men. My voice comes out smaller than I intended.

"Hi Skye, nice to meet you," Logan says, walking closer and holding out his hand. I shake it, noticing how warm and firm his grip is. "I'm Logan, and this less attractive guy behind me is Ethan."

I laugh despite myself, relaxing a little at his easy humor, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

Ethan steps up, playfully pushing Logan out of the way. "Hi," he says, taking my still-outstretched hand. His grip is different from Logan's—cooler, more controlled. "I'm definitely the hot one," he adds with a wink that makes my cheeks flush.

I smile at him, feeling my face heat up. "Nice to meet you." Then I quickly add, "Both of you," not wanting to seem like I'm playing favorites.

Mr. Grayson clears his throat and pulls Ethan back by the shoulder. "She's nineteen, fuckheads," he says in a low, warning tone that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, his voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.

"I'm making steaks and baked potatoes if you girls want to go change and come back down," he says, turning back to the grill, effectively dismissing the moment.

"Yes, thank God, we are starving," Harper says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward an outdoor shower tucked discreetly into the side of the house, partially hidden by climbing jasmine.

She turns the water on and pulls me in with her. I yelp at the first contact with the cold water hitting my sun-warmed skin, and she laughs at my reaction, the sound bright in the gathering twilight.

"I told you they were dipshits," she whispers once we're under the spray, rinsing off sand and salt, the water creating rivulets down our bodies.

"Yeah, but they're hot dipshits," I whisper back, my voice barely audible over the sound of running water.

"Yep," she agrees, reaching for a bottle of citrus-scented shampoo. "I've had a huge crush on Logan since I was like twelve. He's so pretty."

"They're all pretty," I say before I can stop myself, the words tumbling out unbidden as I think about the three impossibly attractive men standing just yards away from us.

I grab the bottle when she's done and wash my hair too, the cool water cascading down my scalp is delicious after hours baking under the sun and being tossed around by salty waves.

"Is this normal to wash your hair out here?" I ask, working the shampoo through my tangled strands, the fragrance rising around us in the steam.

"Well, sometimes if I'm not taking a full shower when I go change I will, but if I'm going to shower then no," Harper explains, playfully elbowing me for better position under the spray, water droplets flying between us.

"Ah, that makes sense," I say, tipping my head back to rinse my hair and deliberately nudging her aside to claim more water. We keep battling for the spray, laughing and shoving each other like we've done a thousand times before, our giggles echoing against the wooden slats.

"Okay, let's go change and meet back down here," she says finally, stepping away from the outdoor shower, water streaming down her perfect curves.

"Okay," I agree and shut off the water with a squeak of the handle. She hands me a clean towel and I realize her dad must have brought them out for us because we definitely didn't bring them. The thoughtfulness of that small gesture catches me off guard.

I dry off some and then wrap the towel around me, following Harper inside, our wet feet leaving dark footprints on the deck. We go our separate ways at the stairs, and when I get to my room, I shut the door and dig through my suitcase for clothes, scattering items in my usual chaotic fashion. I find my old Pixies t-shirt – worn thin at the edges, black faded to charcoal – and a pair of sleep shorts, so I grab those real quick and duck into the bathroom to finish drying off.

When I'm fully dry, I slip on the clothes I brought in, not bothering with underwear at the moment—I'll still need to shower when I come back to my room anyway to wash away all the remaining salt and sand. The soft, worn cotton of the shirt feels comforting against my skin.

When I'm dressed, I dry my hair some more with the towel, squeezing out the excess water before throwing the towel over the shower wall. I make my way back out into the house, padding through the hallway, but I don't see Harper anywhere. I start to walk outside when a deep voice calls my name, stopping me in my tracks.

I turn my head toward the kitchen and see Ethan in there with the fridge door open, the cool light illuminating his sharp features – the angular jaw, those dark eyes.

"You want something to drink?" he asks, his voice casual but somehow making my throat go dry.

"Uh, yeah," I say, walking into the kitchen, my bare feet silent against the polished floors that feel cool and smooth beneath my toes.

He starts listing off drinks, and I walk up to peek inside the refrigerator, the chill air washing over my sun-warmed skin. I spot Miller Light bottles and grab one of them, twisting the top off and taking a drink that turns into downing half the bottle in one go, my thirst suddenly overwhelming. When I pull it away from my lips, he's smiling at me, his dark eyes amused in a way that makes my cheeks warm.