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"It's not that you shouldn't do it. It's that you shouldn't sit there wearing shorts that end just below your ass and put that image in my head.”

I laugh, assuming he's kidding, and then take in the tension in his jaw. My eyes flicker to his lap, where I discern an unmistakable bulge that wasn't there a minute ago.

"Oh," I say ineptly. "Geez, Brendan. I'm flattered. I figured that threesome with supermodels you probably had before we left would've taken the edge off.”

He gives me a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not that bad."

"I'm not judging you. If I were a hot 28-year-old guy, I'd probably be doing it too."

"Yeah, but I think your image of me is based a lot more on some bullshit of Rob's than it is the truth."

"It's not any bullshit of Rob's. You took home more girls during that summer we worked together than I've even met over the course of my life."

"I was 24, Erin, 24 and stupid, with some money and my own apartment for the first time in my life. That doesn't mean it's who I am now."

"No? How many girls have you had in that hammock?"

"Honestly? Not a single one."

I stare at him incredulously. "Why?"

"I didn’t get the hammock to have sex in. I don't have girls over to my place.”

“Never?”

“It’s best to keep sex separate, so no one gets the idea that it means something.”

Would it be the end of the world if it did mean something, Brendan?

I don’t ask because I’m pretty sure that for him, the answer is yes.

* * *

We arrive at the Rubicon trail faster than expected, thanks to Brendan’s inability to obey the speed limit, and hike it faster than anyone should, thanks to Brendan’s inability to walk at a normal pace. We sit for a while at the end, taking in the view.

“This would be a great area to lead tours,” he says with a sigh, leaning against a rock and closing his eyes.

I feel a small shot of panic. Not even two months ago I didn’t want him moving home. Now the idea of him moving away makes me feel slightly ill. “Better than Colorado?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. Similar, actually. It’s a good place to try a lot of different things.”

“What do you mean by ‘different’? I thought you were just leading bike tours.”

“No. When I go somewhere I want to try it all—biking, hiking, rock-climbing. I don’t want people to feel like they have to choose one activity. I can’t do it yet, but eventually I’ll offer multi-sport tours, things that can be customized. Someone who’s only got a week in Colorado will be able to squeeze in every damn experience possible.”

“I never would have guessed there was altruism behind your decision to start your own company.”

He smiles. “It’s not all that altruistic. I plan to charge an assload of money for the experience.” He jumps to his feet, and reaches out a hand to pull me up.

“In a rush?” I ask.

“No,” he replies, “but there’s one thing you can do here that you can’t do at home, so we need to make a pitstop.”

He leads me down to the tall rocks overlooking the bay. I’m just about to say something about the view when, without warning or hesitation, he pulls off his shirt. I stare. I know I shouldn’t stare, but his chest…it deserves its own calendar and commemorative stamp. “You ready, Doyle?” he asks.

I know he’s talking about jumping in, but for a moment my mind goes in another direction. He dives in before I’ve managed to craft a response.

A moment later he surfaces, shaking the water from his face and doing a leisurely backstroke away from the rocks. Just like that, I’m back to staring.