Click here if you walk over to the guy reading The Iliad.
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Click here if you decide to sunscreen yourself the best you can and keep reading.
Click here to go back to checking out the lifeguard
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Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
YOU figure that any guy who saved a dog’s life is worth saying hello to. Especially when that dog saver was checking you out on his way back to his lifeguard chair and had secrets in his eyes.
You put The Metamorphosis back in your tote bag, make sure your bikini is covering everything it’s supposed to, and head over to the lifeguard stand.
“Hey,” you say, yelling a little so he can hear you. “That was pretty impressive lifesaving.”
The guard looks down from his chair and smiles at you. “Thanks,” he says. Then his eyes dart back out over the water. “I have to monitor the swimmers, but if you want to climb up here, I can chat while I look. And you can be an extra pair of eyes.”
You’ve actually always wondered what the beach looks like from the top of a lifeguard chair, so you say sure.
“Just climb up the front,” he says. “It’s built like a ladder, for easy on and off.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” you say.
He laughs, still looking out at the ocean. “I’m not a sailor. Well, at least not at the moment.”
When you get to the top of the stand, he shifts to the right to give you some room. You sit next to him and look out at the ocean.
“I’m J.R., by the way,” he says.
You introduce yourself to him and then say, “What did you mean about not being a captain at the moment?” You’re looking at his face in profile. It’s a nice one. Smooth skin, shaved head, curling eyelashes, pouty lips.
“Oh, nothing really,” he responds, focused on the water. “Just my older brother has a sailboat, and sometimes I sail with him. He always lets me captain the ship when I do.”
That’s one of the sweetest big-brother things you’ve ever heard. It makes you wish you had a big brother with a sailboat, even though you don’t know how to sail.
“That’s nice of him,” you answer.
“Yeah, he’s kind of like a dad to me,” J.R. says.
You want to ask more about that, about what that means and why his brother has to act like a father, but it’s the first conversation you’ve ever had with this guy, and you don’t want to seem too pushy.
Luckily, J.R. continues without your prodding. “Our dad died when I was six and Chris was sixteen, and ever since then, he’s taken care of me.”
You think about that and about how J.R. is kind of taking care of the whole beach right now. How he took care of that dog. “So you pay it forward?” you ask.
He takes his gaze away from the beachfront for a second to look at you quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“The taking-care thing,” you say. “Isn’t that your job? To take care of people?”
“Huh,” he says. “I never thought of that. Are you a psych major or something?”
“A high schooler,” you answer. “Rising junior. What about you?”
“I just graduated from high school last month. I’m taking a gap year. Gonna work at my brother’s boat dealership while I figure out what I want to do. Maybe be an EMT. That’s top on my list now.”
“EMT’s cool,” you say. “More taking care.”
He laughs. “You’re right.”
Both of you are looking out at the water. In one section there are two people in kayaks and about ten people on surfboards, then in another section there are maybe double that number of kids on boogie boards and a handful of people swimming and jumping in the waves—one of them is probably Tasha, you think, but you can’t tell which. There are also six people hanging on to the floating dock that’s about seventy-five feet out into the ocean. Actually, maybe Tasha’s there. It looks as if there’s someone in bright yellow, but then again, it’s possible there’s another girl on this beach who owns a yellow suit. You have no idea how J.R.—and the other lifeguards who are down closer to the shore at the moment—can watch all of this at once.
You look over and see his eyes zipping back and forth, from right to left, left to right, scanning the water. His head is moving a little bit, too. You look out again and watch one of the kayakers. You’ve never kayaked before, but you think it looks like something that might be fun to try. Maybe Tasha knows where you can rent a kayak. Maybe tomorrow.
While you’re watching, the kayaker gets caught in a big wave and gets pushed pretty close to the jetty. He starts paddling away, but then you see a big wave heading straight toward him. You can’t help but gasp. “Oh no! Watch out!” you cry, even though there’s no way the kayaker can hear you. But J.R. can.
“What?” he asks, alarmed. “What is it?”
“The wave! The kayak!” You point toward the jetty.
“Oh hell!” he says, and blows his whistle, standing up on the chair’s footrest. The people in the water turn to look at him, making sure they haven’t gone out too far or anything, but the kayaker seems not to hear.
You watch in horror as the wave throws the kayak against the jetty and the tiny boat capsizes. Before you can register what happened, J.R. is off the chair with his rescue tube and running to the water. He dives in and swims in a perfect, superfast crawl stroke to where the boat capsized. By the time he gets there, the kayaker has popped up and is hanging on to his boat to stay afloat. You can’t tell exactly what’s going on from so away, but it looks as if maybe the guy’s head is bleeding.
J.R. does some sort of maneuver that seems to stabilize the guy’s head and neck and swims with him back to shore. He comes running back and grabs a backboard, while radioing some other guards and asking you to call 911.
You jump down from the chair and grab your phone. You’ve never made a 911 call, but you tell them what happened and that the lifeguard said to call, and they say an ambulance will be there as soon as possible.
Tasha comes out of the ocean and finds you on your towel, where you’re standing and watching all this unfold. J.R. has the guy strapped onto a backboard so that his head and neck are immobilized, and two other lifeguards have come over from somewhere—maybe farther down on the beach? Other than the blood on his head, the guy seems mostly okay. He’s alert and breathing and moving at least, and seems to be talking to some of the people gathered around him.
“What’s going on?” Tasha asks, drying herself off.
“The guy’s kayak got slammed into the jetty. It was really scary.”
“You saw it?” Tasha asks, shaking her head to get water out of her ear.
“Yeah.” You nod. “I was kind of flirting with the lifeguard, so I was up with him in his chair.”
Tasha does her eyebrow raise, and you smile a little.
“But that’s not important now,” you say. “This guy could be really hurt!”
Sirens blaring, the ambulance pulls up to the edge of the parking lot. You go running and point out where the EMTs need to go. They get to the injured kayaker and talk to J.R. He nods a few times, and then helps them carry the guy on the backboard across the beach and load him onto a gurney waiting in the ambulance. Then J.R. and one of the other lifeguards head back over toward your towel and the chair.
When they get to you, J.R. stops.
“Is he going to be okay?” you ask.
J.R. nods. “I think so. The backboard was just a precaution because of his head injury. But he seemed okay when he left.”
“I’m going to head up into the chair,” the other lifeguard says. And J.R. nods at him.
“Sounds good,” he says. “Glad you were here to help with that.”
“No problem, man,” Lifeguard Number Two says. He’s already up and doing the ocean-scanning thing you saw J.R. doing earlier.
J.R. turns back to you. “So my shift’s over. Any chance you want to walk with me and get ice cream or something? I think I need to decompress a little after that.”
You look over at Tasha. She gives you a go-with-him! face.
But you’re not sure what to do.
Click here if you decide to take him up on his ice cream offer.
- - - - -
Click here if you decide to say no thanks.
Click here to go back to talking to Frisbee Guy.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to checking out the lifeguard.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
THE little girl wrapped around the guy’s ankle starts to cry, and he bends down to pick her up.
“No swimming, no swimming, no swimming,” she says over and over.
He sits down with her on the edge of a chaise lounge and tells the boys to sit next to him. They don’t. One picks up a towel and wears it as a cape.
“I am Super Monster Blake Man, and I’m going to eat you!” he shouts to his brother and starts to lumber after him, heading toward the bathroom.
The boy without the cape takes one running step forward, clearly trying to get ahead of his brother, and one of the lifeguards blows his whistle.
“No running on the pool deck!” the lifeguard yells from his chair.
Now it looks as if the no-cape brother is about to cry as well.
“Come here, Leo,” Mr. Killer Abs says, with his arms still full of Sloane, who seems to have stopped crying.
Leo doesn’t come, though; he seems frozen in place.
“Blake, you, too,” Killer Abs says.
But Blake is too busy being Super Monster Blake Man and karate kicking invisible enemies. You take pity on Killer Abs and get up off your chaise lounge.
“Hey,” you say as you get closer, “you need any help?”
Abs looks up at you for a minute as if he’s going to say no, but then lets out a breath. “If you know how to get this one to like swimming lessons or those two to listen to directions, be my guest.”
You look at Sloane and then you look at the boys. “Let me try to talk to her,” you say. “You can deal with the Super Monster and statue man over there.”
Sloane is still hugging his neck, not letting go, so you start up a conversation.
“Hi,” you say to Sloane.
“Hi,” she says back.
“I like your bathing suit.” She has a red one with ruffles all along the edges. Luckily, you’re wearing a red bathing suit, too. “It’s the same color as mine,” you point out to her.
She looks at your bikini; it’s red with white polka dots.
“I don’t have spots,” she tells you.
“Boys!” Killer Abs says. “Come here!”
The boys don’t listen.
“Do you like my spots?” you ask Sloane.
She nods, and then unlocks her hands from around Killer Abs’s neck. “I have a mermaid on my tummy,” she tells you. “Look.”
“That’s beautiful!” you say. “Can I see it up close?”
She climbs off Killer Abs’s lap and stands in front of you. He mouths the words thank you, then gets up and zooms over to Leo and Blake while you and Sloane continue to chat about mermaids and how mermaids all take swimming lessons.
By the time Killer Abs has returned with Leo and Blake, Sloane is very excited about being a mermaid and learning to swim.
“Nice work,” Killer Abs says, nodding at you. “I could’ve used your help all morning. I’m Adam, by the way.”
You introduce yourself to him. “Nice to meet you,” you tell him.
“Likewise,” he answers.
Three swim instructors are heading your way, after dropping kids off at their parents’ lounge chairs.
“Private swim lessons,” Adam tells you. “One instructor for each. Too bad it’s not private babysitters, too.”
“You’ll be here in half an hour?” one of the instructors asks Adam.
“Absolutely,” Adam says. “And you have my cell if something happens before then. If I leave the pool area, I won’t go far.”
The triplets all say good-bye and head off for their swim lessons, Sloane telling her instructor how she wants to learn to swim like a mermaid.
Adam turns to you. “Thank you,” he says. “Seriously. Thank you. Sloane had a bad morning. And the boys freak when I pay more attention to her than I do to them.”
“No problem,” you tell him. “Is it really just you and the three of them all day?”
“Pretty much,” he tells you, running his hand through his straight, jet-black hair. It’s longer in the front than it is in the back. “But their parents pay a lot.”
You laugh. “Well, seems like you’re earning it.”
He sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Listen, I was going to go over to the snack bar and grab a soda or something. Maybe take a little walk around. Any chance you want to join me? It’s the least I can do to thank you for your assistance back there.”
If you decide to hang with Adam, click here.
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If you’ve had your fill of Adam and the triplets and would rather go back to Jade and Tasha, click here.
Click here to go back to checking out magazines with Tasha and Jade.
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Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
“THAT’S such a nice offer,” you say to Adam. “But it’s my first day here, and I’ve been planning on some major relaxation time.”
He flicks some hair out of his eyes. “And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
He is pretty cute, but you think about the chatting and the flirting and the thinking about what you say and making sure you’re being witty and clever and fun, and you just don’t think you can handle it right now.
“Not today,” you tell him. “But really, thank you for asking.”
Adam nods his head and says, “Well, it was still nice to meet you. And thanks again. I hope the kids behave during their swim lessons and don’t interrupt your relaxing time.”
You laugh. “Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I’ve got headphones, and I’m not afraid to use ’em.”
“You may need to blast your music if one of those guys gets to wailing.”
“Duly noted,” you tell Adam. “Enjoy your break.”
He looks as if he’s about to say something more, but instead salutes you, which is kind of goofy, but somehow kind of cute, too. And it makes you wonder if maybe he’s going into the military or something. Especially with those abs.
You salute him back and head over to your chair. Click here to continue.
Click here to go back to talking to Adam and the triplets.
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Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
YOU look back and forth between the two guys. Dex’s blond curls are flopping in the breeze, and his cheekbones look especially chiseled in the sun. His eyes are soft and pleading.
“I think I’ll give Dex a chance to apologize,” you say.
Mitch looks disappointed, but Dex’s grin has turned into a full-fledged smile. “I promise I’ll make my apology worth your while,” he says, holding his hand out to you.
As you walk, he starts to apologize in earnest. “The twins can be . . . a lot sometimes. And Mitch is so competitive. I just try to go with whatever they want and not get into it with them. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want to play with you. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
He looks at you with his navy blue eyes. “Do you forgive me?” he asks.
You look at him sideways. “I’m thinking about it,” you tell him.
Click here to continue.
Click here to go back to playing tennis with Mitch.
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Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
YOU’VE always had a thing for smart guys—even back in kindergarten you had a crush on the one boy who could already read, Danny Jung. He left after kindergarten, moved to another state, you heard. You wonder for a brief minute what happened to him and vow to Google him later. He used to have a lunchbox that looked like a barn. A red one. With horses and pigs painted on it. That’s another reason you liked him back then. Yours was just plain with stripes.
Anyway, this particular smart guy, the one on the beach now reading The Iliad, seems as if he’s worth a try. You take your book in one hand and the sunscreen in the other and walk over to his towel.
“Hi,” you say. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I just wanted to tell you that I like your taste in books.” You show him the spine on yours. There’s a little Penguin on it, matching the one on his. “I think our books are related.”
He looks up at you with eyes the color of olives and laughs. “Definitely cousins.” Then he turns his sideways so you can see how thick it is. “Mine’s the overweight cousin. The one everyone talks about behind his back when he helps himself to a fourth hamburger and a fifth slice of blueberry pie.”
You turn your book sideways. “I think mine’s the cousin who probably could use a second burger and goes to Zumba classes every morning.”
“Zumba?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Never mind. Some sort of dance workout thing my mom does.”
He nods sagely. “Zumba. Got it.” Then he notices the tube of sunscreen in your hand. “Do you always carry sunscreen when you compliment people’s books?”
This is your opening! “Well,” you say, “not always. But I’m having a sunscreen emergency right now, and, actually, I was wondering if you could help.”
“A sunscreen emergency?” he asks, his eyes getting wider. “That sounds serious.”
Summer Love Page 3
