by Leigh, Ember
Mom starts the slow walk back to her house, which is one block down. Which means Hazel is probably within shouting distance. I’d ask where she lives, but I don’t want to bring her up again. Or look curious. Or worse yet, hopeful.
But it’s not hard to figure out. If Hazel’s walking the neighborhood on her lunch break, she probably lives somewhere close. Which means that, for my visit home, I’ll need to be extra careful.
Avoiding Hazel is the priority. If I come face to face with her again, who knows what could happen. One of two things is sure to come out: competition or unrestrained lust.
And God help me if it’s the latter.
Chapter 3
HAZEL
I wish I could say that it was business as usual at Hazel Homes the following day, but it wasn’t. Far from it.
Every time the front door jingled with a new arrival, my skin prickled. Hoping it was Grayson. Wishing for another chance to be around that man.
And the idiocy of that makes me even madder. Why does he get to be the one to light my fire like that? Still, after all these years? Wasn’t the high school heartbreak enough? The decades-long competition that had turned us into bitter and driven adults?
Grayson fills my head like cement fills a hole. Hardening into an unmovable, unshakeable presence. I thought by age twenty-eight, I’d be a little more resilient. A little more headstrong, and I don’t know, sane. But no. Grayson Daly shows up and reduces me to a quivering, wanting, teenage puddle again.
Except this time, I’ve got leverage. This time, I can throw it back just as hard, if not harder. Maybe the past is done for him, but I haven’t forgotten what an asshole he was to me senior year. It was ten years ago, sure, but it speaks volumes about his character. And that character clearly hasn’t changed. All sexiness aside, I only deal with kind, level-headed, smart men. Which instantly disqualifies Grayson.
I take a few Saturday morning appointments to show houses, per usual, but leave my afternoon and evening free for the express purpose of hitting the lake. I need the time to unwind. To jostle loose the sticky feelers that Grayson left behind like some sort of obscure jungle newt.
It’s still early in the summer, so we’ve only been out a few times. But when I go out on the lake, it’s usually with my Bayshore crew. A few old friends from high school, all of them single and married to their jobs like I am, and then a couple new friends, Bayshore transplants who came because of the newly developed tech sector in the area. London would be here if she still lived close. I tend to send her teasing snaps of me in the sparkling sun, backed by Lake Erie, with the hearts filter on blast.
“Tubes or nah?” My high school buddy, Luke, doesn’t bother greeting me. He’s standing at the edge of the dock, barefoot, holding up two huge vinyl inner tubes for my appraisal.
I assess them, tossing my purse into the back of the Sea Ray. We’re still waiting on Anthony and Callie, two more friends from high school, and Bryce, a new arrival to the community who’s a fun drinking buddy and might be my only shot at taking a date to the ball.
“I wanna ski,” I decide, slipping my sandals off at the dock. I step into the boat, gathering my balance as the boat rocks with some incoming chop.
Luke grunts and nods. “Yeah. It’s a skiing day.”
The boat is Luke’s, but we all chip in for gas and snacks, so it’s sort of a communal boat. I’d never take it out without Luke, but still, there’s a certain sense of ownership between all of us. We buy it Christmas presents. It’s part of our Bayshore family.
Anthony and Callie show up next, wearing grins and sunglasses, lake ready. Anthony gives us all high-fives. Callie slips onto the seat next to me, curling up like a cat.
“I’m hungover,” she moans. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“Hangovers in your late twenties are the worst,” Anthony confirms, stepping onto the boat. It rocks with the weight of his six-foot-two frame. He’s got a backward ballcap on, mostly to hide the fact that his hairline is receding.
“That’s why I try to avoid them,” I say, pinching her sides. Somehow, she’s already tan even though we’ve had approximately two weeks of weather nice enough to take your clothes off.
“Anthony took me to this mixer at the Cleveland Art Museum,” she says, kicking at Anthony as he walks past. He cackles in return. The two of them are sort of on-again, off-again. They both have demanding jobs, so I think they’re always looking for outlets and not commitments. I can relate to that. An outlet is sounding mighty fine these days.
“What up, fam?” As if on cue, Bryce shows up, fist bumping Luke and Anthony as he makes his way onto the boat. He drops his backpack at the back with the others, and stands there, beaming at me. “Hey, Hazel.”
“Hey, Bryce.” He’s made it plain that he wants to hook up. And honestly, I’ve tried. He’s not a bad looking guy. Think a distant cousin of Nick Jonas. We had a drunken weekend night a few weeks ago that led to heavy petting. I wasn’t feeling sex, so he went home, and we haven’t talked about it since. The amount of time that’s gone by without any acknowledgement of our failed hookup leads to a mathematical compounding of embarrassment. I think this is why we took calculus in high school—to understand the quantum levels of embarrassment possible in social interactions.
And people think I’ve got my shit together.
I can’t even ghost correctly.
Luke flips on the exhaust blower. It hums as everyone settles into place. As usual, I’ve got the purse full of healthy snacks. Anthony always brings beer. Callie usually covers the junk food. Bryce and Anthony sit at the back of the boat, arms stretched across the ledge. The sun lights them up like Abercrombie models. For a second, I wonder if maybe I should be with Bryce because he’s available and it’s easy.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know that Bryce isn’t it.
But maybe he should be.
Luke starts the engine, and the boat rumbles to life. He’s got a big boat—enough to sleep all of us in the cabin and then some. As he’s pulling out of the slip, a Jet Ski zooms up toward the public load-in area. Luke slows the boat, lifting his glasses to peer at the Jet Ski. I think he’s about to shout at the driver. Luke likes to get rowdy.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts. But there’s laughter in his voice. This isn’t because somebody pissed him off. Luke howls, lowering his glasses and reversing the boat so quickly it jolts.
“I can’t believe this!” he shouts, turning the wheel. He’s heading for the load-in area. “It’s motherfucking Grayson Daly!”
My stomach pitches to my toes, and I turn in my seat, searching out the offender. Anthony is standing and grinning, shielding his eyes against the sun as he waves to his old high school buddy. Callie groans, feebly turning her gaze toward the bay.
And then I see him.
Grayson is bent down by the dock cleat, roping off the Jet Ski. His calves flex, legs sprinkled with dark hair. My belly clenches into an iron fist as I tell myself that I am not sexually attracted to him anymore. Nope. Definitely do not care about the biceps bulging as he waves at us, or the sexy gruffness in his voice as he hollers back at his old high school buddies.
Grayson and Luke ran in the same group. Anthony was in a different circle but was friendly with everyone. Luke idles closer, his smile ear to ear.
“Get the hell out of here,” he says. “What are you doing in these parts?”
Grayson rests his hands on his hips, looking every inch the lakeside hottie. His life vest is sleek black, somehow chic, and matches his black and white swim trunks. “Back in town for a little bit. My grandma just passed.”
Luke swears, and Anthony shakes his head. “I’m sorry to hear that, man.”
“Trying to enjoy the lake while I can though, you know?” Grayson flashes a winning smile, one that nearly cripples me.
“For sure. Dude, you gotta come out with us. What’re you doing right now?”
I shrink lower in my seat. Please don’t see me. If he se
es me here, he might back out. Even though I want that. I definitely would rather he stay away. Like all the way back to New York.
“Nothing, bro. I’m all yours.”
Luke whoops, and Anthony pumps his fist. Bryce lifts a brow, waiting for the introduction. Callie twirls her index finger limply through the air.
“Great,” I hiss in Callie’s direction. “Way to ruin our Saturday.”
She laughs weakly. “Oh, that’s right! You hate Gray!”
Luke sends me a confused look as he clambers back into the driver’s seat to steer the boat closer to the dock. “What’s that?”
“Remember?” Callie sits up, color returning to her face. “Hazel versus Gray. May the best color win!” She’s reciting the stupid phrase our friends used to taunt me with. Nobody really ever understood the rivalry. They thought it was fun and games, which it wasn’t—it was life or death.
Luke snorts as he maneuvers closer to the dock. By this time, we’re probably within hearing range, and I hate it. “That’s right. Twins separated at birth.”
“We’re not twins,” I mutter.
Thankfully, I’m wearing dark sunglasses so I can spy on Gray as we pull up to the dockside. His gaze is on me—sizzling there, breaking skin—and I’m embarrassed. This is stupid. It’s been ten years since high school and we’re still known for this stupid rivalry. Haven’t we grown up yet? Can’t we move on?
Callie perks up a bit as we idle closer. She leans in. “Damn, Grayson got hot.”
That’s the truth. Water is dripping from his life jacket down his legs, swim trunks plastered to rock hard thighs, dribbling down the granite curve of his calf. I jerk my gaze away before I can see his feet. I always loved his feet. There was something sturdy and manly about them, which is stupid, so I’m not going to look.
He comes onto the boat. Anthony hops up and they give each other a bro hug, followed by Luke. I hear them introduce Bryce, who offers his hand. Grayson is the tallest of the four of them. Also the hottest. And definitely the biggest ego. Then his gaze swings our way.
Callie sits up a little. “Hey, Gray! Long time no see.”
“How’s it going, Cal?” He heads our way, and I freeze. I don’t know how to be in this context with him. As if the angry outburst from two days ago hadn’t happened. I look everywhere but at him.
“Callie, we should let him sit here so he can talk with Luke,” I say quietly, sending a forced smile toward Gray. This is the adult Hazel shining now. The one who knows how to confront her childhood rival and take the higher path. I stand, scooping up my purse and towel. I head toward the small staircase leading to the bench seats on the bow. “Callie?”
“Oh, yeah.” She hops to life, following me. Grayson sits in the seat we evacuated, at the driver’s left side. I make the mistake of looking behind me as I climb up the stairs, and Gray’s gaze is waiting for me. He wets his bottom lip, scruff on his jawline that wasn’t there when he showed up at my office two days ago. My pussy clenches.
Yeah. This is awkward.
Callie collapses onto the vinyl bench next to me, draping her head back against the cushion. “Oof. That staircase was rough.”
“Do you need water or something?” I paw through my bag. The boat lurches to life, and Luke begins turning us around, headed out toward the bay. “You know, choosing a boating day for your hangover-related activity was probably not wise.”
“Yeah, but I needed to get out of the house,” she moaned, tossing her arm over her eyes. “Anthony and I had fun, that’s for sure. I’m just not used to drinking like I did in college. And last night definitely ended in beer pong.”
I snicker, my gaze drifting back toward Gray as I hand over a bottle of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. He’s leaning across the aisle to talk to Luke as he accelerates slowly, the wind picking up, mussing up their hair a little. Soon the boat is humming and we’re out of the No Wake zone, picking up speed heading toward Lake Erie.
I have my chestnut hair pulled back into a messy bun, made messier by the wind assaulting us. The sun feels so good that I have to strip down to my bathing suit. I carefully remove my boatneck dress, tuck it into my purse, and then lay out on the bench. Keeping Grayson right in my line of vision as I rest my head on the edge of the cushion.
He doesn’t look my way for a long time. I would know, I’m staring at him like a creep. But for some reason, it’s important to me to make him want me. To make him see what he threw away.
It’s ridiculous. I’m the first to admit this. But there’s no greater motivator than being unexpectedly reunited with my first love—the only man to ever officially spurn me. His being hotter than hell is an extra challenge. His hating on Bayshore is the third layer to this really bizarre cake. If I can crack all three of these things—make him want me, reject him, all the while being in Bayshore—it seems like there’s some sort of prize waiting for me.
Something better than an orgasm, maybe.
No, scratch that. Orgasms are the best. But this sense of satisfaction, if I can obtain it, promises to be a close runner-up.
I keep an eye on him as I strategically arrange my limbs. First up: tossing my arm over my head, dangling like any lithe model would in a Glamour shoot. Then: one knee bent, slightly tilted, showcasing some ass. Never mind that I’m blindingly white. Followed by: slightly propped on elbows, looking around with pouty lips, like wondering where the hell is that champagne I ordered?
Callie breaks into my secret operation. “Hazel, are you okay?”
I flop back onto the bench. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re rolling around like you’re about to be sick.”
I deflate, letting both my knees slide to the bench. I stare up at the perfect cerulean sky. Not a cloud to be seen. “Just trying to get comfortable.”
“Maybe I’m about to be sick,” she moans.
I sit up quickly, looking back at her. “Cal, are you serious? Stick your head over the side. I’ll tell Luke to slow down.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, then holds up a palm. She swallows and shakes her head. “No. I’m fine. It passed.”
I lift my glasses to peer at her, then make the mistake of looking toward Grayson while my lenses are up.
We lock eyes. His stormy blues have turned into an F4 tornado—it’ll fuck up the barn, but won’t whisk away the family—and I’m trapped in the crosswinds.
There’s so much in that gaze. Questions. Curiosity. Lust. Except I can’t tell what’s real and what’s imagined. Or how much I’m projecting because I’m still an eighteen-year-old girl at heart, eager to prove herself against her lifelong rival.
I lower my sunglasses, lie back down. As I do so, Bryce cuts a path from the back of the boat up to the bow. He grips the handrails as he snakes his way toward me. Sits right next to me, smiling down at me like I’m the only person he’s ever wanted to see in the world.
I smile back up at him.
Not because he’s the only one I want to see.
Because he’s the only one that Gray can see me with.
Chapter 4
GRAYSON
The lake has always been my safe haven. Fighting with my brothers? Go to the lake. Need a secret place to neck with your high school girlfriend of the moment? Let’s go to the lake. Wanna show off your great bod while checking out all the gorgeous curves of your former rival-turned-love-interest?
Yeah. Get to the fucking lake.
And this time it feels like a big breath of fresh air—because it literally is—except my whole body is wound tight, a coil ready to snap. I can barely unclench my fists. It gets better when I sink back into the seat, my back toward the bow. I take a few deep breaths, hands relaxing. The pretty blue sky lulls me into peacefulness. This is more like it. Weird how relaxation correlates with Hazel being out of sight.
“Yo, buddy, hand me a beer?” Luke shouts over the sound of the wind.
I nod and reach for the cooler. In my steps to pass it off to him, my gaze swings toward Hazel. S
itting on the bow like a pin-up model, swatting at Bryce’s shoulder. Her toothy smile is a punch to the gut. I forget to unclench my hand and Luke has to rip the beer from my grip.
He laughs. “Damn, boy!”
I slap him on the shoulder, easing back into my seat. I lean over the aisle separating us. “She with that guy?”
I don’t elaborate or clarify. Because I don’t want to. I hate that I’m even asking. If I offer no details, it’s like I’m not asking.
“Hazel?” he shouts.
My skin crawls. I want to choke him so that he’ll keep it quiet. I jerk my head into a nod.
“I don’t think so,” Luke says, all his hair flopping to the right side as he executes a sharp turn. On the bow, Hazel giggles and falls right into Bryce’s lap. He looks delighted. What an asshole. I look away, focusing on the receding sandy shores behind us. There aren’t a lot of boats out today, and the chop isn’t so bad. I decide in that moment I’m going to absolutely kick Bryce’s ass in skiing.
“Let’s start here.” I point toward one of the famous coves on the shoreline. It’s quiet and tree-shrouded, perfect for the first pull of the day.
Luke clucks his tongue. “You’re readin’ my mind, bro!”
The boat slows, and the hum of the motor dies down. On the bow, Callie groans and rolls onto her side. Hazel sits up, the creamy skin of her belly crinkling. I can’t look away from the mauve triangle of stretchy fabric covering her pussy or the apple tops of her breasts spilling from her bikini top. Fuck. This was a bad idea after all.
“It’s so nice out here,” Hazel coos, snuggling into Bryce’s outstretched arm. He grins down at her.
“I’m gonna take a quick dive,” I say, unbuckling my life vest. I drop it to the seat and launch myself off the side of the boat, cannonball-style. The splash reverberates around me. When I surface, I whoop with laughter. That felt damn good. Cleansing somehow.
