“I’m not looking,” he muttered quickly, shielding his eyes with his hand. But when he cracked two fingers open just enough to peek and flash me a crooked grin, my stomach somersaulted.
He was actively checking me out. And despite the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks, I really liked him looking at me that way.
“Thanks,” I said softly, embarrassed. Sofuckingembarrassed.
“No prob.” His voice was heavy with restraint.
The ghost of Max’s hands was still on me, warm, trembling, lingering beneath my skin.
His pulse had been racing under his fingers, erratic and uneven, matching the stutter of my own heartbeat.
He wasn’t looking at me now, but I could read his thoughts by the way he was sitting. He was stiff, quiet. There was a muscle ticking at his temple. His fists curled in his towel, as if he had no idea what else to do with them.
Max never unraveled. He was steady in storms,composed when everyone else lost their heads. But this? Me, half-naked and pressed against him, his hands between my breasts while Jackson stood there ready to explode? Yeah, that had rattled him.
His chest rose and fell too fast, color creeping up the side of his neck. I’d never seen him look so unsure of what to do next. But I knew one thing. He’d touched me with a hunger that I’d never seen from him. He’d crossed a line. And he’d wanted to.
Hell. I think he wanted to do it again.
“Alright, counselors. Welcome to the first day of camp,” Graham’s voice cut through the air. “We’re going to play a few icebreaker games. Everyone, pick a partner.”
Max’s hand was on mine instantly, lifting my arm. “She’s mine,” he said, too fast.
“You need to pick someone new, Max,” Graham replied lightly.
“I don’t want to.” Max’s voice dropped. It was actually kind of scary. I had never heard his voice that deep before.
I was seeing a new side of him—territorial and a little possessive.
It was a little off-putting. I wasn’t sure what to think of this new Max.
Graham hesitated, then let it go. “Alright. Jackson, partner with Heather since you’re new.”
I looked over at the girl sitting next to Jackson. Her red top clung to her curves, her beach-blonde hair catching the light. Jackson’s gaze slid from me to her and back, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were locked on Max.
“Shouldn’t we be with an experienced counselor?” Heather said, voice playful, chin tilted toward Max.
“Yeah,” Jackson said, “dibs on Mackenzie.”
Max’s grip on my hand tightened, his irritation pulsing through his fingers.
“You have a point,” Graham said, “Sorry, but Mackenzie. Max. Pair off.”
Heather and Jackson closed in like it was a game.
Max didn’t look away from me, his grip grounding me. “You’re going to be okay,” he said under his breath. “I’m right here.”
Heather stepped closer to him, pushing her hair over her shoulder. Max gave her the crooked smile he’d given me minutes ago, and I hated that it wasn’t reserved for just me. She leaned in, chest forward. His eyes dropped, briefly, but long enough for my jealousy to flare hot and sharp.
I forced my gaze to Jackson. The sunlight caught in his dark eyes, his gold chain flashing against his olive skin. He looked exactly the way he had the first day we collided in the hallway of our senior year: beautiful, but impossible to trust.
Jackson sat down beside me, reaching for my hand.
I pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Come on, Kenz. Don’t act like that.” He said in that broad southern drawl.
“Oh? Such as?” My voice was razor-sharp. “You know what you did, you psycho. I don’t owe you anything.”
