“Obviously.”
“I just meant… I’m confused. Aren’t you a lifeguard?”
“I am,” I reply dryly. “Some people have to work more than one job, y’know.”
He looks surprised—like that thought simply never crossed his mind before. I bet he’s never worked a day of actual labor in his life.
He hands me a wad of cash. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, tucking it in my pocket. I glance at the bag in his hands. “So, bean burger, huh? Are you a vegetarian?”
“I am, and I’m struggling to cook right now,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh, lifting his hand. The bandage I made yesterday is still wrapped tightly around his thumb.
I raise an eyebrow. “So you’re a vegetarian named… Hunter?”
He laughs—an actual, genuine laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, that’s original,” he says sarcastically. “First time I’ve ever heard that one.”
“Well, it’s ironic.”
“I know. My parents probably regret not switching my name with my twin brother’s. He’s a total carnivore. Would’ve made more sense.”
My ears perk up. “You’re a twin?”
“Yep. Landon. We’re identical, but like… opposites.”
We stand there for a second, silent, as I rock back on my heels to glance up at the house. It looks like it belongs in a magazine. I can’t even wrap my head around living somewhere like this.
Hunter follows my gaze. His expression shifts, almost embarrassed. “It’s not mine. It’s a rental.”
As if that makes it any less obscene. The rent on this place is probably my entire month’s salary.
“Uh-huh.”
He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. I open my mouth to ask something else, but he cuts me off.
“Sorry, I was rambling. You probably need to get back to work. Thanks again.”
I want to tell him it’s fine. That I don’t mind listening. He’s weirdly fascinating—like some kind of alien dropped into Claremont Shores by accident. He’s out of the closet, wealthy, clearly very smart. Everything I’m not. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about him.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll see you around,” I say, stepping off the porch.
“Have a good night, Mason.” He gives me a soft smile before closing the door.
Chapter Seven
I cringe as a country song blares from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The lyrics are all about beer and tractors, and I want to claw out my eardrums. I don’t understand why people think the whole beach needs to hear their taste in music—especially when it sucks.
It’s Memorial Day weekend, Saturday, one of the busiest days of the year. The beach is packed. Everywhere I look, there are American flag swimsuits, towels, and umbrellas. It’s a patriotic explosion.
Usually on days like this, there are two guards on duty. Thankfully, I’m working with Aliyah today. We sit in the lifeguard tower, each watching our own zone of swimmers.
Crowds like this make me twitchy. My thumb finds a hangnail, and I pick at it while scanning the water, moving my head side to side like we were trained. Look for movement. Look for stillness. Look for trouble.
The cloudless sky offers no coverage from the blazing sun. My skin glistens with sweat. I’m running on fumes.
“Hey,” Aliyah says, nudging me with her shoulder. “Go take your lunch break. I’ve got this covered for twenty minutes.”
I frown. “No, it’s fine—”
