Mason’s mouth pinches, and for a split second, I worry I’ve said too much. That I’ve scared him off. That he’s about to bolt out the door and never talk to me again.
But then he reaches out and gently cups my face. His thumb smooths along my jaw, tilting my head until I’m looking straight at him.
“I don’t understand any of that,” he murmurs. “You’re… so fucking beautiful, Hunter.”
My throat clenches. All I can do is stare into his eyes, lost in the depths of his sincerity.
“You don’t have to change anything,” Mason continues. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek before lifting the blanket. He slides in next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.His thumb rubs gentle patterns across my hip. I bury my face in his chest and let his warmth seep into me.
“I’m going to spend all summer showing you how beautiful you are,” he promises. “And when you go back to Shelby Harbor in the fall, you’ll be a confident piece of ass. You’ll find a super sexy boyfriend who’s obsessed with you.”
I laugh into his shirt, but there’s a stinging pain hidden beneath it I can’t shake. I know the end of summer is inevitable, but I don’t want to think about it.
For the next two months, I just want to pretend that our time together doesn’t have an expiration date.
Chapter Eighteen
I rub a blade of beach grass between my fingers, inspecting for jagged chew marks. There’s a species of invasive beetle that’s been wreaking havoc on native plants lately. I may be a vegetarian, but whenever I see their evil little metallic-green bodies, I stomp them to death without hesitation.
The beach is busy this afternoon, especially for a weekday. Mason’s in the tower, scanning the lake with his usual steady focus. He looks annoyingly sexy up there—bronzed skin, curls tucked under his red visor, swim trunks tight around his muscular thighs. I can’t wait to kiss his stupid, perfect face during his lunch break.
The sound of flip-flops slapping through sand pulls me out of my daydream. A middle-aged man ambles away from the beach, towel slung over his shoulder, shirtless and sunburned to the shade of a boiled lobster. His hairy beer belly protrudes over the waistband of his swim trunks.
He’s drinking from a styrofoam cup, sucking noisily through a straw. Ice rattles against the sides as he swishes the last melted bits around. Then, without hesitation, he lets the cup fall to the ground.
I stare for a second, waiting for him to stop and correct his mistake, but he doesn’t. He’s already walking away.
I tuck my pencil behind my ear and stand from my crouch. “Hey! You dropped something.”
He glances over his shoulder and shrugs. “Nah, I’m good.”
My pulse picks up. “No, you’re not. You left your garbage right there.” I point toward the white cup lying in the sand.
The sharpness in my voice startles me—I’m not usually bold like this. Even with nerves buzzing under my skin, the urge to protect what matters wins out. It’s easier to stand up for nature than it is to stand up for myself.
It reminds me of the night I first met Mason. He was intimidatingly attractive, stand-offish, clearly annoyed with my pestering. And still, I couldn’t let him trample a Pitcher’s Thistle, even unintentionally. My stomach had been a knot of anxiety, but I couldn’t let it slide.
A scowl creases the man’s sunburned face. “Chill out, dude. It’s no big deal.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. “Tell that to the birds and the fish. We’ve already got enough trash in the lake without you adding to it.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. “What are you, some kind of litter cop?”
“No.” I keep my voice level, even though my chest is starting to feel tight. “I’m just not a disgusting slob.”
He takes a step closer, looming over me. “You trying to start something with me, pretty boy?”
I scowl up at him, refusing to back down. “Pick it up.”
His lips curl into a threatening grimace. “And what if I don’t, huh? What are you gonna do about it, faggot?”
The word hits sharp in my chest, but before I can react, a large shadow falls across the sand beside me.
“Is there a problem here?”
Mason’s voice is low and calm, but there’s a commanding undertone to it. Like he wants to establish that he’s not fucking around.
