The sharp scent of artificial coconut stings my nose as I rub sunscreen into my arms and chest. The sun is bright, but the wind is biting, churning the lake into restless waves. The harsh weather is probably why the beach is emptier than usual—not that I’m complaining.
Hardly anyone’s swimming. My focus settles on a small cluster of teenage girls shivering and laughing in the waist-deep water.
After a few minutes, they emerge from the lake and wrap themselves in towels, sand sticking to their calves as they trudge across the beach. Their whispers turn into giggles as they pass, sneaking quick glances in my direction.
One of the girls—brunette and tan—peels off from the group and approaches the lifeguard tower. She stands beneath me, waving.
I lower my sunglasses. “Can I help you with something?”
“My friend thinks you’re cute,” the brunette says, pointing toward the group of girls. “The one in the yellow bikini. Her name’s Cassidy. She’s wondering if she can have your number.”
I shoot a glance in Cassidy’s direction. She’s objectively attractive. Even though I’m one hundred percent gay, I spent many years pretending to be straight, and I can certainly recognize a pretty girl when I see one.
Her ginger hair falls to her shoulders in tight curls. She’s the kind of girl high school me would’ve pretended to like to fit in. Her pale skin is covered in freckles, her eyes a vibrant shade of emerald. Her bikini bottoms hug her ass in all the right places.
And sure, I can appreciate a nice ass. I just prefer it when it’s paired with a nice dick, too.
“Sorry. I have a girlfriend,” I reply, defaulting to my usual excuse.
The brunette frowns. “Shame. She’s a lucky girl.” She winks, then trots back to her friends.
I watch her deliver the bad news to Cassidy. Her shoulders slump with defeat, her lower lip protruding into a pout.
I chuckle quietly under my breath. It’s not like Itryto attract girls—it just happens. Even though it’s not the attention I want, it still gives my ego a little boost.
Once the girls leave, the beach falls silent. With no one swimming, I decide to eat my packed lunch. I grab my cooler and pull out a turkey sandwich wrapped in plastic. This morning, I’d made an identical sandwich for Maddie’s lunchbox.
I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. A big glob of mustard oozes onto the corner of my mouth. I use my thumb to wipe it away, then lick it clean. The cheap bread mushes and sticks to the roof of my mouth.
As I chew, my eyes sweep across the beach. An osprey perches in a nearby tree, motionless, eyes locked on the lake like it’s waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The edge of the beach merges into a state park with several acres of protected lakeshore and dunes. It’s not uncommon to see wildlife around here.
Movement flickers at the edge of my vision. I glance over—and there he is. A man crouched on a dune, hunched over a plant with a notebook in hand, pen tucked behind his ear. The same guy from the parade. It’s hard to forget an annoyingly pretty face like that.
Brushing crumbs off my bare chest, I climb down from the lifeguard tower. Sand shifts under my feet as I cross the beach and stop in front of him, my shadow spilling over him. He startles, glancing up at me.
“Hey,” I greet awkwardly, giving him a small wave. “You’re the weird plant guy.”
He frowns as he stands. “And you’re the plant murderer.”
I roll my eyes. “It was an accident.”
“A careless accident.”
“Sure. Whatever.” I’m not wasting my energy arguing. “What are you doing here?”
“Why is it any of your business?”
“You’re on my beach.”
An amused smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Yourbeach?”
I cross my arms. “Yeah. I’m a lifeguard here.”
“I can see that,” he says, eyes sweeping over my uniform. “If you must know, I’m a botany graduate student at Lakeview University. I’m in town for the summer doing research funded by the DNR.”
I suddenly notice the cover of the spiral-bound notebook clutched in his arms. It’s decorated with overlapping stickers—some with the university’s emblem, activism slogans, and countless pride flags. I stare at the rainbow ones for a few seconds longer than I should.
His expression hardens as he follows my gaze. Shit. He totally thinks I’m a homophobe.
