We pass by the dining room, where his mom is sitting and sipping coffee. She has a blanket draped around her knobby shoulders. Her eyes look sunken and dark with exhaustion.
“Good morning,” she greets, clearing her throat. “You must be Hunter?”
She extends a bony hand, and I shake it. Her skin is ice cold.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You can call me Anna,” she insists with a smile. “Thank you for helping Mason take Maddie to that concert last night. I’m sure she had a wonderful time.”
“It was no problem. We had a lot of fun.”
“You seem like a sweet boy,” she says, giving Mason a look I can’t quite decipher.
His face flushes. “Hunter has to get going. We’re heading to the beach today.”
“That sounds nice. Have fun, you two.”
Mason ushers me outside. We stop beside my car, and before I can open the door, he leans in and kisses me again, which catches meby surprise. There’s nobody around to see us, but we’re standing in the trailer park in broad daylight.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says, still smiling as he backs toward his trailer.
I watch him for a beat longer than I should, my chest tight with nerves and something warmer. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what I’m more anxious about—stepping into the lake, or stepping deeper into whatever this is with him.
***
The drive to the beach is quiet, but in a comfortable way. Mason’s got one hand on my thigh, tapping along to the radio while the other grips the steering wheel. The midday sun makes the lake sparkle in the distance.
When we park in the small gravel lot, I realize we’re nowhere near the main public beach. Instead, Mason chose a narrow stretch of sand tucked behind a line of maple trees, the water lapping quietly at the pebbled shore. There’s no crowd—just us, a few seagulls, and the endless blue.
“Privacy,” Mason says with a small smile, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he climbs out of the truck. “Figured it’d be less stressful for your first time.”
“First time,” I echo with a trembling laugh. “Are you popping my swimming cherry?”
He laughs and leads me down a small hill to the beach. We set our stuff down on the sand, and Mason kicks off his shoes without hesitation. He peels off his shirt effortlessly, his chest catching the sunlight, all lean muscle and tan skin.
My stomach lurches. I fiddle with the hem of my T-shirt for a few seconds, contemplating if I want to take it off. It feels like a protective bandage over an ugly, gaping wound.
I don’t take it off.
“Ready?” he asks, already wading into the water.
I step forward slowly. The water is shockingly frigid around my ankles, making me yelp. Mason laughs before grabbing my hand, pulling me toward him.
We move slowly into deeper water until it’s up to my waist. I cross my arms over my chest, my nipples perking from the cold. “So, uh… what exactly is the plan here?”
“The first step is getting you comfortable,” he says, still holding my hand. “We’re gonna start with floating. You just lean back, keep your body loose, and let the water hold you.”
I frown. “That sounds like an easy way to drown.”
“I’ll hold you up,” he insists.
His hands migrate to my waist, warm even in the cool water. My breath stutters at the contact. “Okay,” I murmur, my voice a little shakier than I’d like.
“Trust me,” Mason says softly. “Lean back. I got you.”
I inhale a deep breath of courage before tilting backwards, Mason’s palms supporting my lower back. My oversized shirt immediately balloons up and flops over my face like it’s trying to suffocate me. I splutter and shove it down, only for it to float up again.
“Fuck, this is annoying,” I mutter.
