Luke sighs dramatically. “You two are so lame. You deserve each other.” He trudges back toward the group, ball tucked beneath his arm.
Finally alone, Phoebe and I settle into a comfortable silence. Laughter erupts behind us where Luke and the others are setting up the volleyball net. Someone cracks open a beer, the hiss cutting through the warm, muggy air. Another voice shouts for sunscreen. They’re loud and carefree, so effortlessly at ease in ways I’ve never been.
Phoebe’s toe nudges my calf. “Hey,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What’s going on with you? Have you thought any more about what we talked about last time? You know… experimenting?”
A hard swallow sticks in my throat. I keep my gaze fixed on the cloudless sky, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Not here, Phoebe,” I grit out.
“We’re alone,” she scoffs lightly. “Nobody’s listening.”
I clamp my jaw shut and fiddle with the towel beneath me, bunching the warm fabric into tight fists.
“Oh my god,” she mutters, inching closer. “Youdidsomething. I can see it all over your face.”
I shoot her an icy glare. “Stop,” I beg. “I didn’t actually…doanything. I just…”
My throat dries up, the words dying on my tongue.
Phoebe’s glossy lips curve into a smirk. “You watched gay porn, didn’t you?”
Heat prickles my skin. I push up on my elbows. “I’m leaving—”
“Wait, stay,” she blurts, catching my wrist. “I’m sorry, Ash. I swear I’m not making fun of you. I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I settle back on the towel, hands folded on my bare stomach. “I’m okay,” I say softly. “Just… still figuring stuff out, I guess.”
Phoebe hums thoughtfully beside me as she scans the beach, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. Finally, she tilts her head toward the lifeguard tower.
“What about him?” she asks. “You think he’s cute?”
My gaze travels up the wooden tower, landing on a tall, broad figure standing at the top. My stomach lurches. I recognize him instantly.
Mason Burke.
When we were in high school, he was captain of the swim team, class president, hometown golden boy. One of Luke’s buddies in high school, always surrounded by girls giggling at everything that came out of his mouth. He’s obnoxiously hot—sculpted muscles, light brown hair sun-streaked from hours on the beach, sunglasses pushed up on his head. I remember Luke saying he left town to go to college, but maybe he’s just home for the summer.
“Well?” Phoebe prods.
I blow out a shaky breath. “He’s… objectively attractive, yes.” I shift on my towel. “But definitely not my type.”
She squints at me. “You know him?”
“Yeah. You don’t remember him? That’s Mason Burke. He and Luke were friends in high school.” I glance back toward the lifeguard tower. “He was… popular.”
She props her head up with one hand. “Oh, yeah. The name does sound familiar.” She lowers her sunglasses for a better look, openly checking Mason out before nodding in approval. “He’s hot.” She glances back at me, curiosity glinting in her eyes. “So if Mr. Washboard Abs isn’t your type, what is?”
I bite my lip, considering her question. Do I even have a type?
The mechanic from that video flashes in my mind—tattooed arms, a hint of hair on his chest, sweat gleaming down his torso. The roughness of him. The confidence. The way he didn’t apologize for taking control.
And honestly, even with women, I’d always gravitated toward the ones with a bit of an edge. Part of what drew me to Phoebe in the first place was how effortlessly she commanded the bedroom. Shewanted what she wanted, and she took it. It meant I didn’t have to overthink every second.
For some reason, when I think about my ideal man, my brain conjures up images of Troy. Come to think of it, he shares a lot of characteristics with that mechanic from that video. Was my subconscious being a pervert and imagining it was him?
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I stare at the sand, letting a handful slip between my fingers. “I guess… I like guys who are a little rough around the edges, y’know?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “You like bad boys, huh?”
