Page 53 of Summer Love

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He goes back to scrubbing the machine. Captain starts to purr against him, eyes half-closed. Noah doesn’t say anything else.

I get back to my exercises. Evan lifts weights at the other end of the patio. The roof’s shadow stretches across the rubber. The only sounds are a bar being set down, the wind in the leaves, the low rumble of Captain’s purr.

The quiet doesn’t last. Voices reach me, mixed with laughter and flip-flops slapping against the gravel. A group’s headed this way.

Jace shows up first. Shirtless, in boardshorts that hang below his knees—longer than the ones the local surfers wear. He’s got them riding too low on his hips. The muscles low on his stomach cut a sharp V above the waistband.

Of course. Because apparently everyone needs a look.

Five or six students trail after him—eighteen, nineteen, gym bags over their shoulders. Jace calls back instructions about sets and rest times. They scatter toward the machines.

Jace’s eyes meet mine and harden. His jaw tightens.

Ah. He found the seaweed and the crab.

CHAPTER 19

Jace

Summer’s blue eyes don’t leave mine.

The group stirs behind me: bags hitting the ground, flip-flops kicked off, a kid asking if we start with the ropes. I hear it, but from far away.

Summer turns away and lies down on a weight bench, a barbell on the floor beside her. She’s tan, lean, with defined arms—solid without being bulky. Six years, and she’s even more…

I clear my throat.

This girl looks like she stepped out of an ad for something I can’t afford.

And she left a dead crab on my seat, legs in the air. I can still smell the rotting seaweed.

She abandoned me.

The VW bus, the seaweed, the crab—I’ll get over all of it. But not that.

“Coach? We starting?”

Dylan watches me—nineteen, perfect tan, brain optional.

“Warm-up, five minutes. Ropes, then squats with just the bar.”

I turn my back on Summer and hand Dylan a battle rope. The kids get into position—six of them, spread out across the patio. I make the rounds, correct a stance, adjust a grip. I’m present, focused.

Or not.

On the pull-up bar, Evan rips through his sets. He spots me, grins between reps. I nod back.

Farther off, Noah wipes down the pulldown station. Captain sleeps at his feet, sprawled across one of his Crocs.

I head over.

“Hey.”

Noah grunts without looking up. A word, a sound—impossible to tell.

I feel Summer’s eyes on my back—a red dot between my shoulder blades, like a sniper’s laser.