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“Yeah. I want to watch.”
“What about you?”
“Len, we both know that evenwhenyou get into Clarkson, we’ll still be separated for another year. I get it; it’s okay.” I press another kiss against her wet skin, right in the curve where her shoulder meets her neck. “I have an excellent memory. I might not get off right now, but I promise I will. Many times, probably.”
Lennon bites her bottom lip, a blush working its way across her skin despite the cool water.
Her hips begin moving. Slowly, at first, then faster and faster. Her breathing quickens as she rubs against me, chasing pleasure.
Sexy.
Shy.
Mine.
I never experienced jealousy, until I met Lennon. My whole life, everything has been handed to me. Other people wanted to be me. Be around me.
So it took me a little while to figure out what the tightness in my chest was when I’d see her walking out of Biology, laughing with Will Masterson. Why it pissed me off so much when someone would make a joke about the grass stains in her jeans or the hay in her hair. And once I admitted it to myself, I kind of wished I was still in denial. Because nothing changed between us for a long time. I spent years knowing I had absolutely no claim on her and hating that fact. Even if we do break up one day, if she decides long distance isn’t worth it, the way she once told me, I’ll always be hers. And I’ll never forget this moment, seeing her fall apart and knowing I’m the reason her lips are parted and her eyes are hazy.
Lennon pulls my lips back to hers when she finishes. We stay like that a while, laughing like little kids every time one of us has to splash to stay afloat.
It’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. Staring down a player with a bat has never given me this feeling.
Just her.
“You know the canoe has been floating away this whole time?” she asks me.
I wince and look around. Sure enough, the green canoe is a couple hundred feet away from us. I’d probably care less if I had any clothes on. Getting arrested for public indecency isn’t on the itinerary for this trip.
“I’ll race you,” Lennon challenges, following my gaze to the boat floating further and further away.
“Deal. Loser makes breakfast.”
Lennon doesn’t reply. She starts swimming at a much faster pace than I’m expecting. I’m a decent swimmer and in great shape, but I’ve got more bulk and muscle than she does, and it means I arrive at the canoe at least five seconds after her.
She grins when I grab the opposite end of the boat. “I’d like eggs and toast, please.”
“When did you get that good at swimming?” I ask, between heavy breaths.
“I did swim team in elementary school,” she replies.
“You did?”
“Uh-huh.” Lennon is studying the boat. “Should I get in first?”
“Uh, yeah. Hang on.” I swim to the opposite side, directly across from where she is. “Okay. Climb in.”
Lennon pulls herself over the rim of the boat and lands in a heap on the floor. Once she’s dressed, I tell her to lean to the right. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to counteract my weight.
I haul myself up and over the left side. The canoe doesn’t remain as steady as it did during Lennon’s return, sloshing side to side precariously, but it doesn’t capsize.
I pull on my shorts and hoodie, then grab the paddle to turn in the direction of Colt’s place. The sunshine warms my damp hair and wet clothes, but neither of us are dry by the time we reach the spot we started from.
Lennon helps me pull the canoe onto shore, and then we walk along the path back toward the house.
“This place is really nice,” she comments as we pass the four-car garage.
“Yeah, it is,” I agree.
