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Last time I was here, we’d just graduated, and Finch, the athletic director at the time, was having his annual end-of-year bash.
All the varsity players from all the sports throughout the year were invited to his cabin for a barbecue dinner, swimming, and a bonfire at his beach. It was tradition, but with each subsequent year, he got more hands-off. My year… and as it turned out, his last in the role of athletic director, the man handed me the keys to his place about six p.m. and headed back to his house in town, leaving the cabin in the hands of the kids he knew would take care of it the way he’d taken care of us.
That night, everything changed. All it took was one dare, a joke that the two captains kiss, and this low, simmering thing in my belly turned to a boil. Cam blew it off like the pro he was. Didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t bother with more than a snort before taking off to use the head. But me?
Not cool. Because in a wink, I could see that dare in action. Me kissing Cam. The guy I was always drawn to in a way that was different than with my other friends and who more than once left me wondering if I wanted to get closer or push him away.
I could see it. And I liked the look of it so damn much that I had to make some bullshit excuse about getting a swim in to cool off before anyone noticed the way my body was responding.
I dove straight into the lake and swam my ass out to the far side of the floating dock, where I hung off the back side, shaking. Asking myself what the hell was happening inside my head.
Within a minute, I heard the lap, lap, lap of someone swimming out. And then he was there, powerful legs treading in place. The defined muscles of his arms and shoulders even broader than mine bunching and flexing as he slicked his hair back from those serious, soulful eyes.
And, yeah.
Sigh.
Now, I’m the only one here. From the looks of it, maybe I’m the only one who’s been here since Finch broke his hip down in Florida two years back and decided to stay. The property’s overgrown. The cabin’s in need of repairs. And maybe it’s exactly what I need. Maybe seeing this place looking nothing like the way I remember it is just the thing to get my head on straight before next season starts.
* * *
Cam
I’m running a sales report at the counter when the antique bell above the door sounds, signaling a customer. Or in this case, not a customer but my buddy Neil Watson. “Yo, Cam. You coming to Danny’s tonight?”
I hate being the one who always says no to a party, but between work and water polo, more often than not, that’s the way of it.
“Got practice, man. Say hi to everyone.”
For anyone else, that would be the end of it. But Neil’s that lifelong friend whose default setting is all drama, all the time. Sure enough, his head drops, and he heaves an exaggerated breath before taking an exaggerated step completely into the store.
It’s close to closing, so we’re empty, and I’ve got time. But even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t stop him.
I close the laptop and round the counter to meet him by the fishing equipment where he will accidentally, on purpose mix a couple reels of twenty-pound line in with the thirty.
“Hey, how’d it go with Judy last night?” He’s been trying to date this girl since the third grade, but she’s been in an epic on-again, off-again relationship with Harvey Pauls the whole time. At least up until a month ago when she swore it was over for good.
Neil grins. “Come to the party and see for yourself.”
Whoa. “So, the answer is good enough that she’s letting you take her out again. Way to go, man.”
“I’m not actually taking her.” He shrugs. “She’s already going with her sister. But we’ll see each other there.”
Uh-oh. My Spidey senses start to tingle. “Neil.”
He shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but she’s not stringing me along.”
Yep. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.”
God help me if I suggest Neil’s perfect angel might not be quite as perfect as his big, open heart wants to believe.
“Is she still talking with Harvey? Seeing him?”
It’s the question Neil never wants me to ask. But I gotta. If for no other reason than to keep him from getting his head so far in the clouds that when he inevitably falls, it isn’t quite so bad.
“Fuck you, man.” He shoves a hand through his hair and walks farther down the aisle where he picks up a net and looks me in the eye… and then pointedly puts it back in the wrong spot.
Fucker.
