Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Fully submerged somewhere at the bottom of the lake.
Bill claps a hand on Harris’s soaked shoulder. “You’re a natural, bro.”
Harris glares at him. “Shut up, Bill.” He plants his hands on his knees, water still dripping off him in steady streams. “Enjoy the show?”
I quirk a brow, crossing my arms. “You mean the show where you flailed before face-planting into the lake? Highlight of my day.”
Wally snickers. “I’d pay to watch that again.”
Hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, lake water dripping from his shoulders, his shirt clinging to every muscle like it was painted on. The swim trunks? A mistake on his part, but a gift to everyone else.
And by everyone else I mean me.
Much as I love roasting him, I can’t ignore the very annoying fact that his body looks fantastic.
So good.
Which is so unfair.
Harris catches me staring and wipes a hand down his chest, drawing my eyes there. “Are you checking me out?”
“I—” I scramble for an excuse, coming up empty. “No! Your shirt is dripping wet. It’s disgusting.”
Really, Lucy? His dripping-wet shirt is disgusting? Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . lamest retort to ever retort—and embarrassingly transparent.
Harris hums—he does not believe me for a second. Then does the thing I did not want him to do: reaches for the hem of his tee.
“Don’t—” I beg, knowing what’s coming.
Too late.
We all watch as, in one smooth motion, he yanks the shirt over his head, then drops it onto the dock with a wet slap, leaving him in nothing but those damp shorts and work boots.
Water beads along the planes of his smooth chest, trailing down his abs—abs that, to my absolute dismay, look like they’ve been carved out of granite.
I swear the sun hits him just right, casting shadows onto his six-pack.
Where the hell did Annabelle find this guy?
Seriously.
He isn’t giving lumberjack. He’s giving . . .
Model.
The kind of guy who walks around shirtless and lets water spill down his bare body.
I swallow hard, resisting the urge to do something undignified—like drool.
The worst part? Harris knows I think he’s good looking.
Then, as a test to my willpower, he runs a hand through his wet hair, shaking out the excess water in a move so effortless, so calculated, it nearly makes both my brain and my vagina short-circuit.
I absolutely refuse to be impressed.
“You know what you’re missing?” I force the words to sound cool. Force my gaze to his face.
Harris tilts his head, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”
I let the moment stretch. “A flannel shirt. Maybe a little plaid.”
“Wow. So my raw, natural talent isn’t good enough for you?”
I blink innocently. “What talent?”
Wally nearly chokes laughing. Bill claps him on the back.
Harris narrows his eyes at me, but amusement flickers there. He steps closer, shaking his head. “You really enjoy testing me, don’t you?”
I flash him my most innocent smile. “What? I’m being honest.”
“Don’t count me out yet. The event is a long way off.”
No, it’s not. It’s days from now, but he doesn’t seem to be counting.
“And then you’ll be gone.”
“That’s the plan.” He smiles. “Why? You gonna miss me?”
I don’t move. I should step back, put some distance between me and the walking hard body and his six-pack—but I don’t. Instead, I hold his gaze, stubborn and steady.
Intense.
“Is that a yes—that you leave Monday?” I ask again, keeping the conversation on track.
He raises one eyebrow. “Unfortunately.”
Does that mean he wouldn’t mind staying?
Does that mean this back-and-forth between us isn’t fun and games?
Not that it matters.
I clear my throat, pushing past the weird little flutter in my chest. “Well. I won’t get attached, then.”
Harris studies me while everyone looks on. “That sounds suspiciously like disappointment I hear in your voice.”
I scoff. “You wish.”
“Do I?”
I blink.
My brain stutters.
He’s teasing—but not just teasing. There’s something else there, something unspoken in the way he watches me, like he’s trying to pull a reaction out of me. Like he’s waiting to see if I’ll flinch.
I won’t.
I do what I do best—I deflect.
I scoff, rolling my shoulders back. “You’re really digging deep for that ego boost, huh?”
Harris tilts his head, smirk flickering into something unreadable. “Trying to get an honest answer out of you, that’s all.”
“Honest answer?” I huff out a laugh. “How is this: I’ll miss watching you wipe out anytime you go near the water.”
“Is that why you stopped by today?”
I inhale sharply, my brain scrambling for an excuse. A good one. A logical one.
“I’m here because someone has to make sure you don’t drown,” I say, my voice even. “There are no lifeguards in this town.”
Harris lets out a low whistle, placing a hand over his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Ouch. You really think a guy who looks like this is gonna drown?”
Then, because he’s Harris, he gestures broadly at himself—shirtless, wet, and maddeningly smug.
And so damn sexy.