Chapter 19 Parker
“Strange Love Under the Hidden Moon.”
In the wall of mirrors across the bench I’m sitting at, I watch Summer weave through the training equipment dotting Brooks’s home gym.
She’s dressed for a day of work after our post-surf workout, designed to build muscle everywhere she needs it, increase her stamina, and make me drool at the sight of her tight-as-hell ass moving in figure-hugging leggings.
Stop staring at her.
Summer’s polo shirt hangs unevenly over her hips, one side skimming the waistband of her leggings and revealing the smallest sliver of tanned skin as she approaches. I swallow hard.
Stop. Fucking. Staring.
Now.
I drag my eyes off her and jab at my tablet, pausing the footage I’ve been studying. “Come again?”
“Strange Love Under the Hidden Moon.” Summer widens her eyes like I’m supposed to have a clue which hidden moon she’s talking about.
“The book I’m reading! They’ve been getting real touchy-feely the last few chapters, and I’m sensing some good old-fashioned double-dicked-alien fornication coming my way.
” She throws her arms out. “Something worth getting out of bed for.”
I frown. Her hair is still wet from the shower she’d taken inside, as though she rushed through her routine just to come here and make me wonder about the mechanics of alien sex. “Aliens have two dicks?”
She gives a conspiratorial nod. “Awesome, right?”
And now I’m thinking about Summer getting double-dicked by a mythical creature, which leads to thinking about whether she’d ever let my single appendage near her, and… Please pull it together.
Easier said than done. I couldn’t be more aware that she doesn’t return my feelings, but I can’t for the life of me forget the slip she had at Oakley’s weeks ago, parroting the town gossip about me. Add to that the moments I catch her staring back at me, and it’s all starting to mess with my head.
I’m becoming increasingly concerned that I’ll end up doing something so stupid, it’ll mean a real end to our friendship.
“Still watching that?” Summer has caught sight of the tablet in my lap, paused on this morning’s footage.
I hit play. The small figure in a hot-pink wetsuit paddles hard for an incoming wave, pale-yellow surfboard gliding through the water.
Summer looks… good. Strong. Fearless while the wall of water grows and builds momentum as it catches up with her. She pops up on her board, grabs rail, and plummets straight down the face of the eight-foot wave. The water curls into itself, forming a barrel over her.
And that’s when it all goes to hell.
I spent several hours studying competition footage yesterday, watching the best of the best ride barrel, trying to get a feel for where she’s been going wrong. She hasn’t managed a single one in the five straight mornings that we’ve surfed together.
She’ll carve up a wave, land aerials no problem. But the second she comes up against a barrel… she bails on the wave a touch too late for a clean exit and gets flung underwater.
Every single time.
And if she can’t pull this off during an event—particularly at Pine Point, where surfing barrels is the bare-minimum expectation—then this won’t be much of a revenge.
“The way you’re surfing…” I pick my words carefully, same as I would with any client—aside from River, who seems to respond best to having his own moodiness mirrored back at him. “You keep bailing late. Like you want to get barreled but talk yourself out of it at the last possible second.”
She glances at me. “Sounds like you’re trying to say something.”
“I’m waiting for you to fill in the blanks for me. Why is it that you haven’t completed a single barrel this week, when I’ve seen you pull them off plenty of times?”
“I’m out of practice. It’ll come to me when it comes to me.”
“You wouldn’t lie to your trainer, would you, Summer?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
With a hum, I lean in closer. Just enough to hear her breath catch, get her cheeks to flush.
There’s a drop of water running from her hair, down the side of her neck, and it’s all I can focus on now.
I’m jealous—jealous of a bead of water touching her the way I wish I could.
The urge is so strong to lick it off her just to see what she does about it.
Like I said—I’m gonna do something stupid one day.
In the end, I don’t lick her. But I do stroke the back of a finger over her pink cheek. “When did you become such a blusher?”
Summer scoffs. “It’s makeup.”
“The makeup you put on while leaving your hair soaking wet?” I hold her wary gaze. “Do I make you blush, Summer?”
Do I? my brain shouts at her. Do you want me? Because I’m a single nod away from kissing the life out of us both.
But Summer juts out her lip in a mocking pout. “Oh, sweetheart. Is the arrogance flaring up again?” She touches the back of her hand to my forehead. “We talked about this. Your mirror time is supposed to max out at fifteen minutes. Otherwise, look what happens.”
I round my eyes. “But I’m so pretty to look at.” Summer laughs, flush gone, eyes bright, and I can’t help reaching out and thumbing her chin. “Don’t laugh. I know you think so, too. I’ve seen you staring.”
She shoves away my hand. “Arrogant and delusional. Truly a winning combination.”
“It’s okay to admit it. It can be our little secret. I’ll even tell you one of mine to make it even.”
Her eyes narrow. “I already know about the life-size cutout of yourself you keep in your closet, Park. I do have to ask, though: Does it ever get old, orgasming to your own face?”
“Shockingly, it did. But then I added yours to the rotation, and all’s right in the world again.”
“Parker.” Summer tries to smack my chest, but I catch her hand before she can.
“Oops.” I wince, squinting at her cheeks. “I think I set off all that makeup again.”
She scoffs but doesn’t say anything. And then we simultaneously realize that I never let go of her hand. That, at some point, our fingers laced. The space between us shrunk so that we’re just a foot apart.
And when our eyes meet again, neither of us moves away. Every single cell in my body demands more. More proximity, more contact. More of that blush. And a lifetime’s worth of her laugh.
“You wanna know my secret?”
“Is it better than the cutout?”
“Probably not. It’s not even a secret. Everyone knows.”
Irritation clouds her expression. “Everyone knows your secret but me?”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes,” she admits after a split-second debate. “Tell me.”
I lean closer, leaving barely an inch between the tips of our noses. “You, Summer Prescott, are the most stunning girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Her lips pop open. She stares at me with those perfect green eyes, long lashes skimming her skin. And she still doesn’t move away.
Would she laugh at me this time?
We’re short a house party and a spinning bottle, but if I tried to close the gap between us and kiss her… would she let me?
A throat clears from somewhere nearby. Summer’s fingers slip from mine and she retreats several steps—several large steps—as River makes his way through the gym wearing the mask of disdain he’s worn since we started our sessions.
“I have to get to work.” Summer fiddles with the strap of her gym bag sitting on a nearby bench. “I’m going to stay back after my last client to swim laps in the pool.”
“Don’t. I’ve got you covered tonight.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously, and rightfully so.
She’s going to hate the idea—and that makes me really damn giddy.
I slip her bag over her shoulder and turn her around toward the garage door.
“I’ll text you the details. Say hi to Don for me. And grab me a muffin if Kendra offers.”
She shoots me a look that plainly says shut up, you big idiot. And just like that, the tension evaporates. Summer shoulder-bumps me goodbye, grinning at River on her way out of the gym. He scowls back at her.
I wait until she’s gone before turning to River. “Nowak, act like a dick with me all you want. But when she smiles at you”—I jab a finger at the now-deserted driveway—“you smile back. Got me?”
River pauses his progress toward me for the sole purpose of flipping me the bird. “Someone’s gotta balance out the doe eyes you make at her. It’s sick.”
“I don’t make doe eyes at her.”
River drops onto a bench while I gather some equipment. “Yes, you do. Everyone in town knows about you and Summer Prescott.”
I fumble a roll of athletic tape. Fucking hell, how is it possible that everyone clocked my feelings before I did?
Does… does Summer know? Has she known all along?
But then I remember those looks she gives me whenever I stare, like she genuinely thinks I’ve hit my head, and I sigh my relief internally. There’s no way she knows.
“Everyone in town is wrong. There’s nothing going on between me and Summer.”
River’s mouth curls into as much of a grin as I’ve ever seen on him. With a dreamy sigh, he clasps his hands to his chest. “ ‘Summer Prescott, you’re the most stunning girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.’ ”
My face goes furiously hot, he smiles wider, and it’s official: I will never, ever, tease Summer about the way she blushes again.
“How’d your walks go yesterday?”
River’s reflection in the mirror grimaces as he follows me to a treadmill on his crutches.
He does well without them in short bursts after a decent amount of work on loosening his joints, but any sustained weight on his recovering leg still sets off that pinched nerve.
In addition to the home exercises, he’s supposed to take a couple of short strolls around his neighborhood a few times a day, to keep building strength.
“Good. I made it all the way to the—”
“You’re a shit liar. How many walks did you take?”
“One,” River says morosely.
“You mean none?” I heave a sigh when he rolls his eyes. Swear to God, this kid was brought here to test me. “River, there’s only so much we can accomplish in the time we spend together. There are a whole other twenty-two hours in the day where you have to take ownership of your own recovery.”