Chapter 4 — The First Line Crossed #2
"Tatum, honey," Caroline said, smiling that fond maternal smile that meant she'd heard this routine a thousand times. "Luke might be tired. It's been a long day."
"I'm not tired!" Tatum's eyes went wide, blue and bright and completely full of shit. "None of us are tired! Right, Reese?"
Reese had drifted over during Tatum's pitch, glossy brown hair catching the string lights, honey-brown eyes warm with that Reese certainty that made everything sound reasonable.
"It's kind of a tradition, isn't it? Last summer we all ended up at Luke's after the Memorial Day thing.
Remember? We floated in the pool until like two in the morning and nobody got in trouble because Luke's the responsible one.
" She touched my forearm, fingers tracing that line from wrist to elbow with the easy warmth that always made her impossible to distrust, and her smile was so sweet it could have rotted teeth.
"It's the perfect way to end the first weekend.
Just us and the lake and your amazing pool. "
"Us and the lake," Shay repeated, materializing from somewhere near the coolers with a fresh beer in hand, dark hair wild, vivid blue eyes dancing.
"And by us, she means twenty college kids who will absolutely behave because Responsible Luke is chaperoning.
" She raised her beer in a toast. "To Luke.
The only thirty-eight-year-old on this lake who can handle our bullshit without calling our parents. "
"Hey," Penny said, gliding into the conversation with the effortless precision of someone who'd timed her entrance.
Platinum blonde hair sleek under the lights, green eyes finding mine with practiced ease.
"The light by Luke's pool is actually perfect for photos.
Those underwater LEDs? Gorgeous. And the patio speakers are way better than whatever's happening here.
" She gestured toward the dock where someone's portable speaker was competing with Mark's system.
"It's not even a contest. His place is literally built for this. "
Kiki stood near the dock railing, golden blonde hair lifting in the night breeze, blue eyes watching the conversation with that sweet, attentive expression that made her look like she was just enjoying the show.
She hadn't moved. Hadn't joined the pitch.
Just stood there in her pale blue dress, one hand on the railing, smiling like this was the most natural thing in the world, her friends campaigning for a night at my house while she played the golden Bishop daughter to perfection.
Eden was the one who sealed it. She'd been quiet, moving through the periphery with that watchful efficiency, and when the parents turned toward the conversation, she stepped in with the casual authority of someone stating a fact, not making a request.
"Luke's house is the safest option," she said, her voice carrying just enough to reach the adults without sounding rehearsed.
"Close enough that everyone can walk or get a ride in five minutes, contained because the pool area's fenced, and Luke's obviously the most responsible adult here.
" She smiled at Caroline, warm and genuine.
"It's either that or everyone scattering to different houses, and you know how that goes.
At least this way it's supervised, contained, and nobody's driving anywhere after. "
The word "supervised" did exactly what Eden had known it would do. I watched it land on Caroline's face, then Mark's, then ripple through the cluster of parents nearby. Supervised. Contained. Safe. Luke Whitaker, reliable bachelor, trusted friend, the man with the good pool and the steady hands.
Forget the fact that these were grown women who could walk into any bar in town, no fake ID required. They didn't need supervision. They needed cover.
Five women. Five different angles. All of them aimed at the same target, and none of them mentioning the one woman who hadn't said a word.
"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Mark said, rubbing his chin. "Keeps the kids in one place. Luke's got the space for it."
I wanted to tell him they weren't kids. Not anymore. But I held my tongue.
"God knows I'm too tired to host anything else," Caroline added, laughing. "My feet are killing me. If Luke doesn't mind..."
"I don't mind helping chaperone," I said quickly, grasping for the nearest lifeline. "But maybe a few of you could come too? Make it a proper adult supervision situation. Caroline, you could bring that wine you were talking about. Mark, you haven't seen the new grill setup."
Caroline shook her head, smiling. "Honey, I love you, but I've been on my feet since six this morning. These old bones need a hot bath, a quiet house, and about ten hours of sleep."
"Someone's got to clean up this mess," Mark said, gesturing at the patio with the resigned fondness of a man who'd hosted enough Memorial Days to know his role. "And Laura Bell already cornered me about borrowing the Chris-Craft tomorrow. I need to check the fuel line before I crash."
"Early boat errand," said one of the Madden parents, raising a hand. "Gavin's tournament launch is at seven. I'll be asleep before you hit the water, Luke."
"I've got the twins," added someone from the Hollis extended crowd. "They're already conked out in the guest room. No way I'm moving them."
Someone else laughed. "Luke can handle a few college kids. Man's been running this lake longer than most of us have been coming here. Right, Whitaker?"
Five sets of eyes found mine. Five women who had orchestrated this with the precision of a military operation, and one golden blonde standing by the dock railing, watching it all unfold with a smile that contained absolutely zero surprise.
"I guess it's settled, then," I said, because what else could I say?
Refusing would have required an explanation I couldn't give without sounding like a man who was afraid of his own house, or worse, afraid of what might happen in it.
"My place. Pool's open. Music's fine. Just... keep it reasonable."
"Reasonable," Shay repeated, her mouth curving into a grin that said reasonable was the last thing on her mind. "We'll be so reasonable you won't even know we're there."
The lie hung in the air between us, bright and obvious and completely unstoppable.
Kiki pushed off the dock railing and walked toward us, her blue dress swaying around her thighs, golden hair catching light.
She stopped beside her mother, touched Caroline's arm with that easy Bishop affection, and smiled at me with a warmth that would have fooled anyone who didn't know what she had already done to me three days ago.
"Thanks, Luke," she said, her voice sweet, steady, perfectly calibrated for public consumption. "That's really nice of you."
Nice. Right.
The move began before I could change my mind. Coolers were relocated. Speakers were unplugged. Towels were gathered into arms. The younger crowd shifted toward cars and designated drivers with the focused energy of people who'd been given exactly what they wanted and had no intention of wasting it.
I stood on the Bishop patio with a beer I hadn't finished and the certain knowledge that I'd just been outmaneuvered by five women and one golden blonde who hadn't needed to say a word.
The trust around me was so thick I could have built a house with it.
Unfortunately, that house was already mine, and in about twenty minutes, it was going to be full of the exact people I'd been trying to avoid all night.
Cars piled into my driveway fifteen minutes later, headlights sweeping across the front of the house before cutting out, and the night filled with voices and coolers and the energy of twenty people who'd been given permission to keep a good thing going.
I stood on the porch with the door key in my hand and the distinct feeling that I was unlocking my own undoing.
The takeover happened fast. Someone found the outdoor speaker remote before I'd made it through the door.
The pool lights clicked on, underwater LEDs turning the water turquoise from below, and the patio flooded with that blue-green glow that made everything look like it belonged in a movie.
Towels appeared on loungers I hadn't set out.
Coolers landed on the outdoor table with a series of solid thunks.
Ice rattled. Caps twisted. Music kicked in, something with a beat that carried across the water and bounced off the trees at the property line.
Bodies hit the pool before I could say a word about showering first. Cannonballs.
Belly flops. The shriek-and-splash symphony that happened every time Tatum Bell was within fifty feet of open water.
She came up laughing, copper-red hair plastered to her face, freckles dark against her wet skin, and immediately launched herself at the nearest floatie like it had personally offended her.
"Lake Luke!" she shouted, pointing at me from the water. "Best pool on the lake! I called it!"
I set up a drink station by the grill, more out of habit than hospitality, and tried to look like a man who was supervising rather than a man who was watching his house become something else.
Red cups. Ice. The decent tequila on the high shelf where only adults could reach it, and the cheaper stuff where the younger crowd could help themselves without climbing.
Responsible Luke. Chaperone Luke. The version of me that existed in the parents' minds when they'd nodded approval twenty minutes ago.
From the edge of the patio, I watched the machinery of a summer night operate exactly the way it was supposed to.