Chapter Seven
Make It Make Sense
Chase
A small Korean woman is sitting on a beach towel in front of Scarlett’s house.
Huh.
Did she check out early? A pang of disappointment courses through me before I can stop it.
“Scottie!” the woman calls over one shoulder. “Bring me another marg when you come out!”
Okay, so she’s definitely not checked out. She’s very much still here.
Then Scarlett steps out onto the deck, and my brain completely malfunctions.
I’m talking full system failure.
Because she’s in a bathing suit.
Not the modest, hide-your-assets kind either. Nope. It’s one of those sleek, high-cut numbers that’s somehow even hotter than if she were wearing barely anything at all. Her legs look endless, and the way the material clings to her curves makes my mouth go dry.
Scarlett Calloway in a bikini is something I absolutely was not prepared for today.
I turn back toward the water, gripping the tennis ball in my hand with more force than necessary before launching it for Rip, who sprints into the surf like his life depends on it.
Evie, stretched out beside me on a towel, watches with an obnoxiously knowing smirk.
“What?” I grumble.
“Oh, nothing,” she replies, flipping a page in her book. “Just enjoying the show.”
I glance over at her. “What show?”
Evie doesn’t even look up. “The one where you pretend you’re not interested in your neighbor while your eyeballs nearly fall out of your head just now.”
I scowl, tossing the ball for Rip again. “I was caught off guard.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s infuriating.”
“Sure.”
“I’d rather let a Zamboni run over my foot than deal with her for the rest of the summer.”
Evie finally looks up from her book, eyebrows raised. “And yet, you keep staring.”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
Instead, I focus on the fact that Scarlett is making her way down to the beach—with a tray of margaritas.
This day just keeps getting more interesting. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and they’re drinking tequila. I like where this is going.
The woman on the towel hops up, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. “That was so slow. I’m dying of thirst.”
Scarlett shoves the tray at her. “You’re dramatic.”
Her friend lifts one of the glasses, clinking the ice cubes. “And you’re grumpy, but I still love you.”
They exchange a look before both taking a sip, and yeah, okay—I’m intrigued.
Evie’s smirk deepens as she watches them. “You should introduce me.”
I sigh and shake my head, but before I can say anything, Rip comes barreling out of the water, shaking spray everywhere.
“Ugh, buddy, really?” Evie says, giving him a glare.
Rip ignores Evie and trots over to greet his new favorite person.
“Oh my gosh,” Scarlett’s friend gasps, immediately crouching down and scratching behind Rip’s ears like they’ve known each other for years. “This is the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen.”
Rip, the traitorous bastard, eats it up, shoving his entire weight against her and closing his eyes in bliss.
“I’m Harper,” she says, still scratching Rip. “And who are you, handsome boy?”
“That’s Rip,” I reply, wandering over. I nod toward Scarlett and her companion. “He has excellent taste.”
“Doubtful,” she mutters, but I catch the way her lips twitch as she fights a smile.
Harper straightens, still rubbing Rip’s ears. “I’m Harper.”
“Chase,” I say, nodding toward Scarlett. “You must be the one she’s been venting to about me.”
Harper grins. “Oh, nonstop.”
Scarlett hisses, “Harper!”
“What?” She shrugs. “I’m just making conversation.”
I smirk.
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Believe it or not, Remington, my life doesn’t revolve around you.”
“But apparently, it does include regular discussions about me,” I tease.
Evie strolls over to where I’m standing.
Harper fake-whispers to Evie, “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Evie hums in agreement. “I’m fully invested.”
Scarlett glares at both of them.
I toss the ball for Rip again and turn to my sister. “Anyway, this is Evie, my twin sister.”
“Scarlett’s best friend,” Harper says with a knowing look. “Chase’s twin sister. Yeah, I feel like we’re gonna get along just fine.”
Evie grins. “I already like you.”
Scarlett takes a long sip of her drink, then levels her gaze at me. “So that’s why you’re so annoying. You were born with double the amount of cockiness a normal person should have.”
Evie laughs. “Oh, I really like her.”
Scarlett turns to her. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Well, I took it as one anyway.”
Harper claps her hands together. “Okay, so this is fun.”
“For you,” Scarlett grumbles, looking ready to bolt.
“Oh, come on, Scottie. Stay,” Harper says, patting the towel next to her.
Scarlett, or as everyone else calls her, Scottie, levels her friend with a glare that could topple a building.
I smirk. “Yeah, Scottie. Stay.”
Scarlett’s gaze snaps to mine, fire blazing in her eyes. Do not look at her chest. Do not look at her chest.
Then—much to everyone’s shock, including my own—Scarlett sits.
Right there, on the towel, her lips pursed as if she already regrets it.
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
She grabs a handful of sand and chucks it at me.
Harper and my sister absolutely die laughing.
Rip? He trots up and lays down between us, tail wagging, blissfully oblivious to the war that’s just been declared.
Scarlett is still glaring at me when Rip decides he’s had enough lounging and sprints back toward the water.
I push up from the sand and follow, bracing myself before heading into the waves.
The water is perfectly cold—refreshing without being unbearable—and I waste no time diving under, resurfacing with a shake of my hair.
When I glance back toward the shore, I expect to see Scarlett firmly planted in her dry, safe space, arms crossed, drink in hand.
Instead, she’s… wading in?
I pause, watching as she steps into the surf, clearly debating her life choices. Harper calls something to her from the sand, but Scarlett just flips her off and keeps going.
Huh. Color me impressed.
I don’t know why I assumed she’d be the type to stay firmly on dry land, but there’s something captivating about seeing her here, sunlight glinting off her damp skin, waves lapping at her legs as she cautiously ventures deeper.
She doesn’t hesitate in her convictions, but when it comes to the actual water? She’s clearly second-guessing.
It’s kind of cute.
I’m about to comment on it—because obviously, I have to—when a particularly strong wave rushes in out of nowhere.
It slams into Scarlett’s back like it has a personal vendetta against her, and before she can brace herself—
“Oh, shit—”
She disappears.
I blink.
One second, she’s standing there; the next, she’s gone, swallowed by the waves.
“Scarlett?” I call, taking a few steps closer.
Nothing.
Rip barks excitedly, as if this is the best game ever, his tail wagging as he paddles past me.
Then—Scarlett reemerges, sputtering, hair plastered to her face, arms flailing.
I lose it.
I actually have to bend at the waist, hands on my knees, because I’m laughing so hard.
Scarlett, however, does not find it funny.
She gasps, shoving her wet hair out of her face, struggling against the pull of the water as she tries to regain her footing. “What the hell was that?!”
“Uh, a wave?” I manage between laughs.
“A rogue tsunami,” she mutters, finally righting herself—only to immediately screech and start flailing again.
My laughter doubles. “Now what?”
“Something touched me!”
Oh, this just keeps getting better.
I wade over, thoroughly entertained. “You okay?”
She glares at me. “I swear to you, something grabbed my leg.”
Then she screams again, lunging forward and latching onto my shoulders like I’m some kind of human flotation device.
I barely have time to react before she’s climbing me like a tree, her legs wrapping around my waist, her hands clutching my shoulders in a death grip.
Her skin is slick with lake water, sliding against mine as she tries to get higher, away from whatever she thinks is after her.
Every shift presses her closer, her thighs gripping my hips, her chest flush against mine.
I blink down at her, her face pressed against my neck.
Well.
This took an unexpected turn.
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “Not that I’m complaining, but usually when a woman throws herself at me, it’s under much different circumstances.”
She smacks my shoulder. “This is not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
She pulls back just enough to glare at me, her dark eyes furious and—damn it—annoyingly gorgeous up close.
Water droplets cling to her lashes, and I can feel her breath against my mouth, warm compared to the cool lake air.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails leaving little crescents I’ll probably feel tomorrow.
“I will end you, Remington.”
I smirk. “Bold words for someone literally clinging to me for dear life.”
She shudders, tightening her hold. “I felt something. I swear, if it was a jellyfish—”
I shift my grip on her, steadying her in my arms because, honestly?
She’s not that heavy, and I’m kind of enjoying this.
My hands find purchase on the backs of her thighs, her skin cool and smooth beneath my palms. Every time she shudders, I feel it everywhere—the tremor running through her body into mine.
“More likely seaweed.”
She gasps, shoving at my chest. “Get it off me!”
I hold back another laugh. “I can’t see it if you don’t let me put you down.”
“Nope. Not happening.”
“So you’re just going to live up here now?”
“Maybe.”
I snort. “It’s seaweed, not the Loch Ness monster. But if you’re scared, I guess I could carry you back to shore—”
“I’m not scared.”
“You sure about that?”
That’s when I realize this position—her wrapped around me, wet and warm, pressing closer with every wave—is about to become a problem. My body starts to tighten in ways that have absolutely no business in a water rescue.
Do not go there, Remington. You’re a grown man, not a thirteen-year-old who just discovered the Victoria’s Secret catalog. Focus on... seaweed. Very unsexy seaweed.
“Put me down.”
“Say please.”
“Don’t make me kill you today, Remington.”
I chuckle, finally letting her slide down.
It’s torture—the slow drag of her body against mine, wet skin on wet skin, her curves pressing into me the whole way down.
My hands settle on her waist for a beat longer than necessary, thumbs brushing the strip of bare skin just above her bikini bottoms. She feels good pressed against me, warm and soft despite the cold water, her pulse fluttering under my fingertips.
The second her feet hit the sandbar, she shoves away from me, muttering something under her breath that sounds vaguely like “arrogant bastard.”
I grin.
She insults me, and I smile.
Make it make sense.
She storms out of the water like an avenging sea goddess, shoulders tense, hair dripping, her hips swaying in a way that makes my mouth water.
Harper and Evie are waiting on shore, both of them openly wheezing with laughter.
Harper gasps. “That was so worth the trip.”
Rip trots happily beside her, tail wagging, and immediately betrays me by rubbing his wet, sandy body all over Scarlett’s legs.
I lose it again.
Scarlett looks to the sky as if she’s questioning every life decision that led her to this moment.
Harper, still grinning, passes her a margarita. “Here. You really need this.”
Scarlett takes a long sip and lets out a sigh of contentment.
I toss Rip’s ball and shake my head, unable to wipe the smirk off my face.
This summer just keeps getting better.
After Scarlett downs half the margarita, I watch her settle back onto the towel, still muttering about “vicious seaweed attacks.”
The other girls drift into their own conversations, and for a moment, it’s just us—well, us and Rip, who has decided that Scarlett’s leg makes an excellent pillow.
“You good?” I ask, dropping onto the sand next to her.
She’s quiet for a beat, absently running her fingers through Rip’s fur.
“I haven’t been in the water in years.”
“What, the Dallas pools don’t do it for you?”
She shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Chlorine and screaming kids aren’t quite the same as this.” She gestures at the lake. “I forgot how... big it feels.”
“Yeah?”
“The only water I deal with in Dallas is my bathtub,” she says dryly.
Great. Now I’m thinking about Scarlett in a bathtub. I need to focus on literally anything else right now: hockey stats, golf scores, my grandmother’s potato salad—anything.
I force my attention back to her face, where it’s marginally safer.
She takes another sip of her drink. “Out here, you can’t control anything. Waves come when they want. Seaweed attacks at will.”
“Truly savage,” I agree, fighting a grin.
She shoots me a look but continues. “I used to be good at this. The whole... letting go thing.”
“What changed?”
She shrugs. “I guess I got better at holding on.”
The admission is small, but something about the way she says it—like she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not—makes me pay attention.
“Maybe you just need practice,” I offer. “Start small. Like not death-gripping the beach towel.”
She looks down at her hands, which are indeed clutching the towel edges, and laughs. “Baby steps?”
“Exactly. Today seaweed, tomorrow... who knows what you’ll be capable of.”
“Let’s not get crazy,” she says, but she’s smiling now, and her grip on the towel loosens.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “you looked pretty invincible out there. Even with the seaweed vendetta.”
She huffs a laugh, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders. “I looked like a deranged sea creature.”
“A very attractive deranged sea creature.”
This time, her laugh is genuine as she tips her head back, exposing the graceful curve of her throat. I struggle to keep my eyes off the droplets of water still clinging to her skin. “Your compliments need work, Remington.”
Harper begins to ask about dinner plans, interrupting the moment. But as Scarlett stands up, brushing sand off her legs, she pauses. “Thanks,” she says quietly. “For not making it weird.”
“Anytime, Calloway.”