It’s beach day for the Strattons. And Four.
We leave the boat and make our walk to the parking lot bogged down with beach chairs, umbrellas, and thermal bags.
Four and Pearl walk ahead side by side. Pearl, as a rule, only ever carries her purse. She has her arm linked together with Four’s as they walk and she laughs at his bad dad jokes.
Meanwhile, I hoof it with a beach chair strapped to my back and another heavy bag on my shoulder. The family camel.
“Hey, Kenzi!”
At the sound of my name, I stop and turn around (with no over-the-shoulder visibility, the chair on the back requires me to make a full turn). Jason and his crew are at the marina’s swimming pool. When I see Jason, however, my jaw drops.
He’s standing on one of the pool chairs, arms outstretched. He’s all tall, lean muscle, each and every one of them on display. Because he’s wearing nothing except for the bright red lacy panties that I pinned to the corkboard yesterday.
Holy cow. Leave it to Jason King to turn a prank into a fashion statement.
He drops off the chair and walks to the gate. I meet him on the other side of the gate, gawking. I hate that I can see the definition biceps. His abdomen. That dangerous V that slips down his hips.
He swaggers up to the gate, all cocky. “What do you think?”
I lift my eyebrows. “You know this is a family friendly pool, right?”
Jason glances down and tugs at the lace. “What, are the boys showing?”
I follow his gaze and…Jesus Christ on a cracker. The panties really do nothing to contain the massive package trapped underneath.
My poor, pent-up hormones are no match for the sight and I feel my insides clench.
“Well…I’ve got to hand it to you,” I say, trying to play it cool. “You pull it off.”
“You think?” he grins. “If you like them, I’ll wear them to our date.”
I roll my eyes. “Still not happening.”
But he doesn’t look defeated. Instead, that cocky smirk remains intact. “You’re going to give in. Eventually. Just so you know.”
“What, afraid of a challenge?”
“Clearly, not.”
My eyes haven’t left his. Despite myself, I realize…I’m enjoying this. A lot. I like making Jason King work for my attention. I like Jason King giving me attention. I even like this twisted give-and-take we share.
“Change your clothes,” I say. “Seriously. You’re scaring the kids.”
“One date,” he persists. “Just one.”
I shrug. I step away, gripping the straps of the chair, and turn around to catch up with Four and Pearl.
“That wasn’t a no!” Jason calls out.
My back is turned to him, chair hiding me from view, and I’m glad for it because I can finally grin openly where he can’t see me.
Jason is right, though. It’s not a no.
True to his word, he doesn’t give up.
I’m rocking out to The Pixies (a new obsession, thanks to Donovan) and working on my tan lines at the pool when an enormous shadow sucks the warmth out of the sky.
I open my eyes, pull down my headphones, and frown. “You’re blocking everything.”
Jason, the 6-foot-fuck-giant, looms overhead. He’s at least wearing regular clothes this time—a loose t-shirt and joggers. He leans over and braces himself on my chair, his hands on my armrests. My eyes catch on the dark hair that runs up his forearms. I want to lick my lips, but I resist the urge.
“Alright, Trouble,” he says, those sky-blue eyes locked on mine. “You and me need to have a conversation.”
“About?” I ask innocently.
“What’s it going to take to get you to go out with me?”
I tut. “Giving up already. Such a disappoint.”
“No,” he says. “Not giving up. Just giving you a chance to say yes before this gets ugly.”
I snort on a laugh. “Give it your worst.”
He straightens up. “Alright. You asked for it.”
Then his eyes catch on Donovan and—oh no.
Donovan is at the lip of the pool, cleaning out the drain. He’s got his back to us and he doesn’t see Jason approach.
“Jason, don’t!” I tell him, but it’s too late.
Jason grabs Donovan by the front of his shirt. He pulls him up so Donovan is on his feet and then shoves him outward. Donovan’s heels are hanging off the lip of the pool and he grabs Jason’s wrist, his shoes struggling to regain traction. One shove, and Donovan will hit the water. Uniform and all.
“Stop!” I shout.
Donovan twists and struggles, but Jason is strong, his grip tight, and he’s not letting up. “Come out with me,” Jason bargains, “and I’ll let him go.”
“Are you twelve?”
“Asshole,” Donovan sputters as he struggles to get free.
We’re not alone in this pool—there’s at least three other boat owners here, plus the lifeguard. All adults. All pretending like they don’t see what’s going on.
No one does a damn thing. Not when it’s Jason King.
No wonder he thinks he owns this island, and everyone in it. They let him get away with it.
My teeth grind together.
“Okay!” I throw up my hands. “Whatever! Just…stop.”
Jason finally pulls Donovan back from the edge of the pool and releases his grip.
Donovan’s face is red. He scuttles quickly out of Jason’s reach and says nothing.
I can practically see him retreating into his head.
He’s embarrassed, defeated, and I hate Jason King for it.
It doesn’t matter if he has the shoulders of a linebacker and the golden tan of a Greek God.
I hate Jason King.
“What time should I pick you up?” Jason asks casually. As though he didn’t just have my best friend dangling over the edge of the pool.
I step over in front of him and slide my hands over his chest. His body is rock hard underneath the tight shirt. “Seven,” I tell him. “Don’t be late.”
Then I go up on my tip-toes and lean in. He goes for the bait. Jason bends his tall frame, meeting me halfway, and his mouth nearly brushes mine—
When I shove him. As hard as I can.
Jason hits the water with a splash, clothes and all.
He might’ve won a date with me, but I don’t have to be happy about it.
