It’s especially hot.
The sun beats down on us. I have to tie my shirt in a knot, but I can still feel beads of sweat sliding down every part of my body.
Jason is working shirtless. I’m not complaining, except that it’s distracting. He is insanely sculpted; I’ve never seen a body like his, except in the movies. Especially not on a teenager. It’s hard for me not to stare—to follow the bead of sweat that drips down the center of his broad chest, over his toned stomach, and each pronounced ridge of his abdomen. When he buffers polish onto the boat, his biceps flex and those hard muscles roll down his back.
While shamelessly gawking, I feel a towel hit my face.
“Hey!”
Donovan just smirks from across the boat. “Distracted much?” he asks.
“N-no,” I fumble. “Just thirsty.”
“I can see that.” Donovan doesn’t stop looking smug.
Now Jason is looking at me too and my face feels hot and it’s not from the sunburn. “Can you get me a bottle of water, babe?” I ask, making my voice sugar-sweet.
AKA: please, please, please don’t call my thirsty ass out in front of Jason.
Mercifully, Donovan gets to his feet. “You’ve got it, hun.”
I exhale as he leaves. He might tease hard, but he’s not going to humiliate me in front of the boy that…well. I might have a minor crush on.
“Hey, can you grab me one too, dude?” Jason calls out. “I’m sweating like a nun at church.”
I laugh at that—obnoxiously loudly. Jason gives me a little confused grin. It was funny, but not that funny.
A small, ity-bity crush. I polish harder.
Suddenly, a string of curses comes from the stern. Donovan shouts and crashes around. Jason and I are immediately on our feet and rushing over.
“Dude, are you okay?” Jason asks.
“Fuck! It’s huge!” Donovan is no longer on the deck—he’s climbed up the railing of the boat, dangling half-in and half-out.
And then I see what he’s talking about. A furry bundle bounces around the bottom of the boat. It looks like a beaver and is nearly as big, except instead of a beaver tail it has a thick rat-like tail.
A yelp leaves my lips before I can help it—I’ve seen New York subway rats, but nothing that big.
Jason, however, springs into action. He jumps into the center of the boat and stomps his feet loudly. “Other way, little dude!” he says. The giant rat-thing squeaks, its sharp nails clicking across the floor of the boat, and then finally finds the exit. It slides off the stern of the boat and flops into the water. It looks perfectly natural here and starts swimming quickly, zig-zagging towards the tall grass.
My heart is hammering in my chest and Donovan is still wrapped around the railing. Jason, however, breaks out into a laugh. He clasps Donovan on the shoulder hard.
“Bro, it’s just a muskrat,” he says. “Don’t be a pansy.”
Oh no. I know immediately that that’s the wrong thing to say, because Donovan’s ears go red. He swings his leg over, both feet on the boat now, and jerks away from Jason’s touch. “I’m not your bro,” he snaps, “so get your hand off me.”
Uh-ho. Between the sun, the muskrat, and Donovan’s short fuse, this is about to explode. I try to defuse it with: “Maybe we should get back to—”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, man,” Jason says.
“Forget it,” Donovan grumbles. He hops off the boat and onto the deck.
Jason looks at me blankly. “What’d I say?”
I sigh. “Donovan!” I climb over the railing and run down the deck after him.
