I sit up on the wooden storage table, bracing myself as I dig through my bag with shaky fingers.
One puff. Hold. Two. Deep breath in. Hold. Exhale.
The relief is slow but steady, the tightness in my chest loosening with every controlled inhale. My vision sharpens. My pulse evens out. I close my eyes for a second, focusing on my breath, grounding myself in the quiet hum of cicadas, the muffled sounds of golfers in the distance, the low, familiar rasp of—
“You good?”
My eyes snap open.
Zane—one of the younger pool attendants, all easy charm and too much curiosity—is standing a few feet away, arms crossed, head tilted.
I straighten quickly, clearing my throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
His gaze flicks to the inhaler in my hand. “Didn’t know you had asthma.”
“I don’t exactly advertise it,” I mutter, shoving it back into my bag.
He studies me for a second, then takes a step closer and props one hand against the table beside me. He’s tall—not Warren tall, but close enough to feel a little too confident about it.
“You should pace yourself,” he says, teasing. “Can’t have you dropping on the back nine. One of the regulars might think it’s their heart giving out.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”
He grins and reaches out, fingertips brushing lightly against my elbow, like he’s about to nudge me or say something else—
“Zane. Shift change.”
My stomach knots instantly.
We both glance toward the door, where Warren stands, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Watching. Measuring. Deciding.
My face burns.
His gaze moves slowly between me and Zane, assessing the scene like he’s already made up his mind. Like he’s sure of exactly what he’s seeing whether it’s true or not.
Zane, ever oblivious, just smirks. “Hey, Mercer. I’ll be right there—just finishing up.”
Warren doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even blink. He tips his head slightly, eyes fixed on me now. “If thirty seconds is all you need, by all means. Finish up.”
His tone is smooth, but there’s something razor-edged beneath it.
I straighten, bracing myself. “Don’t be such a dick.”
He lifts a brow and finally flicks his gaze toward Zane. “I’m not the one getting handsy in the equipment shed.”
“We weren’t doing anything,” I snap.
Zane laughs, like this is all a joke to him, like he’s enjoying the show. “Guess I’ll see you around, Quinn.”
I don’t answer, just keep my eyes locked on Warren until Zane disappears.
Warren steps forward. Not much—just enough. Enough that I have to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. Enough that the space between us feels too small. Too familiar.
“You’re real quick to defend yourself.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Why’s that?”
I huff. “For someone so committed to avoiding me, you sure love to stick around.”
Warren smirks.
