2
Pete
I’m a good guy. I’m not bragging. It’s just a fact. I’m honest to a fault. I’m loyal as they come. I’m a caring son and a dependable brother. No one on my hockey team has been arrested this year, and I shovel my neighbors’ sidewalks without ever being asked.
But somewhere in this life or a previous one, I must have fucked up royally. Otherwise, I wouldn’t deserve this kind of torture.
Claire Fowler always looks good. In sweats and a tee, she’s adorable. In jeans and a hoodie, she’s pretty as fuck. In a strapless cocktail dress at the hockey fundraiser this past fall, she was a goddamn vision.
But in a bikini?
I’m in danger of losing my mind. And it’s only day three.
It’s not like Claire is the only person here wearing a bathing suit. Hell, we’re on the beach. But she’s the only one who has my attention, though that’s nothing new. I’ve been captivated by Claire since the day we met, but thefeeling isn’t mutual. The woman hates me. Despises me. Glares lasers through my soul every time she sees me.
And I have no idea why.
I’ve racked my brain and my friends’ memories and none of us can recall any grave sin I committed against Claire.
The high today is only in the mid-70s, but we’re northerners, so it feels downright tropical. If the temp creeps any higher, I might just shuck my gray t-shirt and catch some rays.
Then again, I might not.
I don’t need another reason for Claire to think the worst of me. And don’t give me all that body positivity stuff. I am positive about my body. I’m strong as hell, faster than any guy my size has a right to be, and more agile than you’d think. My body does its job and then some. But unless Claire has some penchant for dad bods or a secret fetish for chest hair, I doubt she’ll appreciate me putting myself on display.
The last thing I need is to see a look of utter disgust on her face when she glances in my direction. There’s already contempt, no need to add repulsion.
She keeps looking my way, though, almost as if I’m a venomous snake and she’s got to keep tabs on me so I can’t sneak up and strike when she least suspects it. Claire doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me, and though I have no doubt her lithe, muscular form is far from weak, I can’t picture her tossing all two hundred and fifty pounds of me very far.
Before I can let my mind run away with an image of Claire with her hands on me—even if it is to haul my ass into the ocean—Kinsey, another assistant, comes to relieve me of my duties so I can take a lunch break.
“How’s it going, Pete?” she asks, beaming up at me as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Kinsey is one of those cute, pocket-sized girls. I’d crush her if I ever tried to hug her, not that I would. I don’t touch people without an express invitation.
Kinsey has no such qualms, though, since she latches onto my forearm while she awaits my answer. I’m guessing she’d rather grab my bicep, but it’s out of reach. Or maybe she’s got an arm thing.
“Pretty good,” I say, extricating myself from her light grip and taking a step back. “Thanks for switching me out. I’ll be back in thirty so you can relieve Tess.”
I reach for my water bottle, but sadly, my quest for hydration signals my downfall.
“Are you gonna party with us tonight, Pete?” she asks, her eyes wide. Is that supposed to be a cute thing? I think it is, but she just looks like one of those freaky cartoon characters. The effect is unsettling, especially when she starts batting her comically long eyelashes.
“I don’t know,” I hedge. “Might just catch up on sleep and turn in early tonight,” I say, clutching my water bottle, and turning to go.
A spray of sand hits my chest as she literally stomps her foot. Seriously, is she twelve? “Pete,” she whines, making my name sound like it’s got about nine syllables. “You have to come. I promise, you and me will have so much fun if you come out tonight.”
I’d correct her grammar, but I don’t want her to kick sand in my face. And I don’t want to keep this conversation going, so I offer a half-hearted shrug and duck out when students step up to our station to replenish their supplies.
There’s a pavilion about thirty yards away, so I head in that direction and toss my bag on one of the picnic tables.I unpack the sandwiches and fruit I grabbed from the faculty lounge this morning, and dig in while scrolling through my phone. Finding the text thread I want, I tap out a quick message.
Pete:How’s Ma?
Leo: She’s good. She’s working from home today.
Pete: Why?
Henry: Because we’re awesome and she can’t bear to be away from us.
Rolling my eyes at my youngest brother’s message, I take a bite of my sandwich and open my container of fruit salad.
