Paul laughs loudly. “Oh, come on, don’t be a party pooper,” he says, taking a step closer. “It’s a swimsuit. It’s meant to get wet.”
I force a laugh that’s more of a strangled cough. “Yeah, well, I’m kind of attached to it, so?—”
“Yeah—bro, she’s not going swimming,” Turner says, so matter-of-factly it gives me pause. “Not withyou,anyway.”
Paul’s brows draw together, his cocky smirk fading. “Dude. Relax.”
Turner’s lips curve into a smile that’s all teeth and no warmth as he stands, rising to his full, opposing height. “Oh, I’m relaxed.”
I shiver, excited.
“Man, I was joking.”
Turner doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Stares Paul down like he’s a bug he’s deciding whether or not to squash.
I gulp back warm, Texas air, when Turner finally tears his eyes from Paul and turns to me, my heart slamming against my ribs. His gaze drops to my legs, then my chest, then back to my eyes, and I swear I can feel every single place he’s looked like a physical touch.
Then.
He lifts his hand, palm up, fingers spread.
I glance at Turner’s hand, at those big, calloused fingers and the way they flex, waiting for me.
It’s a dare.
A challenge.
I glide my palm over his; it’s warm. Rough. Solid.
When his fingers close around mine, it feels like he’s staking a claim.
I barely get a second to process the sensation before Turner moves.
In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls me to my feet. The world tilts, my vision spins, and before I can even squeak out a protest, Turner’s arms slide beneath my knees and around my back, hoisting me up like I weigh nothing.
“Eek!” I yelp, my arms instinctively looping around his neck as my body presses flush against his chest. The muscles beneath of his pecs are hard and unyielding, and I feel every delicious ridge and line against my skin…
“Turner!” I squirm against his chest, but his arms are like steel bands, locking me in place. The smirk on his face is pure wickedness, his eyes glinting with a devilish delight that makes my heart stutter.
Paul’s face is a twisted mix of shock and fury, his cheeks flushed red. “What the fuck, man?Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Turner says, not even sparing Paul a glance. His attention is all on me, his grin widening as he adjusts his grip, his forearms flexing beneath my thighs. “You snooze, you lose.”
Cash’s whistle is sheer delight, cackling “Aw, shit! Turner’s about to baptize her!”
Paul scowls, crossing his arms, his jaw tight.
“Turner,I swear to god—don’t youdare!” I gasp indignantly, my nails digging into his shoulders as he steps closer to the edge of the pool. The blue water shimmers, sparkly and clear, and the drop into the deep end looks a whole lot higher from his arms.
“Too late,” Turner says, voice dark and playful, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. “You’re going down with me.”
Then he bends his knees and leaps.
The world drops out beneath me, the wind rushing past as we plunge into the pool. I scream, the sound swallowed by the water as we crash beneath the surface in a massive, bone-rattling splash.
The water envelops us—cold and sharp—bubbles swirling around us as we sink to the bottom, Turner’s arms still wrapped around me, his chest firm against mine, his legs kicking to bring us back to the surface.
We break through, gasping for air, and I shove at his chest, sputtering. “Y-youasshole!”
