NICK: So are we all good for our annual Fourth of July Hamptons beach party?

GEMMA: Fuck yes.

HARLEY: I’m in!

ME: I think so. I don’t have a bar shift so as long as I don’t get any orders I should be okay.

JACK: Did I just . . . am I . . . did I just get added to the group text?

GEMMA: Aw man, does this mean we have to shut down period talk? I rely on Sadie to give me a two-day warning before I’m about to start.

JACK: I don’t know what that means, but please don’t hold back period talk on my account.

NICK: Their cycles are all synced. Save me, Jack!

ME: You two are totes adorbs.

NICK: So can you make it to the Hamptons for the 4th, J?

JACK: I don’t see why not.

GEMMA: Mmm. Jack in a bathing suit.

ME: He can see that, you know.

GEMMA: I know.

Eight

So yeah. Jack in a bathing suit.

By the time we arrive at Nick’s parents’ house in the Hamptons—beachside, obviously—we’re all hot and cranky, so we change into our suits, grab a few beers, and head directly to the pool. Because why not have a pool overlooking the ocean? Rich-people logic.

But not even the intensely spectacular view can pull my attention from this other, much more interesting view. Jack may have stepped up his fashion game in recent weeks, but this is my first time getting a real peek at what’s been hiding underneath those mostly baggy clothes. And it’s, uh . . . not what I would’ve expected.

He’s long and lean and cut like a swimmer. Even though I’ve never once seen him don workout attire, or, you know, work out, there are faint ridges of abs lining his stomach. A smattering of dark hair grazes his chest, trailing down into a thin line leading right into the edge of his waistband. His arms are sculpted without being beefy. To sum up, he’s hot. Certifiably hot. And I’m definitely not the only one who notices.

“I was mostly joking in that text thread, but damn.” Gemma looks him up and down from her perch on a poolside lounge chair.

“Sadie, did you know all that was under there?” Harley tilts her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose to get a better view.

I push my own sunglasses farther up on my nose, hoping to block my eyes so no one can tell how hard I’m staring. I make my shoulders move up and down in some kind of motion slightly resembling a shrug. “It’s—he’s—I—it’s—what?”

Gemma and Harley exchange a look before bursting into laughter.

“I hate you both.” Rising from my own lounger, I yank my cover-up over my head and toss it on the chair before diving into the pool.