“Do you think I could borrow some dry clothes?” She bites at her bottom lip and looks up at Nathan innocently. I know that look and I cannot let her go with him. If he were my boyfriend, I’d be crazy jealous right now. In fact, my fake feelings are confusing the hell out of my body because I am jealous right now.

Sydney elbows me and I stumble forward. I’m standing so close I can see drops of water running down from his hairline. I reach out and place a hand on his hard, cold chest without thinking. “Hey.”

I’m too breathless. Too scatterbrained. Too affected by him. And he freaking knows it.

“Hey,” he parrots.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Mhmm.” His smile is filled with innuendo.

I’m pretty sure he thinks talk means take off all our clothes, but I don’t have time or the privacy to correct him. I need to get him alone and beg him not to out me.

A guy wearing hot pink swim trunks with little alligators on them slung low on his hips joins us. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. “Dude, that was hilarious. You should have seen your face when she pulled you in.” He looks to me. “Hey, you’re the girl from Comm class.”

Nathan tips his head toward the guy. “Chloe, this is my teammate Tanner Shaw.”

Tanner lifts his chin. “And roomie.”

“He and John Datson moved in today,” Nathan clarifies. “Shaw, can you lend Maureen some dry clothes?”

“Definitely,” Shaw responds and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Maureen only looks disappointed for a second before she recovers and bats her eyelashes at Shaw.

I remove my hand from Nathan’s chest, but he grabs it now, sending a possessive thrill through me.

Sydney steps toward us, takes my elbow, and whispers, “Don’t disappear all night. This is a good opportunity to spend time with the team.”

I nod, and then she adds, “And bring your man and his new roomie with you.”

Nathan leads me back into the house. He pushes through the crowd, never dropping my hand and tugging me with him. I follow behind, watching his shoulder and back muscles work under the thin, wet material of his shirt. I’m aware that people are staring at him and saying things, but his touch—even cold and damp—makes it hard to concentrate on anything else. The way I feel when he’s around makes it easy to remember how I ended up drunk and naked the first time we met.

He leads me up the stairs, past a basketball court and a couple of bedrooms before he steps inside a room and flips on the light. “This is me.”