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The scent of chlorine clings to the air as we walk further into the pool area, that distinct chemical smell mixing with the humidity in an oddly pleasant combination. The rubber soles of our hotel slippers squeak against the wet tiles and I scan the area which is filled with more than twenty Griffin football players.

“They’re over here,” Brynn says, motioning to the group in the back.

I follow beside her, my gaze scanning the far end of the pool where West lounges on one of the plastic chairs reading a book, while Brandon does laps in the deep end, his powerful strokes cutting through the water with precision. Chris, Jace, and Damon hang by the edge in the water, laughing about something, when Chris spots us and waves us over.

I try not to think about the heat of Damon’s gaze on me, tracking my every movement as we make our way toward them. Instead, I focus on smothering the butterflies suddenly fluttering inside my chest, reminding myself I don’t need to be nervous. This is Damon.

“Took you long enough,” he says once I’m standing in front of him, grinning up at me with a boyish smile.

I roll my eyes, belaying my nerves as I smile. “It’s called making an entrance,” I say, and then with all the courage I can muster, I drop the towel.

Damon’s mouth parts, his gaze hungrily raking over my body, eyes melting to liquid pools of heat. I lower myself into the water, ignoring the way he tracks my every movement.

“That’s the swimsuit you brought?” he chokes out in a strangled voice. “With all these guys here?” He motions around the pool, then shifts his body as if to block me from view.

“They’re your teammates,” I say slowly, a crease in my brow.

“Exactly. Fucking caveman, all of them.”

I stare at him for a beat before I tip my head back and laugh. “Jealous, QB?”

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing to slits. “I don’t get jealous.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I tease, splashing water in his direction and watching, mesmerized, when the droplets catch on his chest and slide down his pecs to the defined muscles of his abdomen. His swim trunks hang low on his hips, a thin trail of dark hair starting below his navel, heading south beneath his shorts.

Swallowing, I force myself to look away, turning and unintentionally giving him a view of my ass.

“Fuck. That swimsuit should come with a warning label,” he growls under his breath, and when I glance back at him again, he’s raking a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as if there’s not enough oxygen in the room.

“It’s just a swimsuit, Damon.” Encouraged, I move closer, the water rippling around us as a prickling heat crawls up my neck that has nothing to do with the temperature of the pool.

“Right.” He glances at the space between us, as if he resents it, and so I reach for him, taking his hand in mine just as Chris lets out a low whistle.

“You two done flirting?” he asks. “Some of us are trying to put together a game of chicken here.”

I tear my gaze away from Damon’s to glance over at Chris. “Chicken? Seriously?” I say, my heart pounding like a stampede of buffalo in my chest. “What are we, twelve?”

“Scared we’ll lose, Astor?” Damon challenges, his voice dropping to a husky tone that makes my stomach flip.

Not scared. Nervous.

Because suddenly, the prospect of sitting on Damon’s broad shoulders with the heat of his skin beneath my thighs, is enough to make my head spin.

“From what I recall, we always made a great team,” he adds, studying me as if trying to read my thoughts.

“I don’t scare easily,” I say, even though right now it feels the opposite of the truth.

“Yes!” Brynn claps her hands together, and I jerk my gaze away from him. “I’m in! Jace, you’re with me.”

Charlotte loops her arm through Chris’s. “Let’s goooo.”

West lifts his head from his book and grins at Brandon as he asks, “Wanna be my partner, Brando?”

“Fuck off!” Brandon mutters, lifting himself to the edge of the pool.

“Guess that leaves us, partner,” Damon says to me, the baritone of his voice rumbling through my chest.

I shiver, whether from the cool water or the heat in his gaze, I don’t know.