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A thong.I nearly bite off my tongue.

Sally is wearing a fucking thong. And while it might be white, it’s edged in lace. Same as the bra.

My dick pulses.

Holy God, am I getting hard for Sally?

I absolutely cannot get hard for Sally. What is wrong with me today? Why can’t I get a grip on, well, everything? My body, my feelings, my thoughts? This was a bad idea.

Our eyes meet just before she hits the water.

Or maybe this was the best idea ever.

“Wyatt, you liar—” she yells, the sound cutting off when she plunges beneath the surface.

My pulse drums an unsteady beat as I wait for her to reappear.

I wait.

And wait.

A flare of panic ignites in my center. Kicking my feet, I turn in the water, frantically looking for her. “Sally? This isn’t funny. Sally! Where—oompf!”

Hands find my stomach and push hard, sending me skidding through the water. Sally’s head breaks the surface a couple of feet away, her brown eyes on fire.

“What was that for?” I sputter.

“Being a shithead.” She splashes me. “What happened to not looking?”

I splash back. “I…was just making sure you were okay.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.” I splash her again.

She shakes her head, her body undulating in time to the strokes of her arms in the water. “Why are you like this?”

“Because.”

Sally grins. “Because you miss me?”

More than you know. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“You miss me?” I’m vaguely aware this conversation is starting to feel flirty. Which is confusing. And awesome. And confusing.

Have Sally and I always flirted and I didn’t know it? Or is this new?

“Sometimes,” she replies, lips twitching.

I’m gripped by the sudden, fierce urge to kiss her.

Before I can process that—before I can drown myself so I don’t do something very, very stupid—Sally does it for me. Drowns me, that is. She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me down. She rises out of the water as I fight her, laughter bubbling up the sides of my rib cage.

The last thing I see before I let her push me under is her nipples poking through her bra.

Bless.