Page 11 of One Hot Summer

He shook his head stubbornly, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together.

“No, I don’t understand. What I do understand is that we shared something real last night.

Something that’s been building between us since you got here.

It felt good, it felt right. And now you’re running away from it because you’re scared. ”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. He was right, of course. I was terrified. Terrified of the intensity of my feelings for him, terrified of the consequences if I were to act on those feelings again.

“It’s not that simple. You’re Dalton’s best friend,” I repeated. “You have been for years. I can’t just?—”

“What?” Adam’s voice was gentle, but it felt like a challenge all the same. “You can’t just what, Griffin? Act on your feelings? Risk being happy?”

“I can’t disappoint my son,” I whispered.

He sighed, rising to his feet. He stood there, looking down at me with those piercing green eyes.

I felt pinned in place, unable to look away.

“I get that. I really do. Dalton’s like a brother to me, and I’d never want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with him.

But I know how much he loves you. He’d want you to be happy. I think he’d want us both to be happy.”

I stood up, moving toward the railing to put some distance between us. “It doesn’t matter how we feel. The reality is, this can never work.”

Adam’s shoulders slumped, the fight seeming to drain out of him. “So that’s it then? We pretend nothing happened and go back to being what? Awkward acquaintances who know nothing about what’s going on in each other’s lives?”

His words stung, but I knew they were true. Things could never go back to the way they were before. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wish I had all the answers.”

He shook his head, not bothering to say anything else as he turned and jogged down the steps. I caught myself watching him until he disappeared around the bend. I hated the tension between us, but I was at a loss for how to make it better.

The rest of the morning was a blur. I tried to busy myself with chores that didn’t need doing.

Swept the porch, replaced a light bulb, stacked firewood.

I even checked the gutters, which hadn’t needed checking since I’d paid someone to clean them in the spring.

I kept moving, because every time I stopped, I thought about Adam.

He came back shortly after noon, sweat-soaked and breathless, shorts clinging in a way that made me want to peel them off him.

He washed his hands in the kitchen, chugged a Gatorade in three swallows, and barely glanced at me before retreating to his room.

An hour later, he emerged in new clothes, hair damp from a shower.

He settled in the living room with a book, but he stared out the window instead of reading, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the arm of the chair.

Every so often, I’d walk past to refill my coffee and every time, our eyes met for a second longer than was safe.

The tension grew until it filled every inch of the house, humming in the walls, vibrating in my chest. By five o’clock, I was a mess.

I hadn’t eaten lunch, hadn’t done any real work, and my nerves were shot.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But every time I opened my mouth, the words curdled and died.

After dinner—a silent affair of leftovers and awkward glances—I holed up in my room, determined to avoid him for the rest of the night. I told myself that if I could make it until morning, the worst of the tension would pass. That I’d wake up tomorrow and feel nothing but mild embarrassment.

But by midnight, I was still wide awake, a bundle of static and raw nerves.

There was too much energy in my skin, a low-level hum that wouldn’t stop, refusing to let me sleep.

I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, glaring at my own reflection like it might talk back.

The blue of my eyes looked bleached out in the overhead light, the skin at my temples drawn tight.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this wound up, some primal urge screaming at me to either fight or fuck.

I needed to move. To do something. To burn off the restlessness that had been building all day.

I changed into swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed outside to the lower deck.

The air was heavy with atmospheric pressure like right before a thunderstorm, the clouds so dense overhead, I couldn’t make out even a single star.

It was almost as if the universe itself could feel the tension coiling inside me, just begging for a release.

The pool glowed faintly, underwater lights painting the surface with rippling lines of neon.

It looked like a crime scene, or a baptism, and I wasn’t sure which I’d prefer.

I heard him before I saw him—a soft splash, a quick gasp for breath, the slap of water against tile. Adam was in the pool, doing slow, even laps. His body cut through the water in a steady rhythm, arms and legs working as a team to propel him forward, all that beautiful slick skin on display.

At first, he was oblivious to my presence, and I stood rooted to the spot, my gaze fixed on him. Desire churned violently within me, a powerful need that weakened my resolve and threatened to consume me whole.

He turned at the shallow end, freezing immediately when he spotted me.

For a second, he just floated, treading water, letting his legs and arms keep him level.

The muscles in his shoulders bunched and flexed with every movement, and the shadows from the pool lights made him look older, harder, not like the barely twenty something he was.

The smart thing would have been to turn around right then; to head back to my room and lock the door so I couldn’t do anything foolish.

But I was too far gone to be smart. I tossed my towel over a chair and walked to the edge, Adam’s eyes burning a path over every exposed inch of my body.

I liked it, liked being the object of his focus, and my cock certainly liked the attention, growing longer and thicker in response.

His gaze dropped to the obvious bulge in my trunks, and I bit back a groan as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips—teasing, taunting, inviting.

For a few seconds, neither of us said a word.

We simply stared at each other, the tension between us becoming so taut I was sure it would snap, the force of it sending us both flying.

Finally, he spoke, his voice husky. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I shook my head slowly. “Too much on my mind.”

“Like what?” he whispered.

“You know what.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

I let out a humorless laugh as I stepped down into the pool, the water closing over my knees, hips, chest. It did nothing to cool my overheated skin.

After a second, I dove under. I surfaced three feet from Adam, close enough to see the droplets clinging to his eyelashes.

He didn’t back away. He floated there, staring at me, the look in his eyes daring me.

We gravitated toward each other, drawn by an invisible force.

My conscience begged me to turn away, but I could no longer resist. I didn’t want to.

When we were just inches apart, I reached out and cupped his face in my trembling hands.

His skin was warm and damp under my palms. “You’re playing with fire, you know. ”

Adam’s fingers curled around my wrists, shackles holding me in place. As if I were strong enough to walk away. “Say it,” he pleaded.

“You! You’re what’s on my mind,” I snarled.

That was all it took for my remaining willpower to crumble.

We crashed together, water splashing up between us.

Our mouths met hard and wet, teeth clashing, neither of us willing to give an inch.

His arms locked around my neck, and I felt him shiver, every muscle pulled so tight it was like he was bracing for impact.

He tasted minty as if he’d recently brushed his teeth and something sweeter that I recognized from our previous kiss, a flavor that was all his.

I wanted to drown in it—in him. We kissed until my lungs burned, until my hands went numb from gripping his waist so hard.

I felt his body press up against mine, hot even with the water, and for a second, I wondered if we’d both combust on the spot.

When we broke apart, we were gasping. “God,” I said, voice shaking. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

He laughed, and the sound was soft and broken. “You’re the one who started it.”

I grabbed him again, desperately, and pulled him under. The world above was gone. Down here, there was only the press of skin, the pulse of blood in my ears, the warmth of his mouth finding mine in the dark.

When we surfaced, I pushed him up against the side of the pool, pinning him with my body and kissing him with a hunger too sharp to ignore. Adam locked his ankles around my waist, his fingernails raking along my back as he tried to get even closer.

I lifted him easily, setting him down on the rough tiled edge of the pool. Water streamed off him in sheets. He was shivering, but his eyes burned with need.

I braced my hands on either side of his hips and just stared for a second, trying to memorize everything—the way the droplets clung to his skin, the flush rising up his neck, the parted lips swollen from my kisses.

He looked so fucking sexy, so open and honest and sincere, it almost hurt to look at him.

He pulled me in with a fistful of hair and kissed me, harder than before, tongues tasting, seeking. “God, I want you,” he whispered, and the sound of it sent electricity through my whole body.

I bent my head and made a wide sweep up the inside of his thigh with my tongue. He gasped, hands sliding over my scalp, tugging me closer. When I hooked my fingers under his waistband and looked up, he met my gaze, face open, desperate, ready.