Page 2

“Damn, it felt like Coach was trying to punish us for those measly few weeks we got off in the summer,” Mack groans, leaning his forearms against the elevator wall and arching his back to stretch his muscles.

I grunt in agreement, my own shoulders stiff under my shirt. It was nice to get a break from the constant grind of early morning swim practices, but now that summer vacation is officially over, we’re back at it.

So, Mack wasn’t kidding. Coach really was out to kick our asses this morning. And considering it was the first official swim practice of the season, we were all a little rusty.

“Got my shoulders stiffer than my morning wood,” Mack mumbles, standing upright again as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Does everything with you have to involve your dick?” I groan, following him out into the hallway.

“I don’t see the ladies complaining.” He smirks over his shoulder.

My fist tightens around the handle of my gym bag, fully prepared to swing it into the back of his legs, but my hand stills when something brown catches my eye.

“The fuck is that?” I ask, frowning.

“You order something?” Mack muses, glancing between me and the large box outside my front door.

“No.” I definitely would have remembered if I had. “Did you order something?”

Although we don’t live together, Mack crashes on my couch whenever he wants, so the question isn’t too far-fetched. It’s become an unspoken thing between us since we became friends freshman year.

One afternoon, after a particularly rough training session and a few too many beers, we realized we had more in common than just swimming: deadbeat dads who couldn’t be bothered to stick around long enough to see their sons grow up.

Nothing quite like that to seal a friendship.

“Nope,” he says in response to my question. “But let’s see what’s inside.”

“You sure? Maybe we shouldn’t—” My words are cut off when Mack hauls the box into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Taking it inside, obviously. Now hurry up and open the door,” Mack quips. “We’ll tape it back up afterward. No harm, no foul,” he adds when I don’t move toward the door.

“Fine, whatever,” I mutter, not in the mood to argue with him.

And he does have a point. It is harmless on our part. It’s not like we’re planning to steal anything. Besides, if it were something valuable, the owner should’ve made sure it was sent to the right address.

I’ll tell whoever comes looking for it that we did them a favor by bringing it inside and out of harm’s way. Hell, they’ll probably thank us.

After dropping our bags on the floor, Mack sets the box on the kitchen counter and makes a beeline for one of the drawers while I inspect the outside.

There’s no address or apartment number anywhere, not even a company logo to hint where it’s from. All I find is a name scribbled haphazardly on one side in black Sharpie: Bear Miller.

“Do you know a Bear Miller?” I ask over the sound of Mack rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers.

“No, can’t say I’ve heard that name before,” he says without looking up.

A minute later, Mack straightens and turns. I cast a wary glance at the object in his hand.

“Are you sure we should do this?” I don’t exactly feel great about digging through someone’s belongings.

“Relax, Levi. As long as it’s not a bomb or anything, it’ll be fine,” he says, flicking the pocketknife open before joining me at the counter.

I watch as the blade glides easily through the clear tape. I don’t know what I expected to find, but this definitely isn’t it.

“Well, shit, that was anti-climactic,” Mack murmurs.

My brows furrow. “What the hell is all of this?”

The box is crammed with stuff—random stuff from the looks of it.

I grab the first thing my eyes land on. It’s one of those ceramic mugs, the type you can get at those artsy places where they let you paint the stuff yourself. This one is pale pink, dotted with tiny flowers it’s all feminine and fragile-feeling.

Carefully, I set it back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mack fiddling with a Polaroid camera.

We keep picking through the contents, taking out one thing after another. In the back of my mind, I know we shouldn’t be doing this, but curiosity keeps my hands moving.

Each item gives me a tiny glimpse into this person’s world—Bear’s world. I’m intrigued, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’ve stumbled upon some hidden treasure; it’s just generic girl stuff.

I pull out an oversized sweatshirt with “California” printed across the front. Then, a portable speaker joins the growing pile on the counter. I grab a candle with the words “My best friend gave me this” printed on the label. The scent is exactly what I expected. Flowery and sweet.

“That’s all of it,” Mack says absentmindedly, the sound of his phone vibrating through the quiet apartment already pulling his attention away.

Peering down, I see he’s right. The only thing left is a giant fuzzy checkered blanket folded into a lopsided square.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes still glued to his screen. “You good with packing this backup? I need to meet someone.”

“The same someone who kept you so busy in the summer you couldn’t answer half my texts?” I ask, raising a brow at him.

While I drove the two hours back home, Mack—who grew up here—happily stayed at my apartment over the summer break.

His answering smile is one I’ve seen countless times though it’s rarely directed at me. It’s the perfect mix of sweetness and arrogance, and the female population at Huska falls for it every damn time.

“What can I say? It’s difficult to get away when everyone wants a piece of you.”

I roll my eyes. “Keep it up, and I won’t stop the next girl who wants to slap you for sleeping with her best friend.”

“To be fair, I never even knew they were friends,” he says, rubbing his jaw like he can still feel the sting of her slap. “So, you good?”

I wave him off. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Sweet. I’m going to go hop in the shower.” He claps me on the shoulder as he walks toward the bathroom. “If I’m taking too long, don’t bother me. I’m rubbing one out.”

“Not in my shower, asshole.” I holler after him, but he just laughs, shutting the door behind him.

Shaking my head, I grab whatever’s closest to me. I’m about to drop it back in the box when my hand brushes against something hard.

“What the…” I mutter.

I ditch my plans to repack everything and grab the blanket with both hands, unfolding it. It falls to the floor, revealing a photo frame that I quickly turn around.

It’s a picture of two girls dressed in graduation caps and gowns, holding rolled-up diplomas and smiling widely for the camera. But I hardly notice the one on the right because it’s the one on the left who has all my attention.

She’s tall, at least a foot taller than her friend. I swear my heart rate picks up the longer I stare at the sliver of long, tanned legs peeking out from the front of her gown.

My gaze travels further up her body, and I silently curse whoever designed these graduation gowns. It’s too flowy and hides too much.

My train of thought should freak me out. I sound like a creep, ogling a photo of a girl I don’t know. Tell that to my eyeballs because I can’t seem to tear them away. Nor do I want to because, fuck me, she’s stunning.

Straight, white teeth peek out from behind full, pink lips. And she has the cutest nose.

Shit, did I seriously just think that?

Either I’m dehydrated from practice, or starvation is setting in because when have I ever described someone’s nose as cute? Never. Yet, the word is so fitting.

Tracing a finger over her long, blonde hair, I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. Wonder how the strands would feel as I run my fingers through them.

Christ, this is so messed up.

I grip the frame tighter and continue taking stock of every feature.

Big, ocean-blue eyes stare straight back at me.

They’re the type of eyes you willingly get lost in.

The world could fall apart around you, but one look at her piercing gaze, and you’ll find a moment of peace and serenity before nothingness takes over.

Mack would call her hot. But that would be an insult to someone like her. She’s beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. No, fucking captivating . Her looks draw you in, but there’s a brightness around her. She almost glows with it. If you’d have told me she was an angel sans halo and wings, I’d believe you.

It’s when my dick stirs in my sweatpants that I pump the brakes on this…this…whatever this is. It’s officially gotten too fucking weird. She’s just a girl. There are hundreds of them on campus.

I swallow hard, knowing what a lie that is. I don’t believe that. No one on campus could hold a candle to this girl.

I drop my gaze back over the photo again one last time, I tell myself.

And when my dick twitches, I grab the blanket and shove the picture frame back between the folds, haphazardly dumping it—and the rest of the box’s contents—back where they belong.

In my haste, I don’t even bother to re-tape it in a way that looks like it hasn’t been tampered with.

When I’m done, my heart hammers in my chest like I've swum ten laps. I drop onto the couch, forcing myself to get a grip. Once I finally feel like I can breathe normally again, my thoughts drift to why I even have that photo in the first place.

That might be Bear.

Was it her stuff we were going through?

The realization that I could see her in the flesh both terrifies and excites the shit out of me for reasons I don’t even want to dissect.

Then, an even scarier thought comes barreling through my mind. Bear could be the other girl in the picture. The one whose face I barely remember because I was so caught up in those striking blue eyes. What if the picture is the closest I’d get to seeing that girl?

Tapping my fingers against my knee, I fight the urge to dig the picture back out and hide it under my pillow for safekeeping.

If anyone heard my internal rambling, I’d be hauled off in a straitjacket. Crazy is what this is.

Shaking my head, I tell myself to knock it off.

She’s gorgeous, and I’m attracted to her, which is making me think with my dick and not my common sense. It’s a perfectly natural reaction. I’ve had a bit of a dry spell, and it’s fucking with my head, that’s all.

This weekend, I’ll hit up a party— one of those Mack is always trying to drag me to.

Hell, maybe I’ll get laid and forget about this whole thing.

Forget about her .