Page 6 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

ITSY BITSY TEENY WEENIE RED BIKINI

FINN

I t’s late afternoon, and I’m lying on the sand pretending I’m here for the sun and not the vision in red that’s been haunting my dreams for seven weeks.

Wesley’s passed out beside me, probably dreaming of whatever heartbreak drove him from Alaska to the big leagues.

Dmitri’s nearby, restless energy radiating off him as he tracks his daughter’s chaos down the beach.

And me?

I’m doing what I shouldn’t be doing.

Watching Jessica Novak wearing a ruinous excuse for a bathing suit.

She’s sprawled across a striped towel, sun-drunk and smug, owning the beach without lifting a finger—long, toned legs crossed at the ankle, one knee cocked just enough to make a man forget how to walk.

That damn scrap of fabric? Pure weaponry, sculpted to hug every curve of her tall, athletic frame.

She’s reading The Three-Body Problem , because of course she is—Chinese sci-fi, quantum chaos, big-brain stuff. Jessica Novak doesn’t just look like she could ruin your life in a sentence, she probably brought footnotes.

Her sister’s kneeling beside her, rubbing sunscreen across her back, laughing at something Jessica mumbles from behind her book, casual, innocent, completely misleading.

But it’s not innocent.

Jessica arches into the touch, slow, lazy, blissfully unaware she’s the center of every filthy fantasy I’ll be replaying for the next decade.

Her neck tilts just enough to bare that maddening curve where her shoulder meets her throat.

Her spine is a clean, perfect line of temptation, red strings untied and trailing at her sides, nothing short of an invitation.

I shift on my towel. Adjust.

But it’s no use. The second my gaze drops to where Sophie’s hands glide over sun-kissed skin, all my blood travels south.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it.

Shouldn’t be imagining how it’d feel to straddle her hips, palms skimming over that smooth, warm back, taking way too long to rub in the sunscreen. Letting my thumbs drift lower. Teasing the edge of that barely there suit until she’s squirming beneath me, not her sister.

I scrub a hand over my face and exhale through my nose like that’ll do a damn thing to cool me off.

For one deranged second, I actually consider getting up, walking over there, and telling Sophie, “I got this.”

As if I wouldn’t get drop-kicked into next week by both Novak sisters.

Jesus. Get a grip.

I shift again, trying to discreetly cover the growing problem in my shorts .

Seven weeks ago, I had her. Now I’m back to square one, losing my mind while she stretches out, frying my brain and pretending nothing happened between us.

That microkini is a fucking war crime. She’s not just sunbathing, she’s smoldering. Weaponized temptation wrapped in barely-there fabric and zero acknowledgment of the fact that she’s wrecking me.

My jaw clenches when Sophie’s hands linger too long. Not because it’s rational. Because it should be my hands.

My fingers tracing her ribs. My mouth against her skin. Her voice saying my name, the way it did when she came apart in my arms.

I drag my arm over my face, blocking the view before I do something epically stupid. Like stare harder. Or combust. Or remind her—out loud—that I already know how she tastes.

God, I need help.

Or distance.

Or the strength to walk away.

Probably all three.

“You’re salivating.” Nate chuckles, plopping himself on a towel next to me.

“Shut up,” I grouse, not looking away.

A blur of motion slams into my side.

“Coach Finn!”

A ten-year-old boy launches himself onto my towel like a missile.

“Easy, killer,” I laugh, catching him before he takes us both down.

Jake grins up at me, sun-streaked hair and sandy legs. Dmitri ruffles his hair. “Hey, buddy. Practicing that full-body check already?”

His mom, Melissa, jogs over. Dmitri’s girlfriend Erin is a step behind with Amneris and her little friend, Kaycee, in tow.

“Jake, come on, give Coach Finn a minute to relax.”

“But he’s my coach now!” Jake declares proudly.

Melissa beams at Dmitri and me. “Thanks again for coaching the kids. Jake’s obsessed.”

“Jake’s in good hands now,” Dmitri says, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand.

“I’m happy to do it when the team’s in town,” I add. “It’s a change of pace.”

When I glance toward the water, I notice Jessica looking. Just a flicker before she turns away.

Melissa puts a hand to her chest. “We’re thrilled.” She wrangles Jake and herds the kids toward an umbrella setup nearby.

I shake my head, watching them settle. Then my gaze shifts to Jessica again. I’m not being subtle about it either.

“She’s going to catch you staring.” Dmitri grins like the smug bastard he is. “And then—boom. You combust. Like a cheap Soviet toaster. Or one of those tragic fools in Dostoevsky. Too many feelings. Not enough brain.”

“I’m not staring,” I lie, shifting in the sand.

Wesley follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Fuck. Me. Who’s that?”

“Jessica Novak,” Nate says, way too smug. “Head of PR. Boss energy for days.”

“Hot,” Wes mutters, clearly impressed. “Like…dangerously hot.”

I slowly glance at him.

Liam O’Connor drops onto the sand beside me, beer in hand, sunglasses pushed into his hair. “Jesus. You morons drooling over the Novak girls again?”

Dmitri shrugs. “Not me, Captain. Immune. ”

“Speak for yourself,” Nate grumbles.

Liam sips his beer. “Yeah, well, I am speaking for you. Let Sophie catch you looking sideways, and I’ll bury you in the dunes.”

Nate scoffs, grinning. “No worries, Captain, no danger here.”

“This show’s hard to watch,” Wes groans.

Liam swings his head toward him. “Especially you, rookie. That one’s mine.” He jerks his chin toward Sophie. “Look at her like that again, and I’ll break your stick.”

Wes blinks. “Jesus. I didn’t know she was?—”

“You do now.”

Wes nods quickly. “Noted. Very noted.”

“And just so you’re clear,” Dmitri cuts in, grinning, “Jessica’s off limits too.”

Wes frowns. “What? Why? Who’s the asshole?”

Nate sighs audibly. “Let’s just say Finn called dibs a long time ago.”

“Dibs?” Wes blinks. “Are you guys seriously out here claiming all the hot women on Fire Island like it’s a fucking fantasy draft?”

“Yes,” Liam, Nate, and Dmitri say in unison.

Wes throws his hands up. “Unbelievable. Did I miss the part where we were handed a roster?”

“Yeah.” Liam grins, flipping him off. “You were late to the meeting.”

“Find your own pretty girl, rookie,” Dmitri deadpans, patting him on the head. “This beach is big enough for your heartbreak.”

Wes groans and flops onto his towel. “This team is toxic.”

“You’re just horny and unranked,” Nate quips.

Then Liam’s gaze shifts—to Jessica. Then to me. No smile this time, just a look. Because Liam gets it. Maybe not everything, but enough.

When Jessica vanished after Montreal, I came undone. One minute, she was mine; I thought I’d finally broken through. The next, she pulled a full Houdini on me.

No note. No warning. Just gone.

Out of my mind, I went to Liam. Asked if Sophie knew anything. Pressed harder than I should’ve.

He told me Jessica was in Shanghai.

Shanghai , ladies and gentlemen. Like she’d picked the farthest point on the map to prove just how fine she could be without me.

Liam didn’t say much. He knew it wasn’t curiosity driving me, but desperation. And today, he knows I’m not just watching her.

I’m waiting. For what, I don’t even know. A sign. A shot. Another opening.

Nate turns to me, lifting his sunglasses. “Dude, explain why Jessica walked by this morning wearing what I assume was your T-shirt?”

I glance away, jaw tight.

Because I didn’t tell them about the outdoor shower. Or how her wet skin steamed under the moonlight. How she slipped my shirt on afterward, or how she looked at me, caught halfway between regret and surrender.

She was already gone by the time I made it back to the house, my shirt on her a claim I never staked.

And this morning? She didn’t return it. Didn’t mention it, either. Just sat there, cool and composed, number seventeen stretched across her back, sipping her coffee and driving me insane.

Taunting me. Testing me. Like she always does with the espresso waiting for me when I’m upstairs for a meeting .

She signals she’s interested but always says no when I ask her out. Every damn time. As if she’s measuring how far I’m willing to go, how much I’ll put in.

My hand fists the towel, jaw locked tight.

“Careful,” Nate drawls behind his sunglasses. “You’re about two seconds from bursting into flames.”

“Getting her to go out with me hasn’t exactly been easy,” I grunt, my voice low. “It’s like we keep hitting reset.”

Dmitri huffs. “She’s the forever kind. Worth the effort.”

He’s right. I don’t chase girls like Jessica Novak for a night.

She’s not fast. Not easy. Not forgettable. She’s the one you fight for.

And when I catch her again, it won’t be for a night. It’ll be for good.

The volleyball game starts as an escape. Turns into torture within minutes.

Dmitri tosses a volleyball into the air, barking, “Let’s go! Teams! We play now!”

Liam, ever the captain, steps in with a grin and claps his hands. “Alright, alright. Let’s make it interesting. Everyone on your feet, we’re splitting this up.”

There’s a bit of groaning, some beer bottles being reluctantly set down, and the rustling of sand-sticky towels. Jessica’s still lying on hers, propped up on one elbow, red bikini scandalous and intentional, nose buried in that book like she hasn’t noticed half the team now openly watching her.

She knows we’re watching her.

Liam strolls past her, snags the book gently from her hand, and raises an eyebrow. “ The Three-Body Problem ? You’re such a nerd.”

“I like a challenge,” she replies coolly, not even bothering to take the book back. “And I’m not playing.”

“Yes, you are,” Liam says, walking away with her book tucked under his arm like he’s holding it hostage. “Get up, Novak.”