Summer Love (4 page)

THE
little girl wrapped around the guy's ankle starts to cry, and he bends down to pick her up.

“No swimming, no swimming, no swimming,” she says over and over.

He sits down with her on the edge of a chaise lounge and tells the boys to sit next to him. They don't. One picks up a towel and wears it as a cape.

“I am Super Monster Blake Man, and I'm going to eat you!” he shouts to his brother and starts to lumber after him, heading toward the bathroom.

The boy without the cape takes one running step forward, clearly trying to get ahead of his brother, and one of the lifeguards blows his whistle.

“No running on the pool deck!” the lifeguard yells from his chair.

Now it looks as if the no-cape brother is about to cry as well.

“Come here, Leo,” Mr. Killer Abs says, with his arms still full of Sloane, who seems to have stopped crying.

Leo doesn't come, though; he seems frozen in place.

“Blake, you, too,” Killer Abs says.

But Blake is too busy being Super Monster Blake Man and karate kicking invisible enemies. You take pity on Killer Abs and get up off your chaise lounge.

“Hey,” you say as you get closer, “you need any help?”

Abs looks up at you for a minute as if he's going to say no, but then lets out a breath. “If you know how to get this one to like swimming lessons or those two to listen to directions, be my guest.”

You look at Sloane and then you look at the boys. “Let me try to talk to her,” you say. “You can deal with the Super Monster and statue man over there.”

Sloane is still hugging his neck, not letting go, so you start up a conversation.

“Hi,” you say to Sloane.

“Hi,” she says back.

“I like your bathing suit.” She has a red one with ruffles all along the edges. Luckily, you're wearing a
red bathing suit, too. “It's the same color as mine,” you point out to her.

She looks at your bikini; it's red with white polka dots.

“I don't have spots,” she tells you.

“Boys!” Killer Abs says. “Come here!”

The boys don't listen.

“Do you like my spots?” you ask Sloane.

She nods, and then unlocks her hands from around Killer Abs's neck. “I have a mermaid on my tummy,” she tells you. “Look.”

“That's beautiful!” you say. “Can I see it up close?”

She climbs off Killer Abs's lap and stands in front of you. He mouths the words
thank you
, then gets up and zooms over to Leo and Blake while you and Sloane continue to chat about mermaids and how mermaids all take swimming lessons.

By the time Killer Abs has returned with Leo and Blake, Sloane is very excited about being a mermaid and learning to swim.

“Nice work,” Killer Abs says, nodding at you. “I could've used your help all morning. I'm Adam, by the way.”

You introduce yourself to him. “Nice to meet you,” you tell him.

“Likewise,” he answers.

Three swim instructors are heading your way, after dropping kids off at their parents' lounge chairs.

“Private swim lessons,” Adam tells you. “One instructor for each. Too bad it's not private babysitters, too.”

“You'll be here in half an hour?” one of the instructors asks Adam.

“Absolutely,” Adam says. “And you have my cell if something happens before then. If I leave the pool area, I won't go far.”

The triplets all say good-bye and head off for their swim lessons, Sloane telling her instructor how she wants to learn to swim like a mermaid.

Adam turns to you. “Thank you,” he says. “Seriously. Thank you. Sloane had a bad morning. And the boys freak when I pay more attention to her than I do to them.”

“No problem,” you tell him. “Is it really just you and the three of them all day?”

“Pretty much,” he tells you, running his hand through his straight, jet-black hair. It's longer in the front than it is in the back. “But their parents pay a lot.”

You laugh. “Well, seems like you're earning it.”

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Listen, I was going to go over to the snack bar and grab a soda or something. Maybe take a little walk around. Any chance you want to join me? It's the least I can do to thank you for your assistance back there.”

“THAT'S
such a nice offer,” you say to Adam. “But it's my first day here, and I've been planning on some major relaxation time.”

He flicks some hair out of his eyes. “And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?”

He
is
pretty cute, but you think about the chatting and the flirting and the thinking about what you say and making sure you're being witty and clever and fun, and you just don't think you can handle it right now.

“Not today,” you tell him. “But really, thank you for asking.”

Adam nods his head and says, “Well, it was still nice to meet you. And thanks again. I hope the kids behave during their swim lessons and don't interrupt your relaxing time.”

You laugh. “Don't worry,” you tell him. “I've got headphones, and I'm not afraid to use 'em.”

“You may need to blast your music if one of those guys gets to wailing.”

“Duly noted,” you tell Adam. “Enjoy your break.”

He looks as if he's about to say something more, but instead salutes you, which is kind of goofy, but somehow kind of cute, too. And it makes you wonder if maybe he's going into the military or something. Especially with those abs.

YOU
look back and forth between the two guys. Dex's blond curls are flopping in the breeze, and his cheekbones look especially chiseled in the sun. His eyes are soft and pleading.

“I think I'll give Dex a chance to apologize,” you say.

Mitch looks disappointed, but Dex's grin has turned into a full-fledged smile. “I promise I'll make my apology worth your while,” he says, holding his hand out to you.

As you walk, he starts to apologize in earnest. “The twins can be . . . a lot sometimes. And Mitch is so competitive. I just try to go with whatever they want and not get into it with them. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn't want to play with you. That couldn't be further from the truth.”

He looks at you with his navy blue eyes. “Do you forgive me?” he asks.

You look at him sideways. “I'm thinking about it,” you tell him.

YOU'VE
always had a thing for smart guys—even back in kindergarten you had a crush on the one boy who could already read, Danny Jung. He left after kindergarten, moved to another state, you heard. You wonder for a brief minute what happened to him and vow to Google him later. He used to have a lunchbox that looked like a barn. A red one. With horses and pigs painted on it. That's another reason you liked him back then. Yours was just plain with stripes.

Anyway, this particular smart guy, the one on the beach now reading
The Iliad
, seems as if he's worth a try. You take your book in one hand and the sunscreen in the other and walk over to his towel.

“Hi,” you say. “I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I just wanted to tell you that I like your taste in books.” You show him the spine on yours. There's a little Penguin on it, matching the one on his. “I think our books are related.”

He looks up at you with eyes the color of olives and laughs. “Definitely cousins.” Then he turns his sideways so you can see how thick it is. “Mine's the overweight cousin. The one everyone talks about behind his back when he helps himself to a fourth hamburger and a fifth slice of blueberry pie.”

You turn your book sideways. “I think mine's the cousin who probably could use a second burger and goes to Zumba classes every morning.”

“Zumba?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Never mind. Some sort of dance workout thing my mom does.”

He nods sagely. “Zumba. Got it.” Then he notices the tube of sunscreen in your hand. “Do you always carry sunscreen when you compliment people's books?”

This is your opening! “Well,” you say, “not always. But I'm having a sunscreen emergency right
now, and, actually, I was wondering if you could help.”

“A sunscreen emergency?” he asks, his eyes getting wider. “That sounds serious.”

You nod and put on your most serious face. “Oh, it is,” you tell him. “Incredibly serious. If someone doesn't put sunscreen on my back right now, I might turn into a lobster.”

His eyes go to your book. “Better than an insect,” he says. “Or what's the actual description? A monstrous vermin?”

You flip open
The Metamorphosis
. He's quoted it exactly. “How'd you know that?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Words stick in my head. Read that one last year. I'm Marco, by the way.”

You introduce yourself and ask, “Did you read it for class?”

He nods, then holds up
The Iliad
again, this time with the cover facing you. “This one's summer reading for college. But it's pretty good.”

You're shocked. “College gives you homework over the summer?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Columbia does, at least. All incoming first years have to read this one. It seems
right to read it on the beach, though, because of lines like: ‘He saileth in his many-benched ship over the wine-dark sea.'”

You look out at the ocean. “Doesn't look so ‘wine-dark' to me,” you say.

Marco laughs. “Good point. So you want me to sunscreen you up?”

You hand over the tube of sunscreen, and he pats the blanket in front of him. You sit down.

“I heard you're supposed to use about a shot glass full of sunscreen per application,” he says. “But since this is just for your back . . . what do you think, a quarter of a shot glass?”

You twist your neck around to see if he's serious about this. You can't really tell. “A quarter of a shot glass sounds good to me,” you say.

He nods and starts squeezing sunscreen into his palm. “I think that's about right,” he says, holding his hand out so you can see it.

“Looks good,” you say, trying not to laugh. There's something kind of endearing about how seriously he's taking this sunscreen job.

He rubs the sunscreen into your back, and you feel how strong his fingers are. You wonder
if he does finger exercises to strengthen them. Do people make finger weights? Little finger barbells? Or maybe it's from the piano or something.

“Do you play an instrument?” you ask.

His hands disappear from your back. “I do,” he says. “The guitar. Why do you ask?”

You're glad he's facing your back, because you know you're blushing. “You, um, have really strong fingers,” you say.

He rubs more sunscreen across your shoulders and the back of your neck. “I've got calluses, too, though, so they're not very soft. Guitar strings are not kind to fingertips.”

His hands disappear from your back again. “You're all rubbed in,” he says.

You flip around on the towel so you're facing him. “Thanks,” you say. “I really appreciate it. I should probably let you get back to your book now.”

Marco looks at you for a long moment. “You could,” he says. “Or you could take a walk with me along the shoreline. I think I might need a break from
The Iliad
, as lovely as it is.”

You're intrigued. You know that if you tell this
story to Tasha, it'll totally count as a point in the flirting challenge. But you wonder if Marco could be a point in the kissing challenge, too.