Page 39 of The Rebound Plan

He groans.

“She called you old, first. Then apologized to me, and I made sure to explain that I’m not nearly as old as you are.”

His mouth falls open. “All right. Okay. I see how it is. Hungover Shannon is quietly sassy, huh?”

“What? Me? Never.” I tip my face up to the sun, grinning.

Which is a mistake, because I don’t notice him peeling his shirt off. I only see the blur of movement as he launches himself in the air like a cannonball.

The lake erupts, a shockingly cold wave splashing over me. I lose my footing and sink under the dark surface.

I grab at my sunglasses, making sure they stay on as I try to find my footing again, straightening up. Gasping.

And when I’m finally balancing on a rock again, Russ is right in front of me, grinning broadly. Water droplets slide over thick, freckled shoulders, and big hands slice through the water, treading with ease.

“Why’d you do that?” I gasp.

His smile widens even further. “I’m a big fan of natural consequences. Splashers get splashed back.”

“I’m in a very delicate condition,” I point out. “That was dangerous.”

He laughs so loud it bounces across the lake surface. “You seem okay.”

“Do I?”

He tilts his head to the side, his own water-dappled sunglasses obscuring what I’m sure is a mocking gaze, and then comes closer, his hand catching my elbow under the water. “Do you need a rescue?”

Yeah. From the feelings that his teasing fingertips are eliciting from my traitorous skin.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

“That’s what I thought.”

“My sunglasses got wet, though.” I take them off, flicking the droplets everywhere. He takes them from me and swims back to the dock, setting them carefully on the boards. He puts his own next to them before diving under the water and swimming past me.

When he finally stands again, he’s out where it’s deep enough that it’s just his head above water. “You never know what’s going to happen on the lake.”

“Good to know,” I murmur back.

I should get out. I should go wrap myself in a towel, and then head up to the house.

Instead, I swim out a bit, tentatively testing my ability to tread water. Turns out, my hungover body doesn’t mind that at all. The cool flow of lake around me feels…nice.

Russ watches me for a beat, then heads out to a buoy, his long, thick arms slicing through the water.

I wait for him to return, but instead he turns and swims toward the neighbour’s wooden swim raft.

After glancing at the dock, I take off after him, cutting diagonally through the water, so I reach the ladder shortly after he does.

“Some lifeguard you are,” I tease when I climb out of the lake.

“You told me you were fine.” He shrugs, his big shoulders bunching and rolling.

It’s a pretty wide platform, but he takes up a lot of space on it anyway. I’m not sure where to sit, so I take a page from his book and jump off, canonballing into the lake. Splashing him again.

Natural consequences for looking the way he does. For making me notice how huge he is, with that reddish blonde hair dusting his chest. It narrows down the centre of his heavily muscled core, a fiery path of curls that disappears into the low slung waistband of his swim trunks.

I’ve never seen him without his shirt on, I realize dimly. He’s jacked in a super solid kind of way. Totally different to Max, who’s all lean, whipcord muscle.

---