Page 46 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“Hello,” a voice says behind me.
His voice.
I turn. Asher stands there in a white T-shirt and black shorts that fall just past his knees, dark shades hooked on his collar. Beside him is Brick, his hand looped through Asher’s like it’s second nature.
“Hey, Brick,” I say, wiggling my fingers. He wiggles back, shy smile and all.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Asher says, giving the cove a once-over like he’s patrolling it.
“I’m always here.” It comes out too fast.
He tilts his head. “I suppose it does look like it. This just doesn’t feel like your scene.”
“And you know my scene how, exactly?”
“Well, I don’t see any placards. Or a megaphone.” His mouth twitches.
“Dad.” Brick tugs his arm, eyes already on the water. Asher shoots me a small, apologetic smile and lets himself be led away.
“Oh my God, today’s going to be a disaster,” Riley groans as she hustles up, plopping onto the mat. Her ponytail is half out, and there’s sunscreen on her sunglasses. “We need extra eyes.”
“What?” I drop onto the mat beside her.
“Terry—theseasonallifeguard—called in sick. I’ve been on the phone with the ranger station and the marina office for anhour. Lake Patrol is short-staffed, and no one wants to volunteer because, and I quote, ‘I came to float, not supervise.’”
“And they still didn’t budge?”
“Not even an inch.”
“Well, maybe there won’t be any emergencies,” I say, digging my toes into warm sand. “This cove’s usually tame.”
“Or,” Riley says, deadpan, “a kid ends up halfway to the fishing pier, and we finally end Pool Day forever.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I tip my face to the sun, listen to the squeals and splashes, and try to file the lake sounds into the drawer in my brain labeled “calm.” Boat wakes slap the shoreline. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker leaks 80s rock. A dad warns a teenager about the drop-off past the second buoy. My eyes stray—entirely against my will—to Asher and Brick, settling two umbrellas down.
Asher pulls a jar of sunscreen from a tote. I watch him shrug out of his T-shirt. The sun catches on his shoulders, on the line of his collarbone, on the faint scar by his eye. He begins smoothing sunscreen over his chest and throat.
“Jasmine,” Riley hisses.
I blink. “What?”
“What are you staring at, and why are you turning the exact color of your hair?”
“It’s nothing.”
She tracks my gaze—of course she does—and her mouth curves in a slow, wicked grin. “No.”
“Don’t.”
“You were staring for minutes. I have to ask.”
“And I said don’t.”
“You’re as red as a tomato, and it’s not the sunburn.” She leans in. “Do you like him? Isthatwhat this is?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I tip my sunglasses lower. “He and I are always at each other’s throats. What could possibly come of that?”
My traitor eyes slide back just in time to catch Asher dusting sand off Brick’s shoulders and smearing on sunscreen. He looks up, like hefeltme staring, and our eyes catch across the cove. The heat spikes behind my cheeks.
