Page 22 of Summer Heat

At the risk of being rude… Damn!

I mean, I know it’s a cliché, but since when do chefs have a six pack and a body that would be the envy of any underwear model?

I stand there gawking for what could be a minute or an hour until a bit of sand they shovel out of the hole hits my legs.

I snap out of my daze, grab the extra shovel that’s abandoned by my feet, and jump into the hole with the intention to help.

Both men immediately stop digging and stare at me as if I were an alien or something that definitely doesn’t belong on the beach.

“What the fu—” Matt begins but then corrects himself. “What are you doing here?”

Duh? I lift the shovel, as if showing it to him. “Helping you dig?”

Helping you dig?Seriously? Could I say anything lamer than that?

Matt reacts with an eye roll, last night’s kindness obviously completely forgotten. “Are you really hell-bent on making us look bad in front of the boss? Or do you think we aren’t capable of doing our jobs?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes at his grouchy tone. “I couldn’t care less about how you look in front of the boss. I’m not here to check on you or anything. I was just trying to help.”

He narrows his green eyes, his perfect square jaw set in a hard, stubborn line. “If you’re bored, there’s water aerobics at ten at the main pool or mini golf at eleven. Shit, you could even get dance lessons. The new dancing instructor was inDancing with the Starsor some equally pretentious shit.”

Drew intervenes. “Come on, Matt, give her a break. There’s nothing wrong with getting some help if Greer’s up for it.”

Matt mutters something under his breath, I think it’s “Suck up,” before ramming his shovel into the sand with one last annoyed glare in my direction.

I’m tempted to ask him what the fuck crawled up his ass, but I choose to ignore him, instead turning my attention to Drew. He doesn’t look hungover. He actually looks pretty good this morning.

“So why are we digging?”

The chef has no chance to answer because Matt snickers at me. “You’d think you’d ask this questionbeforejumping in and grabbing a shovel? What if we’re burying a body or something?”

I have to use all my self-control not to stick my tongue out at him. “Right. Whose body would you be burying?”

Well done, Greer! I know I walked right into it when his green eyes flash with an amused glint.

“Who knows? Maybe the bodies of girls who keep sticking their pretty noses where they don’t belong?”

Asshole.

I have no chance to retort, merely managing to flip him off, when Drew scolds him again.

“Knock it off, Matt!” Then he smiles at me. “We’re digging a hole to roast a pig in for tomorrow night’s luau party. Your dad wants to do a Hawaiian theme night for his special guests, and it takes several hours to get the fire at the right temperature and to roast the pig. So we’re getting a head start on it.”

“That’s so cool! I’m sure it’ll be delicious!” I gush, throwing a provocative look in Matt’s direction.

“I’ll do my best to impress.” Drew smiles self-deprecatingly. “There’s also going to be a show. The dancers are preparing a hula dance and most of the staff is performing. They have straw skirts, leis, the whole shebang. They have rehearsals this afternoon, Matt and Brady are dancing too.”

I look at Matt with an amused smile, imagining him in a straw skirt, and I avert my gaze when the picture I just conjured in my mind causes a wave of heat to rise to my face.

“Yeah, we’ve all been voluntold to make fools of ourselves in front of your father’s guests. I wonder whyyoudon’t have to do it, Drew,” he says, twisting his lips in displeasure.

Drew’s chuckle puts a smile on my face as he smirks at his friend. “Because I’m the chef, dude! Cooking the whole fucking feast kind of gives me a hall pass on the hula dance.”

He winks in my direction as Matt mutters something about having the worst luck and always getting stuck with the shitty jobs.

I push the shovel into the sand, and I immediately realize that this is a lot harder than it looked when I saw Matt and Drew doing it. Not only is the sand heavy once it’s sitting on the shovel, but at this point it’s also damp and packed way tighter than the dry sand on the surface. Huh, wet sand is way heavier, and it’s not like I’m going home every night and pumping iron in order to beef up my muscles.

I see Matt watching me in my peripheral vision, though, so I double my efforts because I’m not giving him the satisfaction of admitting that this is too hard for me.

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