Page 67 of Game Changer

Nothing has happened between us, not really, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

Every second we’re close, my skin is on fire. Every time I get a text from him, I bite my lip. I’m in a constant state of arousal, ready to explode at a gruff innuendo or an accidental touch.

Clay heads for me and Robin. “How’re the new cabins?”

“Nearly finished,” she says. “You’re welcome to check them out.”

Robin excuses herself to head back to the administration building.

“You’re sweating,” I tease when it’s the two of us.

“You’ve never had a workout until you’ve chased around a bunch of ten-year-olds,” he says wryly. “That’s why we’re going swimming.”

He doesn’t look gross—he looks sexy.

“Will it be refreshingly cold or skin-numbingly cold?” I ask.

Clay grins. “You can take it.”

I’m not ready to back down from a challenge.

He takes me to the changerooms by the lake, where I put on the swimsuit he told me to bring.

It’s a white two-piece with pink hearts on it that hugs my breasts and hips tighter than I remember. I threw it in my bag to come to Denver on a whim, and it’s not especially lake worthy.

When I leave the building, his gaze skims over me from toes to lips.

A little shiver of anticipation runs through me. I’m suddenly glad I brought these utterly insufficient scraps of fabric.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Not even a little,” he says, his mouth curving at the corner.

The wateriscold, but his closeness helps.

“You were amazing with them,” I say once we’re in.

We wade out to a wooden float a dozen or so yards out, where it’s deep enough for me to barely touch. The water hits Clay in the chest.

“It’s easy with kids. Adults have damage. I went to camp for the first time when I was twelve. It’d been a rough couple years, but I found somewhere I fit in. I was awkward. Always too big. Suddenly, I was celebrated for it.”

I lift my knees, treading water.

“The kids are so full of joy. I’d love to draw out here sometime.”

“Thought you only drew me,” he huffs.

I roll my eyes. “I draw you plenty.”

We share a half smile.

“Camp was the best time of my life. Sometime later when the stress gets to you, it stops being a game.” He swims closer, water dripping off his lips. “I need to be right this year. I only have so many chances.”

“At what? Your life?” My feet brush the sandy bottom of the lake.

“My life is on the court.”

“Then who did I meet on the plane? Because I didn’t know he played basketball. Or had messed up his knee. Or any of the other baggage. And I liked him.”

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