Page 58 of The Problem with Perfect

But that doesn’t mean I can give in to how it feels, which is why I swam off once she climbed back into the boat. It felt like I needed to put physical distance between us, like I needed an actual lake separating us to make sure I didn’t drag her toward me and press my lips to hers.

I was barely able to look away when she took off her clothes and stood standing in her bathing suit, a little blue number I’d like to peel off with my teeth. It sits low on her hips and the small triangles fit snug on her perfect tits. Then I got hard just by warming her skin and feeling my hands pressed against her body, a real feat considering how cold the water is.

Like I said—intoxicating.

I’m thankful, though, that she had the ability to pull away from me when I couldn’t manage the strength to do the same. That’s Bellamy, though. She promised me she wouldn’t try to make something happen between us again, and she’s the type of woman to be believed when she makes a promise. It just makes me admire her even more.

I spend quite a while on the shore, lost in my thoughts and the quiet of North Bay before I decide to head back out to the boat. As much as I’m enjoying the solitude of being here on the beach, I also know each minute I’m here is a minute Bellamy has to be with Stace and Connor without me. If I can’t bewithher, I can at least be next to her so she doesn’t have to face that little shit on her own.

I stride into the cold water—a much more difficult task than just plunging in now that I’ve been warmed by the sun—and begin swimming back out to the boat.

God, I can’t stand Connor. He’s such a little prick. He reminds me of all the frat bros Jackson was friends with during college. It was one of the few things that has really tested our friendship, and it ultimately proved to me that I can’t judge a person until I get to know their character. Jackson is definitely a man with character.

Connor, however…there’s just something about him. He’s got this cocky arrogance that needs to be smacked out of him. That whole ‘old house’ conversation was as infuriating as it was laughable, at least to me, just another example of his entitled attitude.

Apart from the fact that we were very clearly arguing about our own ages, the value of youth versus longevity, there’s also an obvious insinuation there about the importance of money. Of which Connor has plenty, and I have…not as plenty.

I might be running a successful business, but finances are always tight. My primary profits go to Boyd and Jackson and back into the business. I only take enough to keep me afloat—pay the mortgage and the utilities, food, gas, etc. Connor’s dad owns the resort, the most profitable business in Cedar Point. We’re very much in different tax brackets.

I mean, even this boat demonstrates that. I examine it as I approach, my long strokes slowing as I near the step at the back. They own a Cobalt, which isnota cheap power boat by any means, and it looks to be brand new.

Abby and I share my father’s old fishing boat, David Buoy, and it does the trick of getting us out on the water, but it is an older vessel through and through that I have had to put a lot of work into maintaining.

As I pull myself out of the water, I glance at Bellamy. She seems to be enjoying Connor’s boat, laying out on the extendable mesh that hangs almost like a hammock over the water. It makes me wonder briefly if she’d enjoymyboat.

Her head tilts when she spots me, and she smiles. “Enjoy your swim?”

I nod. “I did.”

“Good. Glad you got in some alone time.”

My hands pause as I’m drying myself with a towel, her words hitting me. The idea that she’d notice that I like alone time, that I need it, crave it…it’s surprising to me, because I can’t remember ever having someone vocalize it out loud like that, as if it’s not a big deal.

Abby is an extrovert, and she always seemed upset when I’d tell her I wanted to go hiking alone or swimming alone or any other thing, because she assumed it was to get away from her.

I mean, technically, it was, but not because I needed to be away from herspecifically. It was because being alone is how I recharge, how I think through the things that matter, how I keep myself level and focused and moving forward. Somehow, Bellamy gets that, almost immediately.

Instead of stretching out along the back bench, I climb out onto the hammock next to her, suddenly realizing that, after my time away from her, it’s almost like I’m even more interested in drawing her near.

She giggles as my still damp skin rubs up against hers, and then we just lie there, baking in the sun. We’re both wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see her eyes, and she can’t see mine.

But something tells me we’re both looking at each other for quite a while.

* * *

It’s late in the afternoon by the time we pull back up to the dock at South Bank, and I feel exactly like you should after a day on the water: slightly sticky, overly warm, and incredibly tired. So when I get to my Blazer and see the flat tire, I groan, not wanting to deal with it today—or any day, for that matter, but definitely not today.

“Leave it and come back tomorrow,” Bellamy tells me, giving it a gentle kick. “I’ll give you a ride.”

After our goodbyes with Stace and Connor and promises to do it again soon that are a bald-faced lie on my part, I squeeze into the passenger seat of Bellamy’s little Honda CRV and we head toward my house.

“Thanks,” I tell her as we unload the cooler and carry it inside together. I don’t tell her I could have brought it in alone, especially now that it’s far more empty, and that’s partly because I’m not ready for her to leave.

“No problem,” she says as we set it down in the kitchen. She unclips the lid and opens it, tugging out the remaining beers and putting them in the fridge.

My eyes rove across her as she bends and rises over and over again, taking in the faint pink on her skin and the wavy, untamed wildness of her hair from being out on the water.

“What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

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