Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

LUNA

I t's the first day of summer break, and it's nice to wake early, head to the beach for a morning swim, and then go over to Zach to help with the house.

Am I any good at DIY? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Was it an excuse to see more of him? You bet it was.

Did I jump straight in without thinking? Of course you did, Luna.

Sure, I can paint a beautiful canvas, but I might've exaggerated the skimming and hammering part. Really though, how hard can it be?

It's six in the morning when I dump my change bag on the sand and begin stripping down to my swimsuit. The ocean is calm today, with only a slight ripple in the waves, and even for an early June morning, I can tell it's going to be a hot day.

I gather my long, sometimes unruly hair into a messy bun. I prefer to keep my hair down most of the time, but since it reaches the lower part of my back, it's a nightmare to swim with it like that.

I'm a strong swimmer. My dad taught me when I was younger. Before he left Mom and got himself a new family in New Zealand, he'd bring me down to the beach and help me master strokes quickly. Since then, it's kind of stuck. I'm not into the gym or running around the neighborhood, but swimming is peaceful, and call me weird, but I like the water to be cold. The shock of it against my warm skin feels invigorating, and they say it's good for the mind. I do my best thinking here.

Thirty minutes later, I'm spent. It's hard work swimming against the tide, even with hardly any waves. It's still really early morning, and I hope Zach is up. Otherwise, I may be waking him…but I can see how that might come with some benefits.

I walk out of the ocean and immediately welcome the slight breeze as it floats across my skin. For saying I'm a Floridian, I'm as pale as they come, and my fair skin is a stark contrast to my deep red plunging swimsuit.

Reaching for my towel, I hear my phone ring and grab it from my bag.

Zach's contact flashes across the screen.

"Hey, I'm just on my w?—"

"I know where you are. I'm watching you. I—I mean not like that. I was just, eh never mind. Just look up."

I can't hide my amusement at his awkwardness. I look up to see Zach at least a hundred yards away, standing on his veranda, a cup of coffee in one hand, his phone to his ear in the other. He's in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants and a backward black cap. Sweet baby Jesus, he doesn't play fair. Okay, he needs to cover his bottom half, but with every woman's kryptonite? And was the backward cap really necessary?

I wrap my towel around me quickly, feeling like my very average body is on full display. "Can I grab a shower in your bathroom before we start? I need to wash all the salt off."

There are a few beats of silence, and for a moment, I wonder if the call's been cut.

But then he speaks again, his tone low and slightly gravelly. "Yeah, sure."

ZACH

I knew her body was hot; it would be impossible for any guy not to notice.

Luna doesn't wear skimpy clothes, but her legs and tight ass hadn't escaped my attention in the past. Even in high school, I caught myself checking her out once or twice and felt like an asshole for doing it; she was Luke's girl.

But what I've just seen down on the beach? I couldn't tear my eyes away. Luna Johnson is smoking hot. I've seen a lot of stunning women in my time, but, fuck me. It's kind of apt she has this obsession with space because goddamn, she is out of this world. Her full breasts, the way her waist dips but then leads to her perfect round ass and grabbable thighs.

What the fuck possessed me to call and then fucking tell her that I'd been watching? I step back into my living room and inwardly groan at the level of cringe. My still hard dick won't back down and, in these sweats, I need to grab some boxers to at least try and hide my level of appreciation. I strip down and throw a pair on. Ideally, I'd take myself to the shower and sort this out properly, but she's on her way over, and the last thing I need is for her to catch me jerking off.

Get a grip, Zach. She's your friend, and you don't do relationships or hookups. Maybe that's why I'm reacting this way? I haven't gotten laid in months. Not since Amie back in December, and it's not like I plan to change that any time soon, so my dick will have to get used to my hand.

I throw my sweatpants back on and grab a shirt just as there's a knock, and I make my way to let her in, all while practicing my poker face.

"Luna Johnson reporting for service." She gives me a little salute and steps through the door.

"Have you had breakfast?" I ask, falling in behind her on the way to the kitchen.

She dumps her bag on one of the stools. "Not yet, but I could go for a coffee?" She leans forward on the counter, the low-cut beach dress she's wearing doing nothing to hide her cleavage. I take off in search of coffee, anything to busy my hands and distract my eyes.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I'm halfway through stirring creamer into our drinks when there's another knock on the door. "Do you want me to get it?" Luna asks.

"Nah, it's good." I set her drink down and head for the door.

Swinging it open, I find Luke standing on my porch. "Hey, man."

Shit. I have his ex, who I'm ninety-nine percent sure he still has feelings for based on his behavior at the barbecue, sitting at my kitchen counter, dressed in a wet beach dress and swimsuit.

He slides his hands into his jeans pockets. "Hey, I was just checking in to see how the renovations are going. Do you still need a hand?"

Luke looks off to the side, and it's then that I notice Luna's car parked in my driveway. It's barely seven o-clock… fuuuuck. This doesn't look good.

He turns back to face me, and I lean against the door frame, arms folded against my chest and taking up a casual stance. Honesty is the best policy, I guess. "She's here to help me out with painting since she has some spare time on her hands with summer break."

His brows knit together in confusion. "Paint? I don't think I've ever seen Luna do any DIY." He laughs, "She called me over last month to hang a print."

Fuck me, this is awkward. But I don't like the way he's mocking her apparent lack of skill. "I think she just wants to busy herself and took pity on the huge job I've got here."

"Mm-hmm," he responds. I can't tell if he's mad, sad, or indifferent. The guy has a better poker face than me, that's for sure.

He looks down and scuffs the ground with his sneaker. "Anyway, I was just checking in." He turns to walk away and back to his truck where it's parked along the sidewalk, but then stops and faces me. "You know where I am if you need me."

Jesus, I feel like an asshole, and I haven't done anything wrong. "Thanks, man. Stop by sometime for a beer?"

"Sure, why not." He climbs back into his truck, cranks the engine, and takes off down the road, reminding me of all the reasons why swearing off any type of romantic attachment is absolutely the right thing to do. I've had enough complications to last me a lifetime.