Chapter 6

Spencer gives me an in-depth lesson on boating, but I don’t pay as close attention as I should. What’s the point when he’s going to be doing all the steering and mechanical stuff anyway? Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he stops talking.

“Got any questions?” he asks.

“Nope.”

He lets out an exasperated breath, but I ignore that, too. “You know, if something happens to me, you’ll need to know all of this.”

“Originally, you were going to make this trip alone. What would’ve happened then?” I cross my arms and smirk as if I just managed to best him at his own game.

“Nothing, but if I was alone, I wouldn’t have to worry that you’re safe. If the boat capsized, or I fell overboard, that would suck for me. But if that happens now, I need to know you’ll be okay.” There’s no trace of humor in his tone, but the concern he expresses is thick and genuine.

I drop my arms to my sides, and I’m at a loss for another witty comeback. “Oh,” is all I can manage to say.

“I’m going to test you on this later,” he says without bothering to look at me.

I narrow my eyes, unable to tell if he’s being serious or not. Rather than question him or start another argument, I turn on my heel and head below deck. This boat isn’t huge, which means the living quarters aren’t exactly spacious, either.

A small table with a single booth seat is affixed to one side, while a galley kitchen occupies the other side. The tiniest bathroom hides behind an accordion style door, and then there’s the bedroom. One twin bed with a single person hammock hung in the corner of the room. As of right now, I have no idea what the sleeping arrangements will be, but I am not spending the summer sleeping—and more than likely falling out of—a hammock.

I heft my single bag onto the bed and rummage around inside for my swimsuit. To my horror I realize in my rush to catch Spencer before he left, I forgot to pack a lot of things… like enough jeans and shorts. I only have a single extra T-shirt and a spaghetti strap tank top. My supply of underwear and bras is severely limited, too. But I have enough pajamas to last a lifetime. Oh, and my swimsuit, of course. Thank goodness I didn’t forget that.

Groaning, I prop my hands on my hips and stare at what has to be the worst packing job ever. What am I going to do with all of this? I can use pajama shorts for real shorts, paired with my bikini top. Guess that’s one benefit of being on a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan.

I shove everything back into my bag and pull the curtain closed across the bedroom entrance, because of course there isn’t an actual door with a lock. Then, I quickly change into my swimsuit before Spencer decides to come looking for me. The last thing I need is for him to accidentally walk in on me when I’m half naked. The mere thought of that makes me shudder.

As soon as I’m finished, I rush back up to the deck. Spencer is leaning over the side of the boat doing something, so I stand silently and watch him. His shoulders strain beneath his shirt, and his back is taut with the effort of whatever he’s doing. He grunts, straightens, then wipes his hands on his shorts.

“A good boat guest would offer to help, you know,” he says without turning around.

I raise a brow. How did he know I was here? “Yeah, well, most boat guests aren’t stuck in the middle of the lake against their will.”

He barks out a surprised laugh, then twists to glance at me. His eyes are dark and filled with an emotion I can’t quite place. “No one forced you to get on this boat with me, Ev. You’re free to leave whenever you’d like.” He waves toward the endless miles of water surrounding us.

“Sure. I’ll just take a leisurely swim back to shore. How far away is it, anyway? Five, six hundred miles?”

He grins, and twin dimples appear on either side of his mouth. Whoa. Talk about sexy. When did he get those? I know for a fact he never had them when we were younger. Heat erupts inside of me, and I shift on my feet. I really need to stop checking out Spencer Vaughn. The summer heat must be getting to me or something.

“Nice to know not everything about you has changed,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spencer shrugs lazily, then wanders toward the bow. Effortlessly, he strips off his T-shirt, and my mouth goes dry. I allow myself a moment to admire him, and the longer I stare, the harder my pulse races. He’s all hard, corded muscles, well-defined abs, and perfectly smooth skin. No one I know is that perfect—not even Reid, and he’s the hottest guy in school.

I attempt to speak, to ask him how he went from gangly to gorgeous, but my throat closes up, and I end up coughing so hard, tears form in the corners of my eyes. Before I can stop, or catch my breath, or even blink, Spencer is in front of me.

He gently rests his hand on my back and rubs in soothing circles. “Easy there,” he says, his tone smooth as silk but as grating as fingernails on velvet. “You okay?”

I step away from his touch and nod. “I’m fine, just swallowed wrong.” I clear my throat a few times until I’m sure I won’t devolve into another coughing fit.

“Here.” Spencer opens a small cooler stashed beneath the bench, retrieves a bottle of ice-cold water, and holds it out to me. “Drink this. It will help.”

“Thanks.” I take the bottle, twist off the top, and swallow a small sip. The icy liquid cools the burn in my throat, so I take another, longer drink; then I plop down on the bench.

“Better?” he asks, a trace of knowing humor in his tone.

I nod.

“I thought we could drop anchor and swim for a bit, if you want.” His heated gaze rakes down my torso and bare legs, sending a rush of goose bumps across my skin. “The first town isn’t too much farther away. We should be there before dark.”

“Okay.” I continue to sip my water, looking everywhere but at him.

“I plan to dock there for the night.”

“Okay,” I say again.

“There’s this great restaurant right on the lake where we can grab dinner,” he says.

“Okay.” I drain what’s left of my water. My throat feels a lot better, but heat still rushes through me, and I momentarily wonder if I’m getting sick. Maybe my reactions to Spencer are nothing more than a feverish delusion.

“Then, we can get a hotel room and you know…” He makes a low, throaty growling noise.

“What?” I jerk my head up to glare at him, my eyes wide.

He flings his head back and laughs. “Just wanted to make sure you were listening.”

Winking, he climbs onto the small platform attached to the back of the boat, and then he dives into the water. I spring to my feet, race to where Spencer stood a moment ago, and peer into the water. He surfaces a few second later, spits water from his mouth, and smooths his hands over his now wet hair, slicking it back in an unintentional style that looks way too good on him. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from groaning.

“You coming in or what?” he shouts.

I hesitate with indecision. I love to swim, and as a child I used to spend so much of my time in the water—one of the perks of living so close to the lake—but swimming alone with Spencer feels intimate, somehow. Not that I think he’ll try anything with me, but can I say the same for me with him? I’m not so sure anymore.

“C’mon, Ev. Since when are you afraid of the water?” His tone is teasing.

“I’m not afraid,” I say. Only then do I realize he never lowered the ladder. I laugh, straighten, and stare down at him. “How are you planning to get back in the boat, genius?”

“I have my ways.” He doesn’t appear the least bit concerned that he’s essentially stranded himself in the water as he floats on his back, totally relaxed.

“Is that before or after you get eaten by a shark?” I cross my arms, enjoying this little game we’re playing.

“There aren’t any sharks in Lake Michigan. You know that.” He dives underwater and pops back up even farther away.

“No, but there are snake heads and piranhas,” I shout.

As soon as we were old enough to swim, my and Spencer’s parents put us in swim lessons together. When we hit middle school, our parents insisted we take a month-long water safety course. At the time, I thought the class was the dumbest thing ever, but the information I learned in those courses does come in handy—like right now when I’m arguing with Spencer.

“The Everleigh I used to know was never afraid of a few fish with sharp teeth,” he taunts.

I roll my eyes. That Everleigh no longer exists.

“In fact, weren’t you the one who convinced me to hunt snake heads with you?”

“We were like eight,” I say with a laugh.

I can’t believe he remembers that. The local news had been doing stories on the invasion of snake heads in the lake and how the species was wreaking havoc on the ecosystem. Something about that story had moved me to action, and I was convinced, with Spencer’s help, that we could save our beloved lake.

“So?” He shrugs, and water ripples around him. “Now you’re older, stronger, and can swim faster. What’s the problem?”

You. Or maybe the problem is me. But I don’t say that. Instead, I lower the ladder so that we can get back into the boat, and then I carefully climb down the rungs. When my foot hits the water, I gasp at how cool it is. Not freezing, but not warm, either.

I ease my other foot into the water and cringe. A cold shiver shoots up my back, and I suck in a sharp breath. If I take my time, I can adjust to the temperature before immersing my entire body into the cold water. But I don’t get that opportunity.

Spencer climbs up the ladder, blocking my path down. His nearness sets my heart racing, which is unsettling enough, but then he wraps his arms around me and throws himself backward, taking me with him. I shriek, but my scream is cut off when I plunge beneath the water.

Nasty lake water fills my mouth, and the cold temperature is a shock to my system. I rush to the surface, sputtering, and wipe my hands over my face. Spencer is a few feet away, laughing. I relentlessly splash him, which only makes him laugh harder.

“You’re a jerk,” I snap.

“And you’re a wimp,” he shoots back.

I lunge for him, but he moves before I can reach him, so I resort to more childish splashing. He flings water back at me, and within moments, we’re both laughing so hard neither of us can breathe.

When the splashing finally subsides, my body has adjusted to the water, and it’s really not so bad after all. “I was getting in, you know,” I say as I tread water.

“As slow as you were going, it would have taken you all day.” Spencer dips his head back and once again smooths his hands over his hair.

“It’s not like we have anywhere else to be,” I say. “Isn’t that the point of this trip? To do whatever you want? No parents. No deadlines or schedules.”

He’s unnaturally quiet for several moments; then he forces a tight smile. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

I tilt my head with confusion. Despite not being friends the past few years, I’ve known Spencer a long time—we grew up together—and I know when he’s lying to me. Unease coils in my chest, and my stomach knots.

“Why did you want to take this trip this summer?” I ask.

“Why not?” He shrugs. “Not like I’m drowning in friends clamoring to hang out with me.”

I sigh with frustration. “Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “You demanded to know why I came with you, so now it’s your turn. Tell me why you took this trip.”

He glances away and waves his hands beneath the water as if moving invisible debris out of his way. “I just needed to get away for a while.”

“Away from what?”

“Everything.”

What could he possibly need to get away from? Sure, he doesn’t have a ton of friends, but he does have a few close ones—and none of them ditched him like mine did. His parents don’t hate each other and aren’t getting a divorce. From my perspective, his life isn’t all that bad. I don’t press the issue, though, because if I do, then Spencer will return the favor, and I do not want to talk about myself, my friends, or my crappy home life.