Chapter 113: Madeline
I stretch out on my towel, the salt-sticky air warm against my skin, and pull a book from my bag while Charlie and Sloane start debating some movie I’ve apparently committed a crime by never watching. Finn and Liam are sitting in front of us, unwrapping pieces of saltwater taffy like kids at a carnival.
Finn catches sight of me opening my book and groans. “It should be illegal to read on the beach.”
I lower my sunglasses just enough to give him a look. “Excuse me?”
“The beach,” he says, waving a piece of pink taffy like it’s a manifesto, “is made for waves, swimming, and volleyball. Not... pages.”
I can’t help but giggle. “The beach,” I counter, “is made for reading. And snacks. And doing absolutely nothing.”
He gasps dramatically. “Blasphemy.”
I just shake my head, laughing as I sit up and pull my headscarf from my bag — a soft amber one with gold threading, to keep the sun off my hair. I start tying it behind my head, fingers weaving through strands when—
“NOOOO WAYYYYYY!”
Finn and Liam scream at the same time, voices full of disbelief. I jolt, heart jumping to my throat, twisting around to see what’s behind me—
And that’s when I freeze.
Coming down the wooden steps from the boardwalk are Reid and Jake.
Two very tanned, very shirtless, very illegal versions of Reid and Jake.
My hands go slack halfway through tying the scarf, and I just… stare. Like I’ve forgotten how to blink.
They’re both wearing shorts and backwards hats, sun cutting across their shoulders, turning them gold. Every muscle on their torsos moves like it’s made to be studied — the kind of muscle that only comes from years of work, from hauling, lifting, climbing. The kind of muscle that makes your mouth dry out instantly.
If I thought they were attractive under fleece, wool, and storm jackets… this? This is catastrophic. Reid and Jake in beach light could start wars. I wouldn’t even blame anyone for it.
Charlie’s voice cuts through my paralysis. “You’re staring,” she says, smug.
I whip around so fast I nearly lose my balance. “Oh my God, Charlie, I wasn’t— I didn’t— I mean—”
Charlie laughs. “Relax. Even I can admit they’re hot.”
She waves at them, grinning like she’s just invited trouble to come sit beside us.
Meanwhile, I’m still fumbling to finish tying my bandana, suddenly very interested in the sand, in anywhere but them. My fingers are shaking slightly, and my heart’s doing this weird fast stutter in my chest.
They come closer — and hell itself must have a personal vendetta against me, because out of all the empty sand around us, they sit right next to me.
Not just near me. Next to me. Close enough that I can feel the heat coming off their skin.
Jake drops down first, stretching his legs out casually, forearms resting on his knees. Reid follows, sinking into the sand beside him like it’s nothing, muscles flexing as he props himself back on his hands.
I swear the temperature spikes another ten degrees.
I can’t just sit there pretending they don’t exist — that would make it even weirder — so I turn slightly toward them, placing my hands primly on my knees like some 1950s schoolgirl trying not to combust.
“Hi,” I say, my voice way too high. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi.”
They both look at me — not at me, through me — eyes sharp and unreadable.
Then I glance down at where they’re sitting, the sand already shimmering with heat. “Isn’t that too hot to sit on?” I ask, genuinely concerned they might be frying their legs off.
They exchange a glance — just a flicker of something — before both turn back to me with perfect seriousness.
“No,” they say at the same time.
Their voices are low, in sync, like a chord that hits somewhere deep in my spine.
I swallow hard and look away, trying not to show how flustered I am, and of course that’s when Liam starts laughing.
“Madeline,” he says, leaning over with that teasing grin, “do you even know who’s who?”
I blink. “Yeah. Don’t you?”
Finn snorts. “Took him months,” he says, jerking a thumb at Liam.
“Like, five,” Liam admits, shrugging. “So go on, prove it.”
I glance between them — the twins — one slightly closer, the other watching quietly. They’re both sunlit, salt-streaked, impossibly steady. But I know. I always know now.
I point to the one closest to me. “That’s Jake.”
Then to the other. “And that’s Reid.”
The boys both turn to Charlie, waiting for her verdict.
She grins, lifts her iced coffee in mock salute, and starts a slow clap. “Yep. She got it right.”
Reid leans back a little, glancing over at her sprawled-out form. “Really, Charlie?”
Charlie smirks, stretching out on her towel like she’s posing for a photo shoot. “What? You don’t like it?”
He shakes his head — a small exhale that sounds half disbelief, half amusement — and she just giggles.
And me? I’m sitting there, wishing more than anything I’d kept my cover-up on. Because between Charlie flaunting herself and the twins sitting inches away, I feel about three seconds from spontaneously combusting.
So I do the only thing I can think of — the only thing that doesn’t involve either running straight into the ocean or bursting into flames.
I pick up my book.
It’s upside down for a second, because my brain is apparently no longer connected to my hands, but I flip it right-side-up and pretend to read.
My heart is still racing. The words blur together. Every cell in my body seems aware of how close they are — the heat of Jake’s shoulder when he leans back, the faint brush of Reid’s knee against the sand near mine, the low rumble of their voices as they talk to Liam and Finn about something I can’t even register.
I nod absently, eyes glued to the same paragraph for what must be the fifth time, praying the pink in my cheeks passes as sunburn.
Because if I look up — if I so much as glance their way — I know I won’t be able to stop staring again.