Page 17 of Good Graces

She snaps her head up, eyes already narrowing like I’ve personally offended her. “Who the hell are you?”

I raise a brow. “New guy. Lifeguard.”

Her eyes drag over me like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth acknowledging. Then she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Right, the Donovan kid?”

I wince. “Mercer. Daniel’s my stepdad.”

“Great. Astep-nepo baby. Just what we need here.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I mutter.

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even look at me again. Just keeps flipping through the clipboard, fingers drumming impatiently against the edge.

I could leave. Could keep walking like a normal person. But something about her keeps me rooted in place. I want to understand her, want to get under her skin.

“Something wrong?”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “You mean besides the fact that this job is an endless exercise in suffering?” She flicks the clipboard toward me like it proves her point. “Someone switched my assignments. I was supposed to be with the high rollers this week—good tippers, good money. Now I’m stuck caddying for a bunch of washed-up guys who call me sweetheart and think it’s a compliment.”

I frown. “That sucks.”

“No shit,” she mutters.

She’s still fuming. I can see it in the way her jaw clenches, the way her fingers twitch like she’s two seconds from chucking the clipboard into the nearest hedge. It’s kind of impressive, honestly.

I lean against the shed, watching her. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

She tilts her head, eyes flashing. “Yes, and I still might.”

And for some reason, I grin. I like that about her, like that she doesn’t fake it.

She catches it, frowns harder. “What?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “You’re just—”

Bitter. Rude. Furious at the world.

And I want you anyway.Badly, in fact. Desperately, if the way my pulse spikes just from standing this close is any indication.

“You’re kind of terrifying. It’s weirdly appealing.”

She scoffs and steps past me. “Not worth the effort.”

And then she’s gone. But I already know, down to my bones, I’m completely fucked.

7

QUINN

I pushthrough the apartment door, kick it shut behind me, and drop my bag onto the floor with a little too much force. My shoulders are tight, my pulse still uneven, my skin damp with sweat.

I yank the elastic from my hair, shaking loose the long braid that’s been pressing against the back of my neck all day. It sticks slightly to my skin, heavy and damp, like the heat of the day hasn’t quite let go of me yet.

Alyssa and Jordan are sprawled across the couch, picking at takeout cartons, half watching some trashy reality show. One of those fake dating competitions where everyone has the same haircut and too-white teeth, where the women act like falling in love on a sponsored yacht is the pinnacle of human experience.

Jordan barely glances up, arching a brow. “That bad, huh?”

I grab a water bottle from the fridge, crack it open, and take a long sip. Shrug. “People are annoying.”

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