Page 19 of The Summer Intern

”Sorry, had to finish that or I’d forget what I was doing and leave the socket wrench behind,” he said, tapping his temple.“The ADHD makes me forgetful.”

”I didn’t know you had ADHD,” I said vaguely.“I have anxiety, so… I mean, yeah.”How did I explain that flaws made him a bit more relatable?

"You?Anxiety?No…” He winked, and even his winks were sexy.That was odd, because I usually found winks quite creepy.“Anyway, we'll have some new guitars and a drum set thanks to that local high school music teacher my friend Sylvie hooked me up with.”

Did that mean he was hooking up with the music teacher?Something about that irritated me.My eyes trailed back down to his abs, and I licked my lips.

“She offered us some loaners," Matt was saying."You’ll have to take care of them to make sure they get back to her in good shape, but you can stop nagging me about the campers having a primal need to drum."

"Huh?Oh, yeah.Totally.”My brain felt like mush.Did intense lust make people stupid?"Sounds great."

"You okay there?You seem a little distracted.And — dare I say — less argumentative than usual?"

I forced a laugh."Me?Nah, I'm good.Just, uh, thinking about all the unpacking I still have to do."

Matt nodded, then leaned over to pack his tools back up in a tool box.His shorts sagged down, revealing two perfect dimples on his lower back.Jesus Christ.My mouth went dry, and I felt a telltale stirring in my pants.

"Shit!"I yelped, louder than I meant to.I couldn’t get a hard-on.Not now, not in these very snug-fitting jeans.Not from just looking at my boss’s thick, round ass in shorts.Fuck, it was a glorious ass, though.

Matt straightened up, looking concerned."Everything alright?"

"Yep!Fine!Just remembered I left my, uh...hair straightener on.Gotta go!"I blurted, already backing away."See you later!"

”Didn’t you want to yell at me about anything?”he called after me.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and sprinted back towards my cabin, face burning and heart pounding.What the hell was wrong with me?One shirtless encounter and I was falling apart.Matt was my adversary, not an object of lust.

As I ran, I silently cursed Matt Blackstone and his stupidly hot body and stupidly annoying personality.This summer was going to be the death of me.

nine

Matt

May31

The cardboard box groaned as I ripped through packing tape with my pocket knife, glancing towards Casey as I took stock of the supplies he’d ordered.He was wiping down the cabinet, and I pushed the box his way, then hefted another up onto the big table in the middle of the arts and crafts hut.

“What the hell did you order?Why are these boxes so heavy?”

"You didn’t check my order when I sent it over?"His voice had that honeyed snark that was starting to grow familiar."Figures.If you actually cared about artistic development, we wouldn't be staging this tragedy in a raccoon's abandoned meth lab."

I glanced up to find Casey hip-checking the splintered supply cabinet, his purple bangs catching dust motes floating through afternoon light.My throat tightened at the way his oversized sweater slid off one shoulder as he wrestled with stubborn drawers."Relax, Picasso," I said, tossing tempera paint bottles onto the long worktable."This place has a creative legacy."

"Legacy?"Casey's laughter rang sharp as wind chimes.He gestured dramatically at the cobwebbed rafters."Do you ever clean in here?And don't get me started on these—" He kicked a warped floorboard, his chunky platform boot thunking hollow wood."—death traps lying in wait for uncoordinated people."

I leaned against the table, watching his hands dance around him as he spoke — slender fingers dotted with silver rings, wrists disappearing into absurdly large sweater sleeves.He was wearing a snug-fitting pair of wide-legged cargo pants and an oversized cropped gray sweater that seemed like a poor choice for cleaning.Underneath, as he lifted his arms to clean a high shelf, I caught a tempting glimpse of a body-hugging shirt that showed off his slender waist.

My pulse kicked when he licked his lips mid-rant."You're mistaking character for decay," I countered, gesturing to the vibrant chaos splashed across the back wall."See that mural?Ben painted that when he was twelve after sneaking in past curfew, and ever since, kids have been adding their own special touch to the mural.The squirrels were a pair of girls just last summer.And those neon handprints?A few years ago, the CITs dipped their palms in glow-in-the-dark gesso."

Casey's nose crinkled adorably."And the suspicious brown splotch by the kiln?"

"Fourth of July incident involving root beer floats and a misguided sparkler."I grinned at his horrified expression."So that one was less artistic, but that’s not my point.Real creativity happens where perfection isn't breathing down your neck.Where kids can slop acrylics on their shoes without some woman in a black turtleneck clutching her pearls."

He marched toward me, cargo pants swishing like a shower curtain."I saw how you fold your rock climbing ropes.Why doesn’t art deserve the same care?"His finger jabbed my chest, the contact zipping straight to my groin.

I stepped towards him."At least we're not teaching kids to play the violin in sterile white cubes that smell like rich people’s anxiety."

His dark eyes flashed, chest rising fast beneath that slouchy sweater.For half a breath, I imagined peeling it off him slowly, watching pink hair catch on coarse knit."Violins?"Casey hissed, yanking free."I'm planning to teach them a love for music, you tone-deaf lumberjack.There's a place for classical instruction, but camp should be about fun and exploration.We'll have drum circles by the boathouse, guitar lessons around the campfire, ukuleles and sing-alongs—"

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