Page 8 of Tourist Trap

I am, but I don’t needherto know about it.

I sigh, grabbing my T-shirt and shaking the sand out of it before offering it to her. “Here.”

She puts a hand to her chest, and I force my eyes not to follow it to her full breasts cupped in a soaking wet bra.

“For me? A true gentleman.”

“You’re cold, that’s all.”

I expect her to argue, but she just shrugs before sliding the shirt on. It’s huge on her petite frame, the hem covering her shorts.

Thankfully, before my mind can settle on how much I like seeingMiller Automotivecross her chest, I’m distracted when she pulls her arms inside the shirt and starts fumbling under the worn fabric. Before I know it, her bra slides out the bottom.

I close my eyes and pray for patience, realizing she doesn’t have anything under my shirt now.

Lainey drunkenly looks from me to Claire, a smile spreading along her lips before she speaks. “All right, well, that’s enough fun for one night. Thanks for saving her, Miles!”

“He didn’t save me!” Claire argues, but Lainey ignores her.

“Come on, June. We should get you guys home,” Lainey says.

Claire sighs, putting an arm around her friend and moving her up the sand toward the boardwalk. June stumbles a few times in the stand, and her brother moves next to her, always wanting to help but knowing she’s too stubborn to accept it.

But all I can do is watch Claire Donovan move up toward the dunes in my shirt.

And fuck, does it look good on her.

“See you around, Miles,” she says over her shoulder.

For my sanity, I sure as fuck hope not.

FOUR

CLAIRE

The morning after Surf is rough.

Lainey was the worst of us all, probably because, unlike June, she didn’t get sick last night and instead just felt like trash this morning. I woke with a bit of a headache and a crick in my neck because June’s bed is not meant for three, but that was nothing a greasy breakfast at the local diner couldn’t fix.

“So can we talk about it yet?” June asks after we drop Lainey off at her place after breakfast. I can feel her stare burning on me as I drive, but I refuse to look at her. She’d been planning this, I know that much, since she’s aware I’m always much more willing to spill my guts to her if it’s just her and me. Lainey is her childhood friend and has become one of my best friends as well since I started coming down to Seaside Point in college, but June knows spilling my thoughts and feelings isn’t myfavoritething to do.

“Talk about what?” I lie because, of course, I know exactly what she wants to talk about. June Walker is the best friend a girl could have, but also a huge fucking pain in the ass if you ever want to process something internally or, say, forget it altogether.

June is atalk-it-outkind of person, and I know even as I drive, she’s dissecting every thought that shifts across my face, taking note of every bit of my body language.

It’s what makes her anamazingfifth-grade teacher.

“What was that at Surf?” she asks, just as her apartment building, where I’m dropping her off before I go to meet my new potential roommate, is in sight now.

Internally, I groan because that means I won’t have the distraction of driving in a moment or two.

“We got drunk? We danced?” I ask.

“Don’t play dumb, it’s not cute on you, Claire,” she says as I pull into a spot right up front, putting my car into park as I turn to her, eyes wide.

“Excuse me? Ialwayslook cute, especially when I play dumb, and you know it.”

She glares at me before rolling her eyes. I smile, then pull my visor down and pretend to check my hair in the mirror.

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