Off Limits, But Yours

Chapter 2

I forgot how disgustingly hot it gets around here.

Inside the lake house, the AC is pumping. But the second my bare foot hits the deck, the heat slaps me in the face like, "hey girl, remember me?" I grip my towel tighter and head down the steps, onto the cool grass, already sweating through my cover-up.

I squint toward the dock—yep, there's Bryce. Sitting at the edge, legs dangling, phone glued to his ear.

Of course. He's always working.

I sigh and toss my towel onto a lounge chair, then walk over to him and sit down. He barely glances up, gives me a weak chin-lift hello, and goes right back to rambling about stocks or taxes or something equally soul-sucking. Five seconds later, I'm bored. And melting.

I nudge his arm. He gives me that one finger hold-up gesture, eyes still glued to his phone.

I roll my eyes, peel off my cover-up, and dive in.

The lake is freezing at first—sharp, cold, and exactly what I need. I swim a few lazy laps, then pop up for air, slicking my hair back. I glance up at Bryce. Still on the phone. Not even a second look.

God, I should throw his phone in the lake. Instead, I paddle over and tickle his foot.

He flinches and finally pulls the phone away from his face.

"Come swim with me," I say, giving him the eyes.

He shakes his head. "Later. Maybe."

"Bryce," I whine. "We're supposed to be relaxing."

"I can't. Jerry just called—there's a thing with the thing. You know how it is."

Yeah. I do. Same excuse, different vacation.

I dunk under and let the water muffle the world. It's honestly peaceful down there. If I stay long enough, maybe I'll forget I'm spending my summer babysitting a man who thinks foreplay is forwarding emails.

I resurface and swim toward the floating dock in the distance. We used to have backflip contests off this thing as kids. Back when things weren't... this.

I reach the edge and grip the side to catch my breath.

"Sumner Marlowe," a low, smug voice says behind me, all slow and cocky. "As I live and breathe."

I freeze. Don't even need to look.

Corbin f*****g Montgomery.

I turn around slowly, deadpan. "Wow. Still doing the dramatic entrances, huh?"

He laughs—deep, raspy, annoyingly hot. The kind of laugh that used to make my stomach flip. Ugh.

He's shirtless, of course. Tanned and broad and way too comfortable in his own skin. And yeah, he looks even better now. Older. Leaner. Stronger.

Great. Just what I needed.

"Still charming," he says, flashing that stupid grin.

I roll my eyes and push off the dock, swimming away.

"Still with Gibson?" he calls, swimming easily beside me like he's got all day to piss me off.

I sigh. "Yup."

"Can't imagine how. He's about as fun as a root canal."

"I'd rather date a root canal than talk to you," I snap.

Corbin chuckles, biting his lip. "Too bad Bryce is both boring and a prick."

I flip onto my back and float away from him, muttering under my breath. He follows, of course.

"Let me guess," he says. "He didn't wanna swim?"

"Jesus, Corbin. Do you ever shut up?" I glare at him. "Go bother someone else."

He shrugs. "Just saying. You're out here. He's over there. On his phone. Again."

"Corbin!" Tyler calls from the shore.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he shouts back. Then to me, with a smirk: "Cute bikini, by the way. Looks real good on you. Catch you later, Marlowe."

And just like that, he's gone—backstroking like a damn lifeguard auditioning for Baywatch.

I drag myself back to the dock, where Bryce finally looks up from his screen.

"What'd he say to you?"

"Nothing," I mutter. "Just being his usual pain-in-the-ass self."

Bryce eyes me. "You shouldn't wear that bikini around him."

I blink. "I'm in a lake, Bryce. What should I wear? A parka?"

He tosses me my cover-up. "Just... wear it. And stop talking to them. We agreed."

I tug it on over my wet skin, annoyed. "I wasn't planning to hang out with Corbin. Maybe if you'd gotten off the damn phone and come swimming, I wouldn't have ended up in the same water."

"Go take a shower," he says, already heading inside.

We eat sushi in bed with the windows open, the sound of the guys laughing around the fire pit drifting in.

I clear my throat. "Maybe later we could roast marshmallows? It was tradition, remember?"

Bryce doesn't even look up. "Or..." he grins, reaching for my chopsticks and setting them aside. "We could do something better."

He presses me back into the pillows, his hands sliding up my thighs.

"Oh?" I say, trying to sound into it.

"Let's get these clothes off..."

He undresses me like he's checking boxes—shirt, bra, panties. Condom. Lube. Thrust. Done.

He groans and collapses on top of me. "That was good, babe."

I stare at the ceiling. "Mmhmm."

"Hey, I gotta call Jerry back real quick."

Of course you do.

"Sure," I mutter as he gets up and walks out, half-naked and already halfway back to work mode.

I throw on his shirt and tug it down over my hips. It barely covers anything, but at least it's something. I crack the bedroom door and peek out.

The living room's empty—dimly lit, quiet. Outside, the fire pit glows warm orange. Three silhouettes sit around it, laughing. Probably roasting marshmallows like we used to.

Whatever. Let them.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, open the fridge, and reach for a bottle of water—

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I jump, nearly dropping the bottle. That voice. That smug, familiar voice—

Goddamn it.

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