“That’s the thing about jiu-jitsu. You don’t have to be big to be a master. I can submit people who are nearly twice my weight.”

His eyes practically bugged out of his head. “Fuck. Is it wrong that I kind of want you to try that on me?”

An image of holding him down and straddling him flashed through my brain. Not sure why his hand was around my neck in that little fantasy.

I swallowed, feeling flushed. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Not sure I can top that.”

“Do you do any sports?”

“Fencing and lacrosse.”

“Fencing is considered a martial art, isn’t it?” I asked.

“There’s some debate about that. In certain ways it is—the marksmanship, using cover and concealment. But at the same time, it’s a sport. I basically just try not to get stabbed. It’s a good way to get my frustration at Weldon out.”

“Wow. Yeah.” I laughed. “What else did you do in London?”

“I like improv.”

“That’s, like, where people make shit up as they go along?”

“Yup. Exactly.”

“You go to watch those shows?”

“No. I like to do it. I like to perform.”

“Really? That’s so cool. Where?”

“There was this club near my school. I convinced the guys who run it to let me play along, even though I was the youngest one there.”

“It must be so hard to think off the top of your head like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it fun. You’d be surprised what your mind is capable of under pressure. And there really is no wrong way to do it, because when you fuck up, it’s even funnier.”

“Do your parents know you’re into that?”

“I’ve mentioned it once or twice. My father thought it was cool. My mother doesn’t have much of a sense of humor to appreciate it.”

“Yeah. I can see that.”

Speaking of his mother…as much as I wanted to stay here with him, I was getting a little nervous being away from my post back at the house. My mom would also wonder where I was. I always worried about how my actions would reflect on her.

Still, we stayed in his car talking for a while longer before I finally looked down at my phone. “We should probably get going.”

“Do we have to? I much prefer sitting here and talking to you. It feels good to have a real conversation for once, instead of listening to how old you have to be to get Botox or the best place to get your nails done on the island.” He sighed. “But I guess I should get you back so no one gives you shit.”

Gavin started the car and circled back around to the drive-thru to place the large drink order for his friends. As he spoke into the speaker, I took the opportunity to admire him: His big, veiny hands wrapped around the steering wheel. The chunky watch around his wrist. His thick hair, windblown from being outside all day. He already looked tanner than he had yesterday, after just one afternoon in the sun.

He had the most beautiful face. Maybe that’s an odd term for a guy, but it was a fitting word to describe someone who had eyelashes longer than most women’s and perfect, full lips that I so wished I could feel against mine, even just once.

He suddenly turned to me, and I looked away, worried I’d been caught in the act of staring. But he just handed me a couple of trays to hold during the drive back to the house. I placed a third tray at my feet. The ice cubes shook around in the cups as he sped off.

We passed all of the posh shops on Worth Avenue—stores where one item in the window cost more than my annual salary—before turning onto the side road that led to the Masterson estate.

The heat hit my skin as I got out, a stark contrast to the air conditioning in Gavin’s car.

When we returned to the pool area, his friends were all talking over each other again. Now one of the girls was sitting on Weldon’s lap. While Gavin was away, they apparently went for second best. Weldon didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“What took you so long?” Green Bikini Girl asked.

Ugh. His ex-girlfriend. Hate her.

“Long-ass line.” He shot me a knowing look that gave me goosebumps.

The rest of that afternoon, I kept peeking out at the pool while I worked inside. Every time I saw those girls hovering around him, I cringed.

At one point, Gavin escaped from the pack, lifted off his shirt, and dove into the pool with clean precision. I could have witnessed that over and over. I pretended to wash the windows on the French doors leading out to the patio just so I could watch him.

When Gavin finally exited the pool and pushed his wet hair back, he seemed to move in slow motion as I admired the ripples of muscles along his torso.