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I step inside, scanning the spaciousinterior.
There’s a pull-out couch, a couple of chairs, a TV, a bar, and a bed that folds down from one wall. Off the far side is a huge en suite bathroom. There’s also a changing room and bathroom accessible from outside for guests at thepool.
Tyler emerges from the bathroom, and my attention flicks from his wet hair, curling at his neck, to the tight black T-shirt he’s tugging down over ripped abs, to the sweatpants that hug his hips and my mouthdries.
Tyler Adams was always good-looking. But one of the advantages of time, of distance, is that you see someone with new eyes. The boy I remembered is a man. He's tall and gorgeous, and his easy way of being in the world has transformed into something more, a confidence and self-assuredness that lingers in theair.
“Haley asked me to bring your clothes for school.” I hold up the garment bag like ashield.
“Thanks.”
He crosses to me, arms that are more muscled than I remember folded across hischest.
“I’m guessing your dad didn't tell you I wascoming."
“He said you might visit and work on your music. But I heard nothing from you, so apparently he told me more than youdid.”
His hazel eyes brighten. “What if I’d called? Said, ‘Hey, Annie, I’m moving into your pool house because your dad offered to work withme.’”
“I would’ve said, ‘What the fuck are you talkingabout?’”
“Exactly.” His tone makes it clear he thinks that’s the end of thisconversation.
Maybe I’moverreacting.
I felt like he abandoned me this year, but he didn’t know what was going on forme.
I never told him pointblank.
He’s herenow.
I push past him and hang the garment bag in the closet. “Transferring into senior year will be hard. You have to get your class scheduleand—"
His throat clearing has me looking back to find he’s holding up a sheet ofpaper.
I grab it and inspect his schedule. "Ugh. He's the worst. She's okay. We have first-period Englishtogether.”
“You’re taking senior classes?” Surprise colors his voice. “I knew you were smart, but this is overachieverterritory.”
“I like a challenge.” I reach for the navy blazer and hold the hanger in front of me. “Your favoritecolor.”
Tyler runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the blue chunk in mock horror. “Shit. It’s too matchy. I knewit.”
I laugh. If there’s one person who doesn’t give a fuck, it’s him. “I’ll grab bleach from the laundry room for yourhair.”
Tyler turns away and lifts his arms. I slide the coat off the hook and help him into it, resisting the urge to let my hands settle on his strong arms before I round to facehim.
Oh,my.
The air vacates my lungs for the second timetoday.
I’ve never lined up for preppy boys, but Tyler makes it lookgood.
Maybe because the way he fills out the jacket makes it clear he hasn’t spent a day behind a desk in his life. There are no internships at “Daddy’s company” in his future. His hands are calloused and capable, his jaw angled as if he’s ready for afight.
He catches me staring and smirks, those hazel eyes too intense for comfort. “Anything else I need toknow?”
I force my brain to work. “The cliques don’t likeoutsiders.”
