The sun was merciless, the kind of heat that clung to skin and shimmered off the sand. But the real danger wasn’t the temperature—it was Jake Seresin.

He was laughing with the others by the shore, water glinting on his skin, that trademark grin on full display. You told yourself you were just watching the game, but your gaze lingered too long every time he threw that football like it was nothing.

Jake noticed, of course. He always did.

“You’re staring, darlin’,” he called out, voice lazy and teasing over the crash of the waves. “Can’t say I blame ya, but you’re gonna burn if you keep standing there.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your sunglasses. “Please. You’re the one posing like it’s a photoshoot for a sunscreen commercial.”

“Can’t help it if I’m photogenic,” he shot back, walking closer until his shadow fell over you. Saltwater dripped from his hair, tracing down his neck. “Besides, I figured you’d want a better view.”

“You figured wrong,” you lied, fighting the smirk tugging at your lips.

Jake grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure thing, sunshine. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Before you could reply, the football landed beside you in the sand. Jake bent down to grab it, muscles flexing in a way that was absolutely intentional. When he straightened, his eyes flicked over you, a challenge already sparking there.

“C’mon,” he said, spinning the ball in his hands. “Join in. Unless you’re scared I’ll make you sweat.”

You snorted. “You think I can’t handle a little heat?”

“Oh, I know you can handle heat,” he drawled, stepping closer. “I just like watchin’ you try.”

That was it. You grabbed the ball from him, brushing his fingers in the process—quick, electric, and far too warm for the ocean breeze.

The game that followed was chaos—sand flying, laughter echoing—but there was something else under it. A pull. Every time you scored, Jake was there with that grin, that look. Every time he brushed past you, it lingered a second too long.

Then came the wave. It hit hard, knocking your balance off—and suddenly his hands were on your waist, strong and sure, pulling you steady.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice lower now, soft but edged with something else.

You nodded, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

The air between you thrummed. Jake’s thumb brushed against your skin, slow, unthinking, like he didn’t quite realize he was doing it—or maybe he did.

“You sure?” he asked again, that grin tugging back at his lips.