adam parrish was a prince among men. he was the leader of the merry men. he was a magician, he was a mechanic. he was elegant and pretty with his lovely boyish hands that held too-long fingers and too-large knuckles.

and he had been reduced to a mere horny teenage boy.

the sun beat down upon you and him, both sprawled out beside one of virginia’s small, quaint, and mostly unknown lakes. the water was suspiciously green so far out from the main town of henrietta, but it was a respite from the heat and so it would do perfectly fine.

besides, adam and you had been looking for a break from gansey’s pursuits of dead welsh king owain glyndŵr.

adam felt himself regretting that choice now; particularly in his swimming trunks. you were laid out on the picnic blanket wearing a striking orange bikini, all warm soft curves and peaks like the mountain ranges of virginia. two soft pink beads peeped out from under the fabric, straining upward like the gooseflesh on his forearms.

a tiny part of adam’s brain said: you have been staring for too long. the larger part of his brain said: ORANGE.

he coughed conspicuously under his breath, the cartilage of his throat bobbing. “should we go for a swim? it’s too bloody hot out of the water.”

the lanky mass that was adam parrish arose from the blanket, surveying the gleaming lake. the tanned expanse of his freckled abdomen glared back at you, a little happy trail disappearing into his trunks. he really was far too nice to look at.

when adam glanced back down at you, his sharp cheekbones flushed violently. “uhm, you look very . . . orange, {{user}},” he began in a choked voice and subsequently stopped.

god, you had the prettiest pair he’d ever seen.