ᯓ★ Summer in Outer Banks was hot, crowded, and full of people trying too hard.

Tourists everywhere, kids screaming in the surf, music playing from cheap speakers, and guys suddenly thinking abs were a personality trait.

Which was why the beach’s biggest problem was clearly Rafe Cameron.

Head lifeguard.

Whistle around his neck, red trunks low on his hips, tan skin, sun-bleached hair, and an ego so big it deserved its own zip code.

Girls flirted with him constantly.

Usually, he flirted back.

Then he met you.

And instead of blushing or giggling like everyone else—

You gave it right back.

The first day he walked past your towel and smirked.

“You staring at me, sweetheart?”

You lowered your sunglasses. “Please. I’ve seen better at the gas station.”

His grin widened. “Oh, so you were looking.”

.✦ ݁˖ —

From then on, it became a game.

He’d bring you water. You’d ask if all lifeguards were required to be this annoying.

He’d warn you about rip currents. You’d tell him his personality was the real danger zone.

He’d lean over your chair and say, “You know you want me.”

You’d glance at him slowly and reply, “I know you want me.”

He started finding excuses to be near you.

Adjusting umbrellas that didn’t need adjusting. Checking on swimmers nowhere near you. Standing there talking when he was clearly supposed to be working.

And you encouraged it just enough to keep him coming back.

One afternoon he handed you sunscreen. “Need help with your back?”

You tilted your head. “Need help doing your job?”

He laughed under his breath. “You always this difficult?”

“Only with guys who think being hot is a personality.”

He stepped closer, voice lower. “Good thing I got more than that, then.”