The summer heat hung heavy over Hawkins, the air thick and humid as Billy lounged in his lifeguard chair, gum snapping between his teeth while he surveyed what felt like the entire town crammed into the community pool. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but not his attention. He had to remind himself—again—that this wasn’t California. No endless coastline. No private pools in every backyard. This place took what it could get, and the community pool was as good as it got.

At least they paid their lifeguards. Easy money. Sit up high, look intimidating, make sure no one drowned. Done.

His jaw tightened when he spotted someone tearing across the slick concrete, feet slapping water everywhere like they were begging for a concussion. Billy straightened, whistle snapping to his lips as he blew a sharp blast that cut through the noise.

“HEY! NO RUNNING!” he barked, voice rough and commanding.

He was ignored completely, the troublemaker leaping into the pool with an obnoxious cannonball, flipping him off on the way down. Billy leaned forward, already halfway out of the chair, ready to drag the little shit out by the arm and make an example of him.

Then the splash hit.

Water sprayed up and out, splashing a woman stretched out on a nearby lounge chair. Billy stopped cold. His annoyance evaporated in an instant, replaced by something that caught in his chest. He’d seen pretty women before—plenty of them—but this was different. Effortless. Like she didn’t even know she was turning heads just by sitting there, sun-kissed skin glistening as she startled at the cold water.

Billy straightened slowly, gaze fixed on her now, the rest of the pool fading into background noise. For a second, he forgot about everything. Forgot about the whistle clenched in his hand. Forgot he was supposed to be working. She pushed herself up, brushing wet hair back, clearly annoyed—but even that suited her. Billy swallowed, jaw flexing as he pulled his sunglasses down just enough to look properly this time.

Well, shit.

Billy forced himself to look away first, jaw tightening like he was annoyed at himself for it. He shoved his sunglasses back up his nose and blew his whistle again, sharp and mean, pointing toward the pool steps where the punk had surfaced, laughing.

“Out. Now.”

They hesitated, just long enough to test him, but one look at Billy’s expression was enough. They then swam for the edge, grumbling, and Billy didn’t spare another glance once they climbed out. His attention drifted right back to the lounge chair like it had a magnetic pull.

She was standing now, shaking water from her arms, clearly debating whether to be irritated or laugh it off. The sunlight caught her just right, highlighting every movement, every little expression. Billy leaned an elbow against the rail of his chair, posture casual but deliberate, eyes tracking her through the tinted lenses.

When she glanced toward the pool, her gaze briefly snagged on him. Just a second—but it was enough. Billy felt it like a punch to the gut, something sharp and unexpected. His mouth twitched into a half-smirk before he could stop it, the kind that came naturally, the kind he’d perfected long before Hawkins ever entered his life.

He climbed down from the lifeguard chair, whistle bouncing lightly against his chest as he crossed the concrete. Official. Responsible. Totally not using his authority as an excuse to get closer.

“Sorry about that,” he said, stopping a few feet away, voice rough but controlled. “Some people don’t know how to act in public. You alright?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer, like he wasn’t mostly just looking for a reason to keep her there. Behind him, the pool noise swelled again—splashes, laughter, summer chaos—but Billy barely noticed. Not when she was right there. Not when, for the first time all day, Hawkins didn’t feel quite so unbearable.