I’m so damn excited for Reggie’s big triathlon that I wake up before my alarm. The race goes off at nine in the marked area of Ganagua Lake. It seems a little late in the day to start something like this, but what the hell do I know about triathlons? Nothing, except what Reggie told me last night over dinner. I took her to Casa de Pasta and bought her the spaghetti special. I don’t think I ever saw her eat it when we were friends, back in the day, and she never mentioned loving meatballs, but her entire face lit up when the plate came out.

She was probably thinking about my incredible prowess, too. Who wouldn’t be? I spent the entire meal watching her glow with excitement. Can’t all have been because of the race, and the way her eyes glittered in the light from the family-style lamp hanging above our table pretty much guaranteed it.

But—shit. It’s raining out. The sky is still dark, with only the faintest glow on the horizon, but maybe that’s a trick of the light. I squint through the droplets on my window at the B&B. No break in the clouds.

Not yet, at least. By the time Reggie gets to the starting line on the beach and dives in, the weather had better be perfect.

I linger in the shower, thinking of the way she moved against me like there was nothing sexier in the entire world than fucking me right next to a roaring waterfall. What could be sexier than that? Only the fact that it was Reggie. Only the fact that she’s fucking gorgeous, all strength and curves and energy right there under the surface, barely contained. She’s a force to be reckoned with. If someone could bottle the set of her jaw when she’s determined, it would be worth a damn fortune.

Thinking about her makes me rock hard. So rock hard that I can’t ignore it. I’ve jacked off to more than a few women in the shower, but this time, it’s different. This time it’s not her perfect ass that gets me off, though she does have a perfect ass, honed to sculpture caliber by all the triathlon training. It’s not the sensual curve of her breasts, though I wouldn’t mind being able to run my hands over those to her pert nipples every day of my life. It’s her face. Her eyes, burning into mine, alive and on fire, always in the moment.

When I’m spent, I towel off before rifling through my suitcase. I’ve been here long enough that it’s time to send out for laundry. I used to do my own laundry at my mom’s, after we moved out of the Lane mansion. The mansion that wasn’t really even a mansion, just like my father pretended to be a good man but was really a piece of shit on the inside. My jaw clenches thinking about him, about the house, but fuck all that today. Today is about Reggie.

I’ve just pulled my last clean blue t-shirt over my head and buttoned up my shorts when the alert pops up on my phone.

Meeting with Frank Posner. 9 AM.

Well, shit.

Shit, shit, shit. I can’t meet with Frank and be at the triathlon on time, and if there’s one thing I’m not going to do, I’m not going to miss this race. No way.

I check my watch. For all the time I spent in the shower, it’s only six-thirty.

Hope Frank wasn’t planning to sleep in.

* * *

I’m hopping down the front steps of my father’s house—now my house, but not for long, if I get my way—when my phone rings again. Frank wasn’t totally pleased about being awakened by my three calls in a row to his home phone number, but there’s a silver lining. Now he has the rest of the morning to do whatever he pleases. He can even set up for the estate sale tomorrow. He has my blessing to do whatever is necessary to empty out this house of whatever remaining bullshit is left inside. Mostly furniture. Nothing important to my mother, nothing important to me. When I had to call her about my dad passing away, I’d been nervous, but she’d only sighed a little. “We had some good years,” she said, and then she’d changed the subject to the new painting class she was taking over in Italy. I bought her a condo. It’s the least I could do. So I’m not worried in the slightest that Frank might accidentally sell something that means anything to either of us. There’s nothing like that left.

“Hello?” I’m reaching for the key fob in my pocket, the shape of the rental keys still unfamiliar though getting less so every day that I’m here.

“Adam!” It’s my second-in-command at Zeller International, Chris Benson. He’s one of the few people at the office who isn’t afraid to call me Adam. “Where are you?”

“Are you calling from the office? On a Sunday morning?”

“It’s the most productive time, Mr. Zeller,” he jokes. “Nice and quiet, with no distractions.” Then he laughs. “I’m here finalizing some details on the Delta Plastics merger. Thought I’d check in.”

“At—” I glance down at my watch. Shit. “Eight thirty-five on a Sunday?” I unlock the door of the rental car, get in, and yank the door shut behind me. As soon as this call is over, I have to go.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” Chris is just as much a friend as a business associate. I bet if I’d already been back in the city, he’d be inviting me to brunch right now.

“I’m busy. Everything good with the deal?” Zeller International is an umbrella company for all of my different ventures. There are a lot of them. In fact, I still sell t-shirts and drop-ship condoms, but I’m not the only one doing the work these days.

“Ship-shape,” Chris says. “I know you said you’d be out until Tuesday, but I wanted to confirm.”

The thought of leaving here in two days turns my stomach. “You know, Chris—” It’s a bullshit excuse, and I know it, but I can’t help the words that come tumbling out of my mouth. “Things here are a little more involved than I thought. It’s going to be—” I own the company. I shouldn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt about taking an unscheduled vacation, but I don’t like to leave people hanging. The more time I spend with Reggie, the more I realize how that can fuck with people’s lives. “It’ll be Friday, earliest.”

“No problem, boss,” Chris says, and I can hear him already tapping out a message on his second phone. “You are planning to come back though, right?” He says it with a chuckle.

I answer with a laugh. “Of course I’m coming back. You think there’s anything for me in Reckless Falls?” As if in answer, Reggie’s face, mid-orgasm, cheeks flushed pink and eyes squeezed shut, her perfect lips open in a moan, flashes into my mind, and the back of my neck goes cold with the thought of being away from her again. My foot is bouncing against the gas pedal, but I haven’t turned the key in the ignition yet.

Reggie. I’m going to be late for Reggie.

“I’ll check in soon, Chris.” He’s still saying his goodbyes when I end the call and turn on the car, pulling out fast onto the residential road.

Heading through Reckless Falls and out toward Ganagua Lake, I’ve got the music loud, some random top 40 shit playing at top volume. There’s probably going to be a lot of people there. Shit. I wanted to be toward the front of the crowd.

But there’s curiously little traffic pulling onto the access road, and the dirt parking lot at the trailhead isn’t even half full. I’m nervous as hell now. What if I’m too late? What if this is the wrong spot? This is where Reggie said to park, but this doesn’t look like a packed event.

Eight fifty-five. I cannot miss this.

I break into a run on the trail, heart in my throat. Go, go, go.

My heart practically explodes with relief when I see them on the shore—ten, maybe fifteen people, one with a red blanket and a picnic basket, arrayed on the beach, staring across the water at a huddled group of people. They’re all tiny figures from this far away, but I can see her, the way she’s standing, the dark of her swimsuit contrasting against her tan skin.

I sprint down toward one of the open spaces on the beach, a crazy wild possessive pride like fireworks exploding in my chest. That’s my Reggie, and I don’t care who knows it. I just want her to know that I’m here. I didn’t bail on her. Not this time.

I throw my arms over my head and wave as dramatically as I fucking can. Who’s here to see me except a bunch of people from Reckless Falls? I can act this way in front of them. It’s not the boardroom. It’s comfortable, and anyway, I can’t stop myself from shouting across the water at her. There’s no way she can hear me, but I shout out anyway. “You’re amazing, Reggie Quinn!”

The huddle of bodies across the lake visibly tenses, disengaging from one another. It must be time to start. Suddenly viewing the activity from the beach seems totally inadequate, and like a madman, I leap onto a fallen log, adding to my height just enough to get a slightly better view.

There’s a pause like a weight settling over my shoulders, and I am ready. I have my eyes glued to Reggie. I’m not taking them off of her until I have to.

The gun sounds indicating the start of the event, the blast echoing hollowly through the wooded blanket of trees.

Like they’re mind-melded, all the people on the opposite shore charge toward the water, each diving in, and the beach around me erupts in applause.

Applause isn’t enough for me. I’m going to cheer my fucking head off, as long as I’m here. She might be half underwater right now, streaking in—I can just make out her white swimming cap between two other people in the churning water on the other side—but another shout tears from my throat. “That’s my girl! That’s my girl! Go, Reggie!”