I stretch my arms above my head, stretch my toes as far as they’ll go, and try to push myself into the soft mattress. The unfamiliar mattress.

I roll over and open my eyes. Unfamiliar ceiling.

Tripp’s ceiling.

I’m almost afraid to look beside me, but when I do, I find I’m alone in his bed.

Instantly I remember the last time I saw him—well, kind of saw him. I was face down on this mattress.

And so what? I’m not going to hide under the covers. I’m an adult. I have nothing to be ashamed of. Sleeping with Tripp was a normal thing to do. A fun, super hot, normal thing to do, and I’m not going to be embarrassed Sure, he’s technically my boss, but it’s just a temp job. I was teasing him about that last night, because he certainly doesn’t feel like my boss. Now that I know him more, he feels like…well, like what he is. A casual…erm, friend.

I am glad he’s not in here, though, because I’m definitely naked under this sheet. Where are my clothes? I took them off in the living room, and I never put them back on. Are they still there?

I sit up, hold my breath, and listen. I don’t hear anything, but the bedroom door is closed.

I do spy a fluffy navy blue robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I cover myself with a pillow and step quickly to it. Oh, there’s my dress, folded on the dresser. My phone’s there, too, and my ripped thong, and a Hot Beach swimsuit.

Hmmmm…I put the swimsuit on, then the robe, and step out of the bedroom.

“Tripp?” I wander down a short hall and into the living/dining/kitchen space. “Tripp?”

He’s not here. There’s a plate of blueberry muffins on the breakfast bar. A note beside it reads, “Enjoy.”

Is Tripp gone? I check the balcony, but I don’t see him there, either. There’s another short hallway opposite the one that leads to the master bedroom, but there are only two empty bedrooms at the end.

I walk back into the living space and turn in a circle, just to make sure I didn’t miss Tripp hiding in a corner. But nope, no Tripp. I guess he—

“She’s awake.”

I scream a full-throated scream of terror. That voice—like the voice of God, but God sounds like Tripp. What the fuck is—where is—?

“Look to the right of the front door. Above the key hook.”

I spy a small, square speaker, white so it blends in with the wall. “You can see me?”

“Yeah. There’re cameras.”

“Okay, well, that’s not at all creepy.”

I hear Tripp laugh. “I don’t have cameras in the bedrooms or anything. I got an alert when you entered the living area.”

“What is this?” Now that I’ve asked it, it seems obvious.

“Just a security system. I left some muffins on the counter.”

“I saw. Thank you.”

“I’m at Seaside Sings. I took a Lyft over, so you can take my car. The keys are on the hook.”

I find them. Apparently, he’s got a Mercedes. “Okay. I don’t even know what time it is.”

I glance at my phone as Tripp says, “Almost ten. But there’s no rush.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

* * * *

Tripp’s car is the boxy Mercedes SUV. The really nice one.

I’m kind of terrified, driving it. Not just because it’s really big and I’ve already imagined how easily my Prius would fit underneath it. Although that is scary.

I’m terrified of seeing Tripp. Not really…but really. I haven’t had a one-night stand in…nine years? Ten? But I think the concept hasn’t changed: it’s supposed to be one night. Not one night and one day at work where it’s just the two of you in bathing suits.

To further complicate things, I had a lot of fun last night. A lot. It was such a relief to have fun. I went out, I got fucked up, and I got fucked.

I got fucked good.

I got fucked twice.

If I was twenty-three instead of thirty-three, I’d be tap dancing right now.

But I’m too old to trick myself even for one second into believing this was anything more to Tripp than one night. I mean, the guy didn’t even wake up with me.

Because he woke up before me, and he let me sleep in.

But it’s obviously a one-night stand. Obviously. And why would I want it to be anything more?

Other than my legs are wobbly from the amazing sex.

But so what? Sex is sex. It’s great. But, you know, there’s more to life than sex, and Tripp—well, he’s interesting, too, and funny, so fuck me, I guess, because I’m all thrown off, and this is about to get awkward.

* * * *

I get to Seaside Sings without crashing Tripp’s ride. I’m trying not to feel embarrassed as I walk across the sand to the lifeguard tower. This is not a walk of shame. Absolutely not. This is a walk of…pride. Yeah, I hooked up with my boss. But he’s not really my boss. This is a summer job. We both enjoyed it. No crimes were committed.

I spot Tripp on the deck around the lifeguard hut, and almost pass out. I can literally feel the color drain from my face.

You’ve got this, Bobby.

No big deal.

He looks amazing up there—all broad shoulders and ripped muscles. Like someone off Baywatch. He’s so freaking tan. And ripped. I can’t help gawking out of the corner of my eye as I move toward him. Even his legs are muscular and hard. And his chest…God. I can’t see his body super clearly right now, but I saw him last night. I touched him last night. Every part of him—almost too flawless to be true. Which makes me warm between the legs. Which makes me feel a new level of anxiety as I near the lifeguard tower. Almost naked.

I brace myself for awkwardness, looking at my feet as they step onto the ramp. When I lift my gaze, I find Tripp’s eyes on me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey, yourself.” As I walk up beside him, I spy the cooler from yesterday, the one with all the beer.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“I did. Thanks for the muffins,” I say. I pat my stomach, which probably looks fine, but which I worry looks like a balloon after all the refined carbohydrates. “I had too many.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

“How was the car?”

“Good.” I fumble in my bag for his keys. “Awesome, actually. That’s a really nice car.”

“I bought it a few years ago.”

I hold out the keys; his fingers brush my palm as he takes them. “Every time I’m in a big SUV or a truck or something, I always think about how easily my car would fit under it,” I ramble.

“That’s funny.” His phone has appeared in his hand. He’s typing something. Texting, probably. I try not to feel hurt. But it’s hard, because he’s still texting.

I set my bag inside the hut. “Do you have an update on Cherry’s brother?”

“Yeah,” Tripp says, without looking up from his phone. He doesn’t stop texting, or whatever he’s doing, for another half a minute at least. “Sorry about that.” He holds up his phone. “Super busy day.”

“It’s okay.”

“Cherry’s brother is okay. He’s recovering. She should be back to work next week.”

“That’s great.”

Tripp nods. “Yeah.” And then he’s immediately back in his phone.

I need a beer.

I open the cooler. Water, sports drinks…no beer.

At this point, I’m leaning pretty heavily into the idea that I was just a one-night stand for Tripp. Which is fine, because that’s what he is to me.

“Do you care if I get a chair?” I ask, pointing inside the tower to the folding chairs.

Tripp glances up from his phone, looks at me for a second like he’s trying to figure out what I said, and then says, “Sure. Go ahead.”

I grab a chair and sit, and maybe a minute later, Tripp grabs his own chair and sits it beside me.

I try to act unaffected. Thank God I have these sunglasses. His sunglasses.

“I had a good time last night,” he says.

I swallow. “Yeah, me too.”

He smiles. “We didn’t do much training yet. So, any questions for me?”

It takes me a full second to realize he’s not joking about training in the bedroom. That’s actually a work question. I swallow, willing myself to look casual instead of how I feel: awkward as hell. “Nope, I don’t think so.”

“There really isn’t that much to it. However—” Tripp grabs the binder and opens it. I see HOT BEACH, LLC Employee Handbook printed on the first of what seems to be many pages—“there are a few things I want to go over.”

Tripp flips a few pages, and then his phone rings.

He looks at the caller ID, then stands up and says, “This will only take a second.”

* * * *

We spend the next four hours like that. Tripp reading through the manual. Tripp answering calls. Tripp texting. Me trying not to twist myself into a pretzel.

That isn’t literally all we do. We talk. About my sister, who is backpacking through Argentina. His mom—who recently got engaged. His bathing suits—the reason he was on his phone so much.

Eventually I’m able to settle down enough to read the signs Tripp’s giving me—nothing special here; just a nice one night stand—and make my peace with it.

He lets me go early, all gentlemanly-like, and by the time I get home, my chill has evaporated.

I feel like I’m coming down. Hard. The last twenty-four-ish hours—it was like being someone else. Especially last night. I wasn’t the miserable, jobless, thirty-three-year-old divorcée moping around her parents’ guest house.

I was a young person out on the town. A single adult with no real responsibilities or obligations, no duty to do anything except enjoy myself. The problem is Tripp. I can’t stop thinking about him.

Which means the problem is with me, I know, but sometimes people just get under your skin. Not like they irritate you, but they get inside you somehow. Tripp’s seeming like he might be one of those people for me. I don’t want my thoughts to constantly return to him. I really don’t. I mean, it’s Tripp Anders. Idiot surfer hero to my boring, dumb hometown.

Maybe that’s the problem: the “hometown” part. Maybe there’s something in the water…except it’s not that. Tripp’s funny, interesting, hot, and hung. Like, of course I keep thinking about him. Anyone would. It’s probably asking too much of myself not to think about him. I’m definitely one of those people who, the more I try not to think about something, the more I think about it.

What I need to do is think about it in a different way. Like…an accomplishment. I banged the hottest guy not just in my town, but in my town’s history. That dude used to be champion of the world. I mean, as far as divorces go, that’s winning, right?

Except Kevin has a baby now.

It’s not a competition!

I just—I need to move on in my mind. From the not-date. And use the experience as motivation. I had fun. I had fun going out. I never thought I’d enjoy a date with someone like Tripp, and I did. And if Tripp Anders wants to go out on a date with me, other guys will, too. Obviously.

And maybe one of them will be as interesting as Tripp…or at least as funny. There are plenty of guys with amazing abs. Well, not plenty, but they exist.

It was a one-time thing, me and Tripp. Like fucking a celebrity. Say you ran into a super hot celebrity somewhere, like…I don’t know where mortals and celebrities mingle, but if one found oneself in that place, and one went home and had toe-curling sex with a celebrity, one wouldn’t expect to go out the next night and do the same thing.

Especially if one lived in Longview…

Here’s the thing, Bobby: you aren’t going to live in Longview forever. Maybe you don’t know where you want to move or what you want to do, but use the one-night stand as a springboard. Keep the momentum going. And no matter what, don’t think about Tripp Anders.

* * * *

I did a good job of not thinking about Tripp. I watched the news, which was just terrifying enough to distract me from my lingering pussy ache for Tripp.

Then he called. Right now. He’s calling right now. The phone is literally ringing WHY AM I STARING AT IT!?

I grab the thing. “Hello?” I say, in my most normal voice.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

After a brief pause, he says, “Sorry I was so busy at work today.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Some days are just busy.” I swallow. “So what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he says, in a voice that sounds deliciously low. “Just thinking about you.”

My stomach flip-flops. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I wanna see you again.”

My eyes bug out. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.” I walk a circle in the living area, pretending that my heart’s not racing.

Tripp chuckles. “Are you playing hard to get?”

“I don’t think so.”

He laughs again. “There’s a party tonight.”

“A party, huh?”

“At Marco Maldonado’s house.”

I sit up. Tripp had me at “Hey,” but even if I didn’t want to see him, I’d want to go to a party at Marco’s house. Marco is one of Longview’s less famous but very rich sons. His family owns property up and down the Gulf Coast, but they started in Longview, and Marco still lives here. He owns the largest house in Longmont—an insane twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion on five beach-front acres.

He has wild parties most nights he’s in town, and some of the stories I’ve heard read like they were written to illustrate excess—tigers, nude models holding torches, most of the Buccaneers, twenty-foot-high wine fountains, gold watch party favors, and so on.

Marco himself is almost as much of a recluse as I am. He’s rarely seen out and about town. He has to be pushing 45 or 50 at this point, because he’s been throwing these parties since I was in high school.

“I’ve actually always wanted to go to one of those.”

* * * *

Tripp pushes me against the door and covers my mouth with his. I grab his hair and pull him closer. God…the smell of him…the feel of him. I’m throbbing between my legs as my free hand fumbles with the doorknob.

There! I turn it, and oh shit, our mouths break apart as I fall backward—but Tripp catches me.

He laughs. I laugh. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my throat. The floor beneath us vibrates, a steady thum thum as the party is in full swing below us. Marco’s mansion is huge—so big I honestly don’t know where we are. It’s a bedroom, somewhere. All that matters is Tripp is biting my neck and squeezing my ass, and the door—it’s still open.

“The door,” I pant.

“What?”

“The door’s still open.”

“So?” I feel the puff of his husky laugh against my throat.

“So someone might see us!”

His pushes me onto the king-sized bed and grins. “That’s part of the fun.”

I can’t tell much about the room or the bed. The walls are light, maybe blue. The bedspread is dark. The only light spills in through the open door.

Tripp crawls onto the bed, crouching atop me like a tiger as his palm runs up my bare leg, fingers tracing my pussy lightly through the cotton of my panties. He rubs over a finger over my clit. “I think someone’s party is already started.” He laughs, a sinful, sultry sound that’s male and sex, and I groan softly under his big finger.

“It’s…your fault.”

“Oh no.” He works my skirt up, bunching it around my hips. “I’d say—” his hand squeezes my ass— “it’s definitely your fault.”

Then he’s moving over me, his body big and warm and hard, his fingers tracing my mound oh-so-softly. I spread my legs wider, my gaze sliding to the door before I shut my eyes…because his hand is delving underneath my panties, teasing up and down my slit. His other hand pulls my panties off, and then he pushes one—now two—fingers in; they’re probing gently deeper as he kisses my mouth.

“Please,” I moan into his mouth.

“Please what,” he murmurs darkly.

He bites at my lip gently before lifting his mouth off mine, stroking down my bare thigh as he settles in between my raised knees.

“Something like this?” He drags his tongue from cunt to clit, and I come off the bed.

“God!”

I clutch Tripp’s hair as his tongue makes me gasp and groan. His fingers know the exact right rhythm, and I thrust my hips in response. “God…”

He lifts his head, and I tug his ear. “No, please…”

Tripp’s low chuckle makes my skin goosebump. I watch him past heavy eyelids as he frees himself from pants and boxer-briefs, his big dick bouncing up toward his navel. Then he straddles me, moving close enough to rub his head over my clit...along my slit…down to my entrance, where he pushes slightly—just enough to make me gasp and groan. And then he’s rubbing in the crease of my leg, leaving me with nothing, and I’m grabbing at him.

“Bad man…”

“Oh…you want it…there,” he says, pushing against my core again. I rock against him.

“Oh yes…yes.”

He’s in an inch…then out. I stifle a frustrated moan, and am rewarded with a hard punch from his long, thick cock. Tripp drives deep into the heat of me; it feels so good that I actually scream. Then I’m lost to everything but feeling achingly full…invaded…fucked.

I’m getting fucked, and God, it’s good.