My eyes snap open, and I see the world through the cool filter of my shades. The ceiling is white. Wood. I’m in a lifeguard tower. How did I get here?

I sit up and see someone through the open window. A girl. She’s leaning forward against the deck rail, dark hair swept up in loose bun. Her swimsuit is red—Hot Beach red. But I don’t recognize her.

I’m wearing my Hot Beach trunks. Why?

…Cherry called. Her dad had a heart attack or something? Fuck, that sucks. Did he die? I can’t remember. I need to send flowers. I need to check my texts. Where’s my…there it is. Wait—Cherry didn’t text, she called.

I would remember if he did, right?

I need to figure this out.

According to my phone, it’s 12:36 p.m. When did I get here? How long was I down? I have no idea who this girl—Bobby—is, but passed out drunk is not my best look.

I text Cindy, the office manager, and ask her to update me on Cherry. She’ll get back to me soon.

I stretch my arms over my head and scan the floor for my—there’s my bag. By the chair... I lean over, grab a strap, drag it to me, and fish out a bottle of water. I drink half of it before standing, and direct my eyes back out to the deck. Oh shit, the ass on Bobby. Bobby…?

I can’t remember her last name, but it ought to be Thick, because that ass is hurting me. No bathing suit can contain it, not even one as high-quality as mine. She’s got nice legs, too. Toned arms. Her back is statuesque. And did I mention that ass? It’s got my tummy rumbling.

I wish I could remember her face. I kind of hope it’s ugly, just so I won’t spend the entire day fighting a boner. What’s left of the day, anyway.

Did I do anything stupid this morning? I don’t remember…

Fuck it. I amble out of the tower. I can tell by the way Bobby’s perfect back tightens that she senses me approach, but she doesn’t acknowledge me, not even when I stand beside her.

So I take the opportunity to stare at her face, and fuck, she’s hot. Like, super hot. The first thing I notice is her lips—perfect, bitable, fuckable lips. Her eyes are big and brown and staring straight ahead.

Her tits are pretty fantastic, too, but I should stop leering.

I force myself to look at the Gulf. The waves are small, breaking slowly. The sun is above us, the sky cloudless. The breeze is extra salty today.

Which might also be true of my new friend here. She has yet to so much as glance my way.

“Hi,” I say.

She glances at me now—a quick look to convey that yes, she has noticed I am standing beside her, and no, she doesn’t give a fuck. “Feeling better?”

“I am, thanks.” I resist the urge to yawn. “Sorry for falling asleep on you. This was supposed to be my morning off.”

“It’s fine,” she says primly.

“Is it?”

She looks up at me again. Her eyes are so narrow they’re slits. “Yes.”

“Your mouth says ‘yes,’ but your eyes say ‘die in a fire.’”

Those eyes widen slightly, and I grin.

“I was squinting,” she says. “It’s bright out.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.”

She glowers at me, and I almost take a step back. She’s got a real-deal death glare. “Were you worried?” I ask. “Nervous?”

“No. Well, yes, but I’m not—”

“I was fine.”

Her eyes narrow again. “I wasn’t worried about you.”

“Oof.” I hold my stomach, like she punched me. What is Bobby’s backstory? She’s a few years older than me, I think. She was living in Seattle. Or Portland. Because…she got divorced?

“Sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“Leaving you alone out here.”

A bit of her temper seems to cool, and she shrugs. “I’m just glad no one drowned.”

I shake my head. “If anyone had tried, you would have witnessed your hero Baywatch the fuck out of it.”

“Oh, is Amy Pohler a lifeguard on this beach?”

“…Amy Pohler?”

Bobby scowls. “She was the first person I thought of.”

“Okay, well, no, not Amy Pohler. I was referring to myself.” Bobby clenches her jaw in this exaggerated way that makes me want to laugh. “I thought that was obvious.”

“It must have been the ‘hero’ part that threw me off.”

I do laugh. “Just wait till the next drowning.”

What did she do in Seattle?

“You were a shrink, right?”

She looks up at me, and those brown eyes, man. They’re like liquid crayon. “I was a counselor.”

“Oh? Like, a drug counselor?”

“I worked for an agency that helps low-income families with a variety of services. I provided family systems therapy.”

“That’s cool.” And I couldn’t sound more like an idiot surfer if I tried. “I mean, that sounds really…noble.”

She’s giving me side eye. “It was rewarding. Especially the work I did with kids.”

I nod. “Maybe you’ll get to save some from drowning.”

A single, strangled laugh escapes her throat before she clamps her lips shut. She gives me this look where she’s lowering her head and rolling her eyes up, but because she’s lowering her head, she’s making eye contact with me. It’s pretty condemning. “I think I’d rather deal with a sandcastle emergency.”

“We had so many last summer they almost shut down the whole beach.”

She gives in and looks, if not amused, at least a little less put out. She even turns fully toward me—but puts a bit more space between us when she does. “Not this summer.” She’s even playing along. “You’re lucky you hired me.”

“Your reputation preceded you, Bobby…the lifeguard,” I finish lamely. I can’t remember her last name. “The hero Longview deserves.”

She arches her eyebrows. “You don’t remember my last name, do you?”

I shake my head. “I would if I was less hung over.”

“Mmmmhmmmm.”

I wait for her to remind me, but she doesn’t.

“What is your last name?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

I shrug. “Then don’t.”

She shrugs. “I won’t.”

“Is Bobby your real name?”

“No, it’s my fake name.”

“I mean is it short for anything?”

“Yes.”

I bite my lip so I won’t laugh. She’s not making this easy. “Bobbelina?”

Bobby looks at me cross-eyed, and I grin. “Bobronica?”

She rolls her eyes “Roberta.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“It’s my mom’s name.”

I nod. She falls silent. Is her mom dead or something? I rack my brain, trying to remember. It was my mom that asked me to hire Bobby. And I think it was Bobby’s mom that called my mom…

“I’m surprised we never hung out when we were younger.”

Bobby gives me that look again—her head tilted down, eyes rolled up.

“I’m six years older than you,” she says. “Thanks for the job, by the way.”

“Happy to have you on Team Hot Beach.”

“Happy to be here.”

I can tell she put some effort into sounding like she meant it.

“You moved back from…Seattle?”

Bobby nods, and spreads her feet, planting herself more firmly on the deck. Maybe she thinks I’m going to ask about her divorce. I want to. But I won’t.

“I’ve never been there.”

“I don’t think the surfing is very good,” she says.

I’ve traveled for reasons other than surfing. “What’s Seattle known for?” I ask. “Other than coffee and rain. And tech. And Kurt Cobain.”

“Grey’s Anatomy.”

“That’s right.” I snap my fingers. “I knew there was a reason I’d never been.”

“What a unique opinion for a man to have.”

“I’m an original,” I say, laughing.

“Like Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I must have hit a nerve.”

She smiles. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fangirl?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Is that why you moved to Seattle?”

“Believe it or not, yes. And the show’s not even shot there.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope.”

“LA?”

“Los Feliz, which is just east of Hollywood.”

“Is Seattle even worth visiting then?”

“Probably not,” she says dryly.

“Do you miss it?”

She shrugs and sort of turns back to the Gulf. “Sometimes.”

That was dumb of me. Insensitive. “Seattle and Portland are pretty close, yeah?”

“Three hours by car.”

“Portland’s another city I want to visit.”

“It’s nice.”

Hmmmm…She doesn’t seem interested in talking, and I can take a hint. I turn my gaze to the Gulf and try to get lost in the rhythm of the waves. When I surfed, I would sit on my board for hours, sometimes, letting myself—

“Did you travel a lot for surfing?”

I almost jump out of my skin. But I don’t. ’Cause I’m too chill for that. “Yeah. Too much, maybe.”

“Why was it too much?”

Too much to end up back in Longview. “I sometimes feel like I missed out on being normal, you know,” I say, but that sounds weird. “Not like my life was abnormal or anything. I just never really did normal kid stuff. But overall it was amazing,” I add.

“Where is your favorite place to surf?”

“Was” is more accurate—Where was my favorite place to surf. “Bundoran Beach, Ireland.”

“Ireland?”

“Yeah. The atmosphere is amazing.”

“What’s it like?”

“Lots of beaches. Reefs. Isolated, if you go at the right time. It was under the radar maybe ten years ago, but it’s still a place you don’t get a lot of beginners.”

“I never would have thought there was surfing in Ireland.”

“A lot of people are surprised.”

“Any other secret spots you can tell me about?”

“There are ‘secret spots,’ and then there are actual secret spots. Beaches you have to hike an hour to reach, or that are only accessible by boat. Spots in the water that don’t even have names, just surfers who surfed them, and remember where they are, and bring their friends.”

“That sounds cool,” she says after a beat.

“It was.”

“Do you miss it?”

Hashtag insta-karma. “I try not to.”

Bobby gives me a sympathetic look.

“Let’s talk about something fun,” I say with a not insignificant amount of phony enthusiasm. “Like…therapy.”

“Therapy?”

“You were a therapist, right?”

“No. I provided counseling services to families.”

“Soooooooo…”

“I was a counselor.”

“Did you do therapy?”

“Yes. But not one-on-one, with individual clients.”

“Ok. Have you ever been therapy?”

“Yes, I’ve been.” She gives me a wide-eyed, disbelieving sort of look.

“Did it help?”

She nods. “Why? Are you thinking about therapy?”

“I already did it. For about a year.”

“Did it help?” she asks, kind of pointedly. Is she annoyed that I asked, or is she trying to imply something?

“Fixed me one hundred percent. Can’t you tell?”

Bobby’s doing it again. The head down, eyes up, “Are you fucking serious?” look. I really like it.

“I guess you’re speechless,” I say with a grin. “Struck mute by my psychological perfection.”

That gets a snort. “I’m glad you don’t meet any of the criteria for a narcissist.”

I laugh. “Isn’t it unethical to diagnose people who aren’t your clients?”

She shrugs. “It’s a gray area.”

“What about offering advice?”

“Advice is fine.”

“Good, cause I need some.”

Her lips twitches, and she lifts her fingers to push a strand of hair out of her face. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s a workplace issue. I’ve got this new employee. A lifeguard. She seems to hate me.”

Bobby nods thoughtfully. “Why do you think she hates you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I think she might just be a terrible person.”

Bobby’s nostrils flare. Her smile is sweet, but she’s grinding her teeth. “Oh is she?”

I chuckle. “Maybe I have the wrong read.”

“Well, Mr. Anders, I’m sure I have no idea which lifeguard you are referring to. But I have come to know you over the course of our two years of therapy.”

“Has it been that long?”

Bobby nods. “I feel confident, Tripp, in assuring you that it’s not her, it’s you. It’s always you.”

“Ouch.” I laugh. “That’s some hashtag truth.”

Bobby gives me an evil look, but smiling-evil, not evil-evil.

“I’m glad I came to you for help,” I say.

She smiles smugly. “It’s what I was trained to do.”

I smirk down at my bare feet for a moment then shake my head. I like this girl. I look back into her amazing eyes. “I’ve got a real question. What’s up with Cherry’s dad?”

“You mean her brother.”

Oops. “Yeah, her brother.”

Bobby shakes her head. “All she told me was that he’s fine, but he’ll need surgery.”

“That’s good.” I check my phone, to see if Cindy’s messaged back. She has. I ask her to send flowers, and then notice the time: 1:05 p.m. “It’s just past the hour. Time for the walk.”

Bobby’s face sours immediately.

“You don’t like the walk?”

She gives me a withering look. “What do you think?”

“I think youuuuuuuu,” I squint like I’m trying hard to figure it out, “love it?”

“It’s demeaning.”

“Wuuuuuh?”

“We have to parade around like we’re on some kind of runway. Well, not a runway, but I feel like I’m modeling your swimsuit.”

“So you feel confident, you’re saying.”

Bobby scowls, and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. “Why do you only hire girls?” she demands.

“What?”

“All of your lifeguards are girls.”

“Mason and Nat are—”

“Two boys. But there are a lot more girls.”

“Are you implying something?” I frown.

“No—I’m asking.”

I shrug. “I hired Cherry and a few of her friends the first year, and I hired more of their friends last year. And this year, the same thing happened, except I also hired you.”

She crosses her arms under her chest, and with applied effort I’m able to avoid looking. I mean, staring at her tits would ruin my credibility.

“Why did you call it ‘Hot Beach?’” she demands.

“I thought it was funny. Now can we please?” I motion toward the beach.

She’s all about narrowing her eyes, this one. “Fine.”

Bobby turns and saunters down the ramp, and I happily follow. I let her get a few steps ahead, and when she turns to see why I’m not beside her, I say, “I want to make sure you’ve got the proper form.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

I shake my head. “I’m serious. This is an important—”

“Whatever.” She turns and stomps down the beach, and she looks great doing it.

We reach the end, and she spins around. I hold up my hand to stop her. “You can follow me back.”

I’m proud of my ass, and I hope she’s taking a nice, long look.

When we get back to the tower, I glance over my shoulder and see Bobby’s gaze is exactly where I expected it. “Enjoy the view?” I goad.

She jerks her eyes up sharply, and I grin.

“Puh-lease. You wish.”

I shrug, and Bobby glares. “You’re my boss, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“What you just said was completely inappropriate.”

“It was?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t actually need this job.”

“That’s not the point,” she grits.

“Should I apologize?”

“Obviously.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry you like my ass.”

Bobby shakes her head, but she’s trying not to smile.

“You’re out of your mind,” she says.

“I want you to like it,” I tell her.

“This is—”

“It’s all I have left,” I lament. “From my surfing days.” She rolls her eyes so hard, all I see is white. “I’m surprised you didn’t knock yourself out doing that.”

She rolls them even harder.

“It’s true.” I turn to look at my ass. “I think it’s because I still do a lot of walking on sand.”

Bobby rubs her temples. “I liked it better when you were passed out.”

“You’re gonna hurt a guy’s feelings that way.”

“I’m sure.”

She is a tough cookie to crumble. A tough nut to bust.

But I’m gonna bust it…

“Remember how worried you were for me?”

“I was worried for the beach. And I still am,” she deadpans.