splashing. I am splashing so much that every shark and sea creature in a hundred mile radius will know that I’m here. And I don’t care. All I care about it surviving this shark attack. Because it is going to attack me. It’s stalking me right now like the prey that I am. And very soon that water around me will be red because I’m going to die a bloody death.
And then I notice that the fin is made from hands. A pair of hands.
I freeze.
What the eff?
Dante bursts from the water, wearing gray swim trunks and shaking droplets from his hair as he lunges to grab me with a roar.
I scream again because it’s happened so fast and my brain hasn’t had a chance to truly realize that it is Dante and not a shark.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to become breakfast for JAWS.
But I’m going to kill Dante.
I’m so mad that I smack him on the arm. And smack him again.
“Dante, what the hell?” I demand angrily, so mad that I’m seeing spots. “Not funny! So not funny!”
He looks confused, then startled as it registers with him that I am truly pissed off. Severely and completely pissed off. Both with him for pulling the stupidest and oldest prank ever and with myself for falling for it.
Oh-my-gosh-I’m-such-an-idiot.
I try to force my heart rate to slow down before I become the first seventeen-year old in the history of the world to die from heart failure in the middle of a fake shark attack. I definitely don’t want that on my tombstone.
Here lies Reece Ellis: Dumbass.
“I’m sorry,” Dante tells me quickly, reaching for me. I kick away from him, still furious.
“I’m really sorry,” he tells me again, swimming toward me.
Even soaking wet, he is gorgeous. Maybe even more so than when he is dry, if that is even possible. The water runs over his defined muscles, the sun catches the highlights in his hair. His blue eyes are contrite, his expression apologetic. His jawline chiseled, his chest rock hard. Wait. I don’t want to notice those things right now.
I’m pissed, I remind myself. Seriously pissed.
He reaches out for my arm and this time, his long fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me to him. He folds me into a hug, a sincere hug, and holds me tight.
And I’m not pissed anymore.
Dante’s body is long and lean, his arms strong and bulging and wrapped around me right now. He’s wet and slippery and so am I and I’m going to internally combust. He smells like soap and salt and sun and I can’t breathe.
Sweet baby monkeys.
We tread water and Dante tells me again how sorry he is. He’s cold and I’m cold and my lip starts to quiver because I’m freezing. And also nervous because the most beautiful boy in the world has his arms around me.
Dante looks down into my eyes, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me tightly to his chest. I feel every inch of him pressed against me- every inch - and I might die. Seriously die.
“I’m stupid,” he tells me with his super-sexy accent. “Reece, I didn’t realize how afraid you are of sharks. That was a stupid prank and I will make it up to you, okay?”
He looks seriously into my eyes, his face so sweet and gorgeous and sincere. How can I stay mad at him when he is so unbelievably sweet and gorgeous and sincere?
I can’t.
I nod instead.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. He tightens his hold on me as we kick to tread water and I enjoy the hardness of his body and how every plane of his chest ripples when he moves.
He bends his head and I think… I’m pretty sure… I know… he’s going to kiss me.
But he flicks his fingers out and adjusts the strap of my mask instead, straightening it up from where it was crooked from leaning against him.
I exhale shakily and swim away from him a little ways, like a normal person, like I’m not someone whose wits were just addled from being
And then I notice that the fin is made from hands. A pair of hands.
I freeze.
What the eff?
Dante bursts from the water, wearing gray swim trunks and shaking droplets from his hair as he lunges to grab me with a roar.
I scream again because it’s happened so fast and my brain hasn’t had a chance to truly realize that it is Dante and not a shark.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to become breakfast for JAWS.
But I’m going to kill Dante.
I’m so mad that I smack him on the arm. And smack him again.
“Dante, what the hell?” I demand angrily, so mad that I’m seeing spots. “Not funny! So not funny!”
He looks confused, then startled as it registers with him that I am truly pissed off. Severely and completely pissed off. Both with him for pulling the stupidest and oldest prank ever and with myself for falling for it.
Oh-my-gosh-I’m-such-an-idiot.
I try to force my heart rate to slow down before I become the first seventeen-year old in the history of the world to die from heart failure in the middle of a fake shark attack. I definitely don’t want that on my tombstone.
Here lies Reece Ellis: Dumbass.
“I’m sorry,” Dante tells me quickly, reaching for me. I kick away from him, still furious.
“I’m really sorry,” he tells me again, swimming toward me.
Even soaking wet, he is gorgeous. Maybe even more so than when he is dry, if that is even possible. The water runs over his defined muscles, the sun catches the highlights in his hair. His blue eyes are contrite, his expression apologetic. His jawline chiseled, his chest rock hard. Wait. I don’t want to notice those things right now.
I’m pissed, I remind myself. Seriously pissed.
He reaches out for my arm and this time, his long fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me to him. He folds me into a hug, a sincere hug, and holds me tight.
And I’m not pissed anymore.
Dante’s body is long and lean, his arms strong and bulging and wrapped around me right now. He’s wet and slippery and so am I and I’m going to internally combust. He smells like soap and salt and sun and I can’t breathe.
Sweet baby monkeys.
We tread water and Dante tells me again how sorry he is. He’s cold and I’m cold and my lip starts to quiver because I’m freezing. And also nervous because the most beautiful boy in the world has his arms around me.
Dante looks down into my eyes, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me tightly to his chest. I feel every inch of him pressed against me- every inch - and I might die. Seriously die.
“I’m stupid,” he tells me with his super-sexy accent. “Reece, I didn’t realize how afraid you are of sharks. That was a stupid prank and I will make it up to you, okay?”
He looks seriously into my eyes, his face so sweet and gorgeous and sincere. How can I stay mad at him when he is so unbelievably sweet and gorgeous and sincere?
I can’t.
I nod instead.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. He tightens his hold on me as we kick to tread water and I enjoy the hardness of his body and how every plane of his chest ripples when he moves.
He bends his head and I think… I’m pretty sure… I know… he’s going to kiss me.
But he flicks his fingers out and adjusts the strap of my mask instead, straightening it up from where it was crooked from leaning against him.
I exhale shakily and swim away from him a little ways, like a normal person, like I’m not someone whose wits were just addled from being
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