I wave him off. “No worries. I’ll find it later.”

“Are you sure? Might give you a better view of my arse. I’d appreciate an appraisal.”

And the sexy Brit wins the battle of wills.

I have no choice but to give him the all-the-way-to-Jupiter eye roll. “No need. I made my assessment that time you streaked naked across my backyard when we were sixteen. It’s a five, maybe a six on a good day.”

He peers over his shoulder at the backside in question, then parks his hands on his hips. “I beg your pardon. This is a top-notch arse here.”

I cross my arms and chuckle at the way he set up my victory shot. “Yes, indeed. I am definitely checking out a top-notch arse.”

Like a cartoon character muttering curses, he says under his breath, “Touché, woman. Touché.”

He steps toward me, shrugs a muscled shoulder, and gives me a smile from his cache of them—this one I’ve dubbed the disarming one. “Truth be told, I don’t mind if you gawk at the crown jewels. I wouldn’t tell you to look away from the works of art if you were at the Louvre.”

“Less like masterpieces and more like Velvet Elvises and paintings of dogs playing poker.”

The corner of his lips curves up. Why is it that infuriatingly good-looking men all have lopsided grins? Is it a standard feature when they’re assembled in the too-hot-for-words factory? Is it a custom order, or part of the Unfairly Handsome Package?

“Summer,” he chides gently. “You’ve been doing it since we were fourteen.”

Back then, I might have given in to the urge to swat him, but I don’t now. Instead, I grit my teeth, dig my heels in, and remind myself that even though he is the living, breathing embodiment of cocky male in the city, he is also the guy who has saved me many times.

And I’ve saved him more than once too.

But at the moment, I need to save face. I march to the nearby bench and grab one of the pieces of white cardboard they call gym towels here. Returning, I hand it to Oliver, raising my chin. “There. Now no one can admire the goods, such as they are.”

With an I’m about to give it right back to you chuckle, he takes the towel and pointedly refrains from wrapping it around his waist.

The cheeky fucker.

He drapes it over his shoulders then saunters to the side of the pool and leans against the wall, beckoning me. I follow, of course, because I need something from him.

Desperately.

“Tell me exactly what it is you need me to do this time,” he says. “Escort you to the wedding of a jackass you once dated? Train with you for a 10K to benefit Alzheimer’s? Or just look absolutely fantastic when I get out of the water?”

I huff. How can he be so endearing and such an ass at the same time? “Do you practice that, Oliver?”

He arches a brow. “You mean being the knight in shining armor? Or the way I always manage to get your goat?”

“Both,” I say with a laugh.

He scratches his jaw. “It’s a unique talent, I suppose. Being devilishly charming at all hours, no matter the circumstances.” Then he tugs me in close, roping an arm around me. A very wet arm, soaking my work shirt. “You know I’m just teasing you. You are literally the most delightful person to tease because I never know what you’ll do. Either you look like you want to clobber me, or you laugh and go along with it. Keeps me on my toes.”

I wriggle away from him, eyeing the wet splotches on my blouse. “Devil is indeed the appropriate word.”

“And you’re such an angel?” His green eyes flash me a pointed look.

“You know I’m not.” I shift gears and gesture toward the women’s locker room. “But I need to get to work. I have to complete some of the final paperwork for the new fitness center, and I’m hoping I might be able to borrow your brain tonight. Pretty please?”

He rolls with the topic change. That’s the thing about Oliver and me—we’ve worn so many hats with each other that we exchange them with ease. “My brain is always available for the borrowing. See you after work. Can we go to the Melt My Heart place?” He puts his palms together in a plea, adopting a doe-eyed look that makes me laugh.

“Since when do you like specialty shop franchises you’d normally mock?”

He affects a serious expression. “I’m considering it for my last-meal list.”

“You’re back to that?”

“I was off it for a while, but it amuses me, so I’ve returned to it. Don’t you have things you do that amuse you?”

I tap his nose. “Yes. Talking to you. See you later.”

As I head to the women’s locker room, he says my name. “Summer?”

I turn around.

He raises an arm, leans to the side, and stretches, his muscles glistening as he moves, his abs looking lickable, his torso gleaming, toned and smooth. “Let me know when you find that missing bracelet. I’m sure Mrs. Wilson is terribly worked up over it.”

I rein in a revealing smirk, holding tight to my lie. “Of course.”

He heads to the men’s locker room, and I do not stare at his butt until he leaves my line of sight.

I do not stare at his butt.

I do not . . . oh hell, the man just has a great ass.

Like, Louvre quality.

It’s only exceeded by his commitment to besting me, since he calls out, “Oh, hello there, Mrs. Wilson. Can I help you find your bracelet? What’s that? You left it in my locker? You naughty bird, you.”

2SUMMER

I’m about to leave work that evening when I hear the click of a pair of Mary Janes on the hardwood floors.

The clearing of the most aggrieved throat comes next.

Then the voice, brimming with consternation at all that she finds wrong in the world—in a nutshell, everything. Literally, everything.

Look, it’s not like I disagree. The planet has a lot of knocks against it these days. But, glass half full—a lot is right in the world too.

“Excuse me, Miss Life Enrichment Director.” Roxanne says my title precisely the way such a title should be said—dripping with mockery.

Because seriously?

Couldn’t I simply be the Activities Director? Or, if we need to be cutesy, perhaps Lifestyle Leader?

Nope.