“So that’s the plan of attack for this weekend,” Logan says, then turns to Fitz. “We will see you after you destroy Montreal Friday night.”

“Annihilation is indeed the game plan,” Fitz says. “I have extra tix. Want ’em?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m with Amelia that night.”

“Dude, she loves hockey.”

“Afternoon games. I can’t take her to a night one,” he says. “Past her bedtime.”

Fitz tips his chin at me. “Why don’t you take Summer? It’ll help with your public image, lover boy.”

“Good plan,” Logan seconds. “Sell it to the jury, man.”

And the funny thing is, in some other bar, some other guy is cursing himself for crushing on his best friend’s little sister because his friend would hate it.

But that’s not the case here.

Logan isn’t the issue. Hell, he’s given the idea of us his approval already.

The issue is I know exactly how it feels to lose the people you care for, the people who make your world go round.

I know, too, how it feels when your life falls to pieces.

I became a lawyer in the first place because of the battles my parents fought with insurance companies over my sister’s treatments. Because of the marathon phone calls they endured trying to get coverage, to get treatment, to get meds.

I saw what it did to them. How it nearly broke them. How they nearly withered. How we all nearly fell apart.

And how much I needed Logan and his sister at that time. They both became my family. Hell, their parents did too. It’s why I’ve never crossed a line before with Summer.

Because what if it all went to hell?

That could happen.

I don’t want to lose someone I love.

And I’m pretty sure I love Logan and Summer—as friends—and I want them in my life always.

Best way to keep Summer in it? Lock her in the friend zone.

I send her a quick text to see if she wants to go to the game, and she replies immediately with a yes. Perfect. The hockey game will be the ideal opportunity to refocus on our friendship.

“Sure, Summer and I will take the tickets,” I say.

I leave later with the perfect trick to rid my mind of dirty thoughts of my good friend, until Friday morning when I see her march into the pool area at the gym as I’m finishing my swim.

Out of the corner of my goggles, I notice her sundress, how it’s swishing around her legs, showing them off, accentuating her curves and muscles.

And now I won’t be able to get out of the pool.

Time to turn up the friendship charm.

20SUMMER

I crouch at the edge of the pool, waiting for Oliver to finish his lap.

When his head pops up, he gives me a grin. “Good morning, fake fiancée,” he whispers, wiggling his brows.

“Shh. We don’t want anyone to know,” I say, pressing a finger to my lips.

But the pool is quiet. It’s only us.

He parks his elbows on the edge of the deck, water droplets sliding down his face, one hitting his lip.

My finger itches to touch it, to swipe it off.

I ignore that desire, zeroing in on everyday us. “Just wondering if you wanted to grab a quick breakfast when you get finished. I would love to go over my plans for how to use the money from the essay. That is, if you have time.”

“I have a meeting at nine, but I always have time for the future Mrs. Harris.” He’s laying on the charm, flashing a slightly strange smile, but he doesn’t move to get out of the pool.

“Breakfast is on me,” I add.

“Sounds great,” he says, still not budging.

“Do you have more laps to do?” I glance at the wall clock. He’s usually done at seven on the dot, and it’s ticking past the hour.

His eyes light up. “Yes, I nearly forgot. I have ten more to do. Can’t fall behind.”

“Cool. I’ll wait for you on the bench.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind. I can answer some emails.”

His eyes stray longingly to the clock. “Maybe twenty more laps. You’d better wait in the lobby. You know, for your health. Nasal health.” He taps me on the nose, an overly cute gesture. Made all the overly cuter when he crinkles his own nose.

“For my nasal health?”

“Well, all the chlorine in the air,” he says apologetically, like it’s somehow his fault. “It isn’t great to breathe.”

“I already taught a water aerobics class, so I’ve been inhaling it all morning.” The whole exchange makes me wonder what he’s been inhaling, but I just point out, “I’m not affected.”

He simply shrugs. “If you say so.”

I rock forward and rap my knuckles on his forehead. “You’re being odd.”

He’s silent, and I see the cogs in his head turning, picking up speed. Then things seem to click, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Fine. I’ll skip the rest of the laps. I was trying to do you a favor. I just thought, with you being my fake fiancée and all, it’d be even harder for you to look away when I got out of the pool. I didn’t want to tempt you.”