Shouts and laughter draw my attention away from my suddenly charismatic attractive neighbor, and I release his hand, a shiver rushing down my spine despite the heat. I frown as I take in the scene unfolding next to the campfire. “Oh, for the love of Pete.” The end of my brother’s crutch is smoking. He stabs the bottom in the sand and stumbles forward, perilously close to the edge of the fire.

“Billy!” I call his name, but he either can’t hear me over the shouts and laughter or he’s ignoring me. “Hold this.” I pass Tawny my drink and stalk across the beach toward my brother. He loses his balance but thankfully ends up on his ass in the sand, howling with laughter.

People move out of the way as I approach and come to a halt right beside him lying in a heap on the beach. I sincerely hope there are sand fleas crawling around in his boxers. “What’re you doing?”

“Having fun! What are you doing?” He points the slightly charred end of his crutch at me, and I lift my arm, using it as a shield to keep the crutch from smacking me in the face.

“Dude. You’re going to burn someone doing that, and if it’s me I will one hundred percent be taking my old bedroom back and I’ll be punching you in the nuts.”

“You need to loosen up, Dee. You’re more high strung than a guitar.” He bursts into overly loud laughter.

I roll my eyes and point to Tommy Westover, who’s standing off to the side with his thumbs jammed in his pockets, fighting a grin. “It’s on you to keep him out of trouble tonight.”

He shrugs. “I’ll do my best.”

When I get back to Tawny and Allie, Van is no longer with them and his friend group has moved on.

“Like hell he doesn’t have the hots for you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and you were the same.”

“I recognize he’s nice to look at, that’s all.”

Tawny gives me a look. “Seriously? He lives right next door to you. How are you not taking advantage of that situation?”

“I don’t even like him.”

“You don’t have to like him to ride him.”

“What if he’s a terrible lay and I’m stuck living next door to him until he finally decides to sell?”

Allie arches a brow. “The more important question is, what if he’s not?”

CHAPTER 13

THE HUNTING CABIN

Dillion

An hour later I have to break the seal. Allie was not wrong about the state of the bathrooms, so I follow her lead and prop myself up against a tree. This is about the only time I wish I had a penis instead of a vagina.

I’m on my way back to Tawny and Allie when a flash of lightning brightens the beach and the sky opens up. It’s like that here sometimes. One minute it’s calm and balmy, the next you’re in the middle of a torrential downpour.

In under a minute the campfire, which was raging, becomes embers, a plume swirling up to caress the sky with smoky fingers, leaving the beach murky and dark. The other side of the lake is dotted with lights, some brightening the fronts of the massive homes, their windows iris-less eyes.

People run in every direction, seeking refuge from the deluge coming from the sky. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. Which is how I wind up running right into a huge, hard body.

I topple backward, landing in the sand with a thud. I grunt when the body I ran into lands on top of me, almost knocking the wind out of me. Aside from the heavy weight, I’m blanketed by warmth and protected from the pouring rain.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?” Warm, humid breath that smells faintly of mint washes over my face, and the low, gruff tone sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the fact that I’m lying on the cold ground, or that I’m soaking wet.

“Van?”

“Dillion?” He pushes up onto his forearms, body still hovering over me, legs bracketing mine.

Of course he has to be the one I run into in the middle of a freaking storm, especially when not that long ago I was discussing whether he’d be good in bed and what the pros and cons were to finding something like that out. I still maintain that the cons would outweigh the pros.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I can’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me.” He scrambles to his knees and holds out a hand.

“Me either.” I accept his offer of assistance. My hair is plastered to my head, and I’m seriously hoping I used the waterproof mascara, or I’m going to look like a cracked-out football player soon. I glance around the beach, but it’s impossible to see anything apart from Van, who’s directly in front of me. “I should find my brother.”

“I think everyone’s gone?” It’s framed as a question. “I don’t know my way around here, so I’m not sure how to get back to the parking lot,” he admits.

“It probably won’t last long. Come on. I know a place we can wait it out.” I grab his hand as a crack of lightning lights up the beach, helping guide me toward the break in the trees.

“Is it a good idea to be running through the forest during a thunderstorm?” Van yells, fingers gripping mine tightly.

“We’re not going far, and it’s better than being on the beach,” I shout back.

I take him down the trail that runs from the beach to the abandoned hunting cabin. It’s closer than my truck. The brush has grown in since the last time I used it, disuse causing the weeds to sprout up and the trees to bend in.

The rain isn’t as heavy under the canopy, so it’s easier to navigate the narrow path. Van stumbles a couple of times on tree roots, so I fish around in my jeans for my phone and turn on the flashlight.

The cabin comes into view as another rumble of thunder makes the ground vibrate. I move the planter over a few inches and cross my fingers that the key hasn’t disappeared in the years since I’ve last been here. I heave a sigh of relief when my fingers close around the cold metal.

I hold the flashlight to the door and slide the key in the lock. It wouldn’t be hard to actually break down the door, but then it would mean that this place would be open to the rodents and animals living outside. Not that there probably aren’t rodents living in here already, but I don’t want to make it any easier for them than it has to be.

I have to jiggle the key a few times, but I finally get it to turn. I also have to bang the door with my shoulder to get it to open. I stumble a step or two, and Van follows me in, shutting the door behind him and sealing us off from the rain.

The tiny cabin creaks with the howling wind, but it’s warmer and drier in here than it is out there.

“What the hell is this place?” Van turns on the flashlight on his phone and moves it around the room, his expression a mix of curiosity, confusion, and trepidation.

“It’s an old hunting cabin.”

The place doesn’t have much in the way of space or furniture. There’s an old rusted-out bunk bed with waterproof mattresses covering the bunks and rolled-up sleeping bags set on top. Everything is roughed in; there’s no drywall, just boards and wooden studs. In the corner is a small table and two chairs. An old Coke crate is turned upside down to function as a kind of counter, holding a small washbasin.