Chapter 2: Heatweave

The next morning dawned brutal, mid-July sun already scorching by nine a.m., the kind of heat that made the air shimmer above the driveway and turned the lake into a mirror of blue fire. Emma woke with a dull throb behind her eyes, courtesy of too little sleep and too much replaying Jake’s midnight visit. You looked good tonight, Em. The words looped in her head like a song she couldn’t shake.

She dragged herself downstairs in search of coffee. The house was quiet, Mia had crashed at her boyfriend-of-the-week’s place, and their parents were still on their annual European cruise. Which left Emma alone with the one person she most wanted to avoid.

Jake was in the kitchen.

Of course he was.

He stood at the counter in nothing but those same gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, pouring coffee into a mug with one hand while scrolling his phone with the other. The morning light slanted through the windows, catching on the ridges of his abs, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and Emma’s mouth went dry.

He glanced up as she entered, eyes flicking over her sleep-rumpled tank top and tiny sleep shorts before returning to his phone. Casual. Unaffected. Like he hadn’t crept to her door in the dark and said things that kept her awake half the night.

“Morning,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Morning.” She aimed for breezy and missed by a mile.

He nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Fresh pot. Help yourself.”

She busied herself with a mug, hyper-aware of him only feet away. The silence stretched, thick and humming. She could feel his gaze on her back, or maybe she was imagining it. Wishful thinking had always been her specialty where Jake was concerned.

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

She nearly dropped the creamer. “Fine. You?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. The movement made his biceps flex, and Emma forced her eyes to the coffee instead. “Like a rock. Late nights agree with me.”

She knew exactly what kind of late nights he meant. Images of the blonde from the party flashed unwanted through her mind her legs around his waist, his hands on her ass. Emma’s stomach twisted.

“Good for you,” she muttered.

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Someone’s cranky before caffeine.”

“I’m not cranky.” She turned to face him, clutching her mug like a shield. “I’m just adjusting to the time zone.”

His mouth curved. “Right. Grad school’s three hours ahead. Must be brutal.”

She narrowed her eyes. He was teasing her, the way he always had light, playful, with just enough edge to make her wonder if there was more beneath it. There never was. Not for her.

He pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them in two slow strides. She froze as he reached past her for the sugar, his chest brushing her shoulder. Heat radiated off his skin the faint scent of his soap clean, woodsy filled her lungs.

He didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he lingered, stirring sugar into his coffee with deliberate slowness. “Plans today?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“Uh beach, maybe. Mia said something about boating later.”

He nodded, eyes on his mug. “Sounds good. I’ll drive.”

“You don’t have to”

“I want to.” He looked at her then, direct and unreadable. “Been a while since we all hung out. Just the three of us.”

Four, if Mia brought her fling. But Emma didn’t say that. She just nodded, heart thudding too hard.

He stepped back finally, giving her space to breathe. “I’m hitting the gym. Meet you out back in an hour?”

“Sure.”

He flashed that half-smile and left, taking his coffee with him. Emma sagged against the counter the second he was gone, exhaling shakily.

This was dangerous. Proximity. Casual domestic moments. Jake in sweatpants making coffee like they were something they weren’t.

She needed armor.

An hour later, she had it a black bikini under a gauzy white cover-up, oversized sunglasses, hair twisted up in a messy knot. Neutral territory. She looked good objectively and she refused to care if he noticed.

Mia arrived just as they were loading the boat bags into Jake’s truck, all sun-kissed and bubbly, dragging along the bartender (whose name was apparently Connor). The four of them piled into the cab Emma wedged between Jake and the door, Mia and Connor sharing the middle.

Jake’s thigh pressed against hers every time he shifted gears. Solid. Warm. Barely an inch of space between them. She stared out the window and tried not to think about it.

The private beach was crowded but not packed, families and groups spread out under umbrellas. They claimed a spot near the water, unloading cooler and chairs and towels. Connor and Mia immediately disappeared toward the snack bar, giggling like teenagers.

Leaving Emma alone with Jake again.

He stripped off his T-shirt without ceremony, tossing it onto a chair. Emma pretended to be very interested in applying sunscreen.

“You need help with that?” he asked, nodding at the bottle in her hand.

Her pulse spiked. “I’m good.”

He didn’t push, just stretched out on a towel, sunglasses on, arms behind his head. Sunlight glinted off the sheen of sweat already gathering on his chest. Emma busied herself with her own towel, lying on her stomach a safe distance away.

They stayed like that for a while lazy silence broken only by waves and distant laughter. She dozed, lulled by heat and the rhythmic crash of water.

She woke to fingers brushing her back.

Her eyes flew open. Jake was sitting beside her, uncapping the sunscreen. “You’re burning,” he said quietly. “Let me.”

She should have said no. Should have rolled away and made a joke.

Instead, she stayed still, breath caught in her throat.

His hands were warm from the sun, slick with lotion as they smoothed over her shoulders, down the line of her spine. Slow. Deliberate. Thumbs pressing into tense muscles, tracing the edge of her bikini top. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re tight as hell.”

She closed her eyes, helpless. His palms slid lower, over the dip of her waist, fingers grazing the sides of her breasts. Not quite accidental. Heat pooled low in her belly, a slow throb that had nothing to do with the sun.

He worked down to her lower back, stopping just above the curve of her ass. Then his hands were gone, leaving cool air in their wake.

She turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.

“Better?” he asked.

She managed a nod.

He lay back down like nothing had happened.

But something had. The air between them crackled, charged and heavy.

Mia and Connor returned with ice cream, breaking the spell. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of swimming and beer and Mia’s relentless teasing. Jake was his usual self flirty with Mia’s friends who stopped by, tossing a football with Connor, charming everyone.

But every so often, his eyes found Emma across the sand. Lingering. Dark.

By the time they packed up, the sun was low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Emma’s skin tingled not just from sunburn, but from the memory of his hands.

Back at the house, Mia declared she was showering first and vanished upstairs with Connor in tow. Emma lingered in the kitchen, rinsing sand from water bottles, trying to steady her breathing.

Footsteps behind her.

Jake.

He didn’t speak, just moved in close, caging her against the sink with arms on either side. His chest brushed her back; she could feel the heat of him through her thin cover-up.

“You’ve been avoiding looking at me all day,” he said against her ear.

Her breath hitched. “Have not.”

“Liar.” His lips grazed the shell of her ear, barely a touch. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Em?”

Everything. Nothing. You. Always you.

She turned in the circle of his arms, meeting his eyes. They were darker now, pupils blown wide. The teasing was gone, replaced by something raw.

“Jake…” It came out a warning. Or a plea.

He leaned in, slow enough she could have stopped him. She didn’t.

His mouth brushed hers soft at first, testing. Then deeper when she parted her lips on a gasp. He tasted like salt and beer and summer, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak. One hand cupped her jaw, the other sliding down to grip her hip, pulling her flush against him.

She felt him hard, unmistakable against her stomach, and a moan escaped before she could stop it.

He groaned in response, backing her against the counter, lifting her easily until she was sitting on the edge, legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking lightly at the spot below her ear that made her arch into him.

“Fuck, Emma,” he muttered against her skin. “Been thinking about this since last night.”

She should stop. Should remember who he was. What he did to girls.

But her hands were already under his shirt, nails dragging down the hard planes of his back, and rational thought was slipping fast.

Upstairs, a door slammed Mia’s laugh echoing down the hall.

They broke apart, breathing hard.

Jake rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “Shit.”

Emma swallowed, heart pounding. “Yeah.”

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I should shower.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

He hesitated, then brushed his thumb across her lower lip, swollen from his kiss. “This isn’t over,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone, leaving her trembling against the counter, lips tingling, body aching with want.

She touched her mouth, stunned.

Jake Harlan didn’t do feelings.

But that kiss had felt like everything.