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Emma had always known that Jake Harlan was trouble.

The kind of trouble that came wrapped in a six-foot-three frame of lean muscle, tousled dark hair, and eyes the color of a summer storm gray-blue and impossible to read. The kind of trouble that made girls stupid, made them forget their own names, made them line up outside his bedroom door at parties like it was a carnival ride.

And Emma had spent the last eight years pretending she was immune.

She was twenty-three now, home from grad school for the summer, crashing on the couch in the house she’d practically grown up in because her best friend, Mia Harlan, had insisted. “You’re family,” Mia had said, the same way she’d said it since they were ten years old and Emma’s parents were working double shifts. The Harlans’ sprawling lakeside house had always been a second home pool in the back, movie room in the basement, and Jake’s bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall that Emma had learned to avoid like a minefield.

But avoidance only worked when Jake wasn’t around.

Tonight, he was very much around.

The annual Harlan Fourth-of-July-eve party was in full swing. Music thumped through the open French doors, bass vibrating in Emma’s chest as she leaned against the kitchen island, nursing a spiked lemonade. Fairy lights twinkled across the back balcony, reflecting off the surface of the pool where dozens of bodies splashed and laughed. Mia was out there somewhere, probably flirting with the new bartender she’d been texting all week.

Emma told herself she was just keeping an eye on things. Making sure no one drowned. Totally reasonable.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Jake was shirtless by the grill, flipping burgers in nothing but low-slung black swim trunks, his skin already sun-kissed and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. Nothing to do with the way his back muscles flexed every time he reached for another spatula, or how his laugh low, rough, and genuine carried over the noise of the party whenever one of his buddies said something stupid.

She hated that she noticed. Hated that she cataloged every detail like some pathetic teenager with a crush.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Hadn’t been for years.

It was a slow-burning ache that lived under her skin, flaring up at the worst possible moments like when he’d come home from college for Christmas and hugged her a beat too long, or when she’d accidentally walked in on him fresh from the shower last summer, water dripping down his chest, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. He’d smirked, of course. Teased her about knocking. Acted like it was nothing.

To him, it probably was nothing.

Jake Harlan didn’t do feelings. He did hookups. He did one-night stands and friends-with-benefits and girls who knew the score. Everyone in a fifty-mile radius knew the score. Mia had warned Emma early on: “My brother’s hot, but he’s allergic to commitment. Don’t waste your heart on him.”

Emma had laughed it off. Promised she wasn’t interested. Lied through her teeth.

And now here she was, twenty-three and still lying.

A burst of laughter pulled her attention back to the patio. Jake had abandoned the grill, handing the tongs off to one of his friends. He dove into the pool in one smooth motion, barely making a splash. When he surfaced, he shook water from his hair like a dog, grinning as a blonde in a red bikini squealed and splashed him back.

Emma’s stomach twisted.

The blonde Kayla? Kaylee?was new. Or at least new to Emma. She had perfect beach waves and legs for days, and she was currently wrapping those legs around Jake’s waist as he lifted her out of the water, her laughter high and breathless.

Emma looked away, heat crawling up her neck. She drained the rest of her lemonade in one go, the alcohol burning sweetly down her throat.

“Staring again?” Mia’s voice came from behind her, amused.

Emma jumped, nearly dropping her glass. “Jesus, warn a girl.”

Mia slid onto the stool beside her, still damp from the pool, her dark hair twisted up in a messy bun. She looked so much like Jake it was almost unfair same sharp cheekbones, same storm-colored eyes except Mia wore her heart on her sleeve, while Jake kept his locked up tight.

“I wasn’t staring,” Emma muttered.

“Liar.” Mia bumped her shoulder. “You’ve got that look. The one where you’re trying to pretend you’re not imagining what he looks like naked.”

“Mia!”

“What? It’s true. You’ve been half in love with him since we were sixteen.”

“I have not”

“Senior year. Prom. You danced with Tyler Grant, but you spent the whole night watching Jake make out with Vanessa in the corner.”

Emma groaned, dropping her forehead to the cool granite countertop. “I hate you.”

Mia laughed. “You love me. And you still want to climb my brother like a tree.”

Emma lifted her head just enough to glare. “Can we not?”

“Fine, fine.” Mia held up her hands in surrender. “But seriously, Em. If you’re going to pine, at least do something about it. He’s single right now.”

Emma snorted. “Jake’s never single. He’s just between flavors.”

Mia winced. “Okay, fair. But summer fling? No strings? Could be fun.”

Emma’s heart stuttered at the thought. Fun. Yeah. Until she fell harder and he walked away without a backward glance. She’d seen it happen to too many girls.

“No thanks,” she said firmly. “I like my heart intact.”

Mia sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

Before Emma could respond, the sliding door opened and Jake stepped inside, water still dripping from his hair and down his chest. He grabbed a towel from the stack on the counter, rubbing it roughly over his head.

Up close, he was even worse.

His skin smelled like chlorine and sun and something darker sandalwood, maybe, from whatever ridiculously expensive cologne he wore. A faint scar curved along his left ribcage, one she’d never noticed before. His swim trunks clung to his hips, outlining things Emma very much tried not to look at.

He noticed her staring of course he did and his mouth curved into that slow, dangerous smile that made her knees weak.

“Hey, Em,” he said, voice low and rough from shouting over the music. “Didn’t know you were back.”

She swallowed. “Got in this morning.”

He nodded, draping the towel around his neck. His eyes flicked over her quick, assessing. She was suddenly hyper-aware of her own outfit, cutoff denim shorts and a loose white tank top over her bikini. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the girls he usually went for.

“You swimming?” he asked.

“Maybe later.”

He leaned against the counter beside Mia, close enough that Emma could feel the coolness radiating off his wet skin. “You should. Water’s perfect.”

Kayla-or-Kaylee appeared in the doorway then, pouting. “Jake, come back! We’re doing chicken fights.”

He glanced over his shoulder, grin widening. “Duty calls.”

He pushed off the counter, brushing past Emma as he went. His fingers grazed her bare arm just a whisper of contact but it was enough to send heat spiraling through her entire body.

She watched him go, watched the blonde light up when he scooped her up again, watched him laugh like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Mia sighed beside her. “You’re doomed, babe.”

Emma didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because Mia was right.

Later that night, long after the party had wound down and the last guests had stumbled out, Emma lay on the guest room bed staring at the ceiling fan. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of crickets outside and the occasional creak of floorboards.

She couldn’t sleep.

Her skin still tingled where Jake had touched her. Her mind kept replaying the way he’d looked at her just for a second like he’d seen something he hadn’t expected.

She rolled onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. It was nothing. He was just being Jake. Flirty. Carefree. Untouchable.

But then she heard footsteps in the hall. Soft. Deliberate.

They paused outside her door.

Her breath caught.

The knob turned slowly, and the door cracked open just enough for a sliver of hallway light to spill across the floor.

Jake stood there in nothing but gray sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, expression unreadable.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.

She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest even though she was wearing an oversized T-shirt. “Something like that.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Moonlight from the window caught the sharp lines of his face, the shadow of stubble along his jaw.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “You looked good tonight, Em.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

He didn’t wait for a response. Just gave her that same slow smile, turned, and disappeared down the hall.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Emma flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling again, body thrumming with something dangerous and electric.

This summer was going to ruin her.

She already knew it.