Chapter 3

Eunice

The second we rolled up to Denver's house, the whole group bolted straight for the backyard like kids unleashed. The pool was fucking massive, Olympic, sized, glowing with soft blue underwater lights, plenty of room for everyone to fuck around without crashing into each other.

Denver's family is loaded, old-money rich, but he never acts like it. Doesn't give a shit about status; he just pulls in whoever he vibes with. Only child, parents always jetting off for work, so that huge mansion is basically his alone most of the time. I think that's why he craves having people over, turns the empty silence into noise, laughter, life.

I hung back on the patio for a minute, watching him. He was laughing his ass off as Paulo bombed into the water and soaked my cousins. Completely relaxed, owning the night.

Then his eyes flicked toward the gate, landed on me still lingering there like an idiot, and he hit me with that slow, easy smile that always wrecks me.

"Come on, Eunice. Water's perfect."

I kicked off my flip-flops and padded over, pulse already tripping.

"Eunice, pictures!" Beatrice yanked me into the pool before I could even dip a toe.

We snapped a million selfies—big grins, peace signs, the guys splashing like morons in the background.

But every few seconds, I felt it: Denver watching from the deep end. Quick, burning glances he probably thought I didn't catch. Each one lit me up inside, made my stomach flip hard.

I sank lower without thinking, water lapping at my collarbone. I'd thrown on the baggiest T-shirt I could find over my swimsuit, trying to play it safe, hide everything. Now it was drenched, heavy, clinging to my breast and waist like wet paper.

Great. He's definitely noticing how much I'm covering up. Probably thinks I'm some shy little prude.

When his gaze slid over me again, this time dragging slow and deliberate, I ducked even lower, pretending to mess with my hair.

Why the hell did I even come?

Needing an escape, I swam to the far end with my cousins, floating on my back, letting their chatter and the cool water drown out my head.

We ended up lined along the edge, arms hooked over the side, legs kicking lazily.

"Holy fuck, have you seen Denver?" Beatrice whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

We all turned.

Jesus Christ.

He was on the opposite side, fingers gripping the hem of his soaked T-shirt. In one smooth pull he stripped it off and tossed it aside. Moonlight and pool lights carved shadows over his bare torso, broad shoulders, cut pecs, abs sharp enough to cut glass, that perfect V dipping into low-slung jeans.

My cousins let out quiet little gasps, mouths actually hanging open.

But my eyes didn't stop at his abs.

They dropped lower.

His wet jeans clung to his thighs like a second skin, outlining every thick inch of him. The bulge was... impossible to miss. Long. Heavy. Straining against the denim.

"It's fucking massive," Beatrice breathed, zero shame, staring openly.

Heat exploded across my face. I ducked under the water instantly, pretending to detangle my hair.

Oh my God.

That image was seared into my brain forever.

"Yeah... imagine that buried inside you," one cousin murmured, voice dreamy.

"You'd be sore for a week," another giggled.

We dissolved into hushed, filthy laughter, praying no one heard.

Beatrice leaned in, smirking. "Okay, real talk, who's actually had dick? Hands up if you're not a virgin."

To my absolute shock, all three raised their hands without hesitation.

Mine stayed glued under the water.

"Wait... all of you?" I whispered, stunned.

"Duh. We're nineteen," Beatrice said like it was obvious. "Come on."

"I was sixteen," the youngest bragged with a shrug.

I just stared, feeling like I'd missed some mandatory life milestone. (I'm eighteen, for the record.)

"So I'm literally the only one..."

"Last virgin standing," Beatrice teased softly, bumping my shoulder. "We kinda figured. Eunice doesn't even date. How are you supposed to get fucked without a boyfriend?"

They laughed quietly; I sank lower, face on fire.

Perfect.

Not only was I the girl drowning in an oversized shirt, I was apparently the only one who hadn't been railed yet.

Across the pool, Denver surfaced, shaking water from his hair, completely unaware he'd just starred in our dirty little conversation.

Then the stories started, hookups, awkward first times, guys who ghosted after coming. My cousins swapped details like it was nothing, giggling, while I floated there feeling like a kid eavesdropping on grown-up secrets.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I slipped away quietly, climbed the steps, grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight around me, water dripping from my clinging shirt. The deck had mostly cleared anyway, Paulo and the guys had moved inside. Through the glass I could see them sprawled with beers, music thumping low, deep in whatever bullshit guys talk about when girls aren't around.

Not my scene. Too young for the drinking, too shy for the vibe.

So I wandered into the garden instead. Cool night air kissed my wet skin; the full moon poured silver light over everything, sharp enough to see trimmed hedges, hear the soft trickle of a fountain.

I found a secluded plastic bench half-hidden under a tree, sat, hugged my knees to my chest, and tried to wring out my shirt.

Finally alone.

Then, gravel crunching under slow footsteps.

I glanced back.

Denver.

Still shirtless, water droplets glistening on his skin like liquid silver. Those carved abs flexing with every step. A beer dangling loose from his fingers. He walked straight toward me, calm, deliberate, like he'd been hunting this exact spot.

He dropped onto the bench beside me, not crowding, but close enough that his heat and that clean, chlorine-mixed scent slammed into me.

"Hey," he said, voice low, quiet. "Mind if I sit?"

My heart jackhammered.

"Denver?" It came out high, breathless, betraying everything.