I breathe in and out evenly, stepping to the sink to dab my face with cool water. Once I’m pulled together, I step out. Charlie’s face is the first thing I see when I open the door. She scares the living daylights out of me. “What are you doing standing there like that?”

“I heard you talking to yourself,” she whispers, which is really a harsh non-whisper because Charlie is the worst whisperer ever.

Shit. I look around. The guys are no longer in the kitchen. “Did anyone else hear?”

“No.” She drops her crossed arms. “They’re in the back, getting things ready for the party. It’s starting in an hour.” She pauses. “Jenna, I know how you feel when people ask this, but—”

“Yes, I brought my medication,” I interrupt.

“Are you taking them?” She sighs heavily. “Don’t give me that look. I had to ask.”

“Don’t.” I raise a finger to her chest. “Don’t ever ask again. I know what I’m doing. This is supposed to be a good weekend. Don’t ruin it by acting like her.”

Charlie’s shoulders relax. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You’re right. This is going to be an awesome weekend. Come on, let’s go have some fun.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and hustles me out back onto a large deck where the guys are hanging around.

I’m supposed to be having fun right now, but all I’m trying to do is steer clear of Logan. I keep my distance. Every time I catch him staring at me, I look away. I stay close to Charlie and watch as new partiers arrive.

* * *

The party has filled out with over thirty people—all drunk, of course. Charlie is all over Santino. At least she’s having a good time. Logan is playing cards with Bryson and a few girls at one of the tables. I guess he got the hint; he hasn’t looked at me once over the past hour.

It’s the perfect moment to escape, so I climb down the steps of the deck and look past the trees, toward the lake. No one’s there, so I head to the waterfront. I reach the end of the dock and take a seat. With my feet dangling over the edge and my arms crossed, I inhale and exhale a fresh breath of air. The music from the house becomes distant. I zone it out, focusing on the image before me. I watch the sun set as blue, purple, pink, orange, and yellow paint the sky. The reflection bounces off the lake and ripples when a light breeze whips by. I try to picture myself home at this very moment. I’d probably be stuck in my room, but I’d rather be here.

I’ve probably been sitting here for about twenty minutes when I hear the dock’s floorboard creak loudly. Startled, I turn around to see what it is. Logan is walking over with two beer bottles in each hand, a warm smile spread across his chiseled features. I swallow hard, taking him in fully for the first time. Every other time I’ve been around Logan, I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head to really pay attention. He has a great physique, tall and toned. His broad shoulders could belong to a linebacker. His arms, swollen against the sleeves of his T-shirt, are sinewy and tan. Brown hair, cut close to his scalp, is a perfect contrast to his clear blue eyes. He’s wearing loose jeans that hang low on his waist, and his confident, carefree attitude is obvious in the way he carries himself. He’s got sex appeal, that’s for sure. I’m certain other girls can’t resist him.

With every step he takes, the more ragged my breathing becomes. I’m nervous, and I have no idea why. I’ve been purposely avoiding him the entire evening. I think it’s because he saw one of my meltdowns this morning. He probably thinks I was having some type of boy trouble or something. Little does he know he witnessed one of my mild episodes.

“Hey,” he says as he reaches me. “Mind if I join you?”

Yes. “No.”

He sits beside me as another light breeze blows by us. I inhale his scent. “So are you enjoying yourself?”

God, my eyes are closed. Did I seriously just close my eyes to breathe in his scent? I flutter my lashes open. Embarrassed and momentarily distracted, I blurt out, “Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I am.” He extends his arm, offering me a beer. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

“Never?” He raises a brow.

“No. Well, I used to. Not anymore.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “Bad experience, huh?” I answer with a nod and turn my head back to the lake. “Are you girls thinking of staying tomorrow too?” He cracks open a beer for himself and takes a gulp.

“Probably not. We’ll probably leave in the morning.”

“You should think about sticking around. We have a barbeque going on in the afternoon, and then we usually jump in the lake and have a few drinks.” He chuckles. “Although you don’t have to partake in the drinking.” I try to hold back a smile. He leans forward and I look over at him; he’s staring directly at me. “Are you smiling?” he asks with a large grin.

“I think it’s funny that you used the term partake.”

“I think it’s nice to see you smile.” His smile wavers, and he raises a brow. “Why do you do that?”

I look down at my feet swinging beneath me. “Do what?”

“You instantly stop smiling the moment I mention it. It’s okay to smile, especially out here.” I peek up at him. He spreads his arms wide, bottle in hand, and looks around. “No one will catch you.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone catching me.”

He nods, takes another swig of his beer, and looks straight ahead, across the lake. “Then what are you afraid of?”

Myself. “Nothing.” I steer the conversation away from me. “It’s beautiful out here. Thank you for inviting us. I’d probably be home watching TV or sleeping right now.”

“Sleeping? It’s only eight…nine…eight or nine.” He takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, well I don’t exactly live the high life.” He laughs at my response. We look at each other. His grin is contagious; I smile back at him. It’s a light smile, and I know I’m doing it this time. I just hope he doesn’t mention it. Logan drops his stare to my lips and his eyes linger there. For a moment, I watch him watching me. My smile slowly fades, and I don’t know if it’s a nervous reaction or a physiological one, but my tongue darts out to wet my lips. When it does, he tears his eyes away, taking another gulp of his beer, and the moment is gone.

“So how long has your family had the lake house?” I ask, hoping to cover the awkward moment.

“About twenty years,” he answers, but he doesn’t look back at me. He’s focused down on the beer bottle, twirling it in his hand.

“Oh, wow. That’s a long time. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is. When my uncle George purchased the land over twenty years ago, he barely had two dimes to rub together.” He shrugs, still twirling the bottle. “It was a deal he couldn’t pass up. He used all his savings on the land itself and purchased lumber and other items little by little until he had enough to build a small cottage. Originally, it was a two-bedroom, eight-hundred-square-foot cabin, not the four-thousand-square-foot party house it is today.”

I smile, trying to picture a small cabin where the large home now rests. “How did it get the way it is now?”

Logan brings the rim of the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back, chugging the rest of the beer. I swallow as I watch his lips curl into a smile around the rim. After he finishes, he places the beer down and looks up at me with a lopsided grin. “As my uncle’s business increased and more money came in, he began expanding the home. When Bryson, my brother, Sean, and I were in our teens, my uncle came up with a new tradition. Every summer, we’d come here and help with expansions and renovations until it became what it is now.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It is. The thing is…” He lifts one leg, leaves the other dangling, and twirls his body so that he’s facing me but not looking at me. His focus is over his left shoulder, on the house set back from the dock. “You’d think three teenage boys would want to spend their summers partying around, but we looked forward to helping with the lake house every year. There’s a piece of each of us in there.” He nods his head toward the property. “I guess that’s why we make it a point to still come. I mean it’s not like it used to be, filled with family, but I guess people grow and change.”

“Yeah. People do.”

Logan reaches for another beer bottle and twists it open. “So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have one,” I reply automatically, but my words come out flat.

“Everyone has a story, Jenna.” My name on his tongue sounds foreign, odd, but nice.

“Mine’s not worth telling.”

“I doubt that.”

I snap my head over irritably. “Why are you so interested?”

He shrugs, trying to school his features despite my nasty outburst. “I just think you’re interesting. That’s all. Is that a problem?”

“Trust me, the last thing you need is to know anything about my life. And the last thing I need is someone else judging me. So save yourself and become uninterested. Okay?” I hop to my feet. When I look down at him, a sigh escapes me and I relax my shoulders. He was sweet this morning, and now I’m being a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry for that. Just ignore me, okay? Thank you for being friendly.”

I turn to walk away. Halfway down the dock he calls out, “I didn’t tell anyone it was you this morning.” I stop, but I don’t look back.

“Thank you,” is all I can say. Before he has the chance to say another word, I walk away, following the path back to the house. I climb the stairs to the deck and pass the partiers, who are now in various stages of inebriation. Charlie is sitting on Santino’s lap on a patio chair. He hands her another shot glass; she tosses her head back and takes it. But the liquor must be too strong for her to handle. It’s either that or she’s over her limit because she spits it back out, coughing.