Page 28 of Don't Think

“Allie!” Ana calls from the water. “Get your ass in here! Don’t make me come drag you!”

Didn’t she just say to holler if I needed anything?

My idea of a perfect beach day is lounging in the sun with a mixed drink in one hand and a book in the other—not swimming. I usually avoid the water because it’s always way too cold, and honestly, you never know what’s floating around in there. But when Ana’s threatening to drag you in? She’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it. She means it.

So I peel myself off the towel, tuck my book back into my bag, and keep my eyes glued to the sand while I inch closer to the shore. I slowly dip my toe into the icy water.

And then—splash! Suddenly I’m soaked head to toe, with cold, salty water landing right in my mouth. I gasp loudly enough to scare the birds off, frozen in shock.

I look up and see Ana and Nora doubled over, cackling with the seagulls.

“She did it,” they say in unison, pointing fingers at each other.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I left my five-year-old at home,” I fire back with a laugh, kicking water at them.

I keep splashing as droplets hit their faces, feeling like a kid again. Maybe it looks ridiculous, a twenty-five-year-old woman splashing her friends like this, but do I care?

Absolutely not.

Then Nora’s eyes go wide.

She points behind me. “Allie, watch out!”

My heart jumps, and before I can turn, a massive splash hits my back, cold water spraying everywhere.

What the hell could be big enough to cause that much splash? Do sharks even live in Massachusetts?

After a few seconds, when I realize my legs are still attached and not inside some shark’s belly, I slowly turn around.

And then I feel like a fool.

It’s not a fish. Not a jellyfish. And definitely not a shark.

But a damnfootball.

I stare at it for a second, fully judging myself for freaking out when I literally saw a group of guys tossing it not even five minutes ago. I laugh it off, bending down to grab the ball.

Just as my fingers brush it, I hear footsteps splashing in the shallow water, coming closer.

“Sorry about that!” a man’s voice calls out with a thick, unmistakable Welsh accent.

My spine stiffens.

Then his shadow falls over me as he stands there, blocking the sun. And my brain? Completely refuses to connect the dots and just hand the ball back.

Nope. It’s still in full-on shock mode, and I’m stuck here, halfway bent over.

I force myself to straighten, and when I finally look up, there’s Gareth freaking Chase. His short, choppy, light-brown hair shines in the sunlight with his hands planted on his hips.

“Sorry about this guy’s shit aim,” he says with a laugh, nodding back toward the rest of the guys jogging toward us.

James comes into view first, his hair sticking up in every direction like the salt water’s acting as hair gel.

He narrows his eyes at Gareth and shrugs. “It’s not my fault you can’t catch,” he mumbles, then glances at us. “Sorry if we disturbed you, ladies.”

I want to say something back to not seem rude, but I can’t. I’m completely frozen.

Because right behind him, Jax is walking and talking with Casey.