The Boyfriend Project

The Boyfriend Project by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

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Authors: Rachel Hawthorne
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is.”
    â€œYeah, I do. He already thinks he has me beat.”
    â€œYou’ll show him.”
    He grinned. “I’ll try.” He dragged off his loose T-shirt. He really did have a nice physique. He just didn’t show it off the way Fletcher, or even Chase, did. For a moment, I simply enjoyed watching the way his muscles rippled as he slathered on lotion. Then I scooted toward him. “I’ll do it.”
    Taking the tube, I leisurely spread the sunscreen over his back. “See? I had an ulterior motive,” I whispered near his ear.
    He laughed. “I know your motive. Funds for the shelter.”
    â€œThis, too.” He was so firm. Not an ounce of fat. I ran my hands over his shoulders and back.
    â€œThat feels good,” he said. He twisted around. “Let me return the favor.”
    I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapped my armsaround my legs, and pressed my cheek to my knees. I’d clipped up my hair so Jeremy had easier access to my back. He took his time. The long, slow movements were luxurious.
    â€œMaybe we should give each other massages later,” I suggested.
    â€œWas it on your to-do list for the weekend?” he asked.
    â€œNo, but since we’re not using my itinerary . . .” I shrugged.
    â€œDoes that bother you?”
    â€œA little. How can we relax if we’re constantly worrying about what we’re doing next?”
    He kissed my bare shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”
    I sighed. “I guess I should be more spontaneous.”
    â€œYou were last night. That was fun.”
    â€œFor all of two minutes.”
    â€œIt was a great two minutes.”
    Turning my head back, I managed to capture his mouth for a short kiss. “Thanks. You always make me feel like I’m not totally obsessive.”
    I took the tube from him, wiped off some lotion that had oozed out when he’d capped it, and tucked it into its place in the side of my tote. I handed Jeremy his book—he usually read books with clockwork or iron in the title. I didn’t really get steampunk, but that was okay becauseJeremy wasn’t a fan of romance, which I read voraciously. I loved that they always had a happy ending. I pulled out my latest Meg Cabot book.
    More people began arriving. Some with surfboards headed out into the waves. I spotted a couple on a Jet Ski. In the distance, a speedboat sliced through the water and a guy dangling from a parasail lifted up. Other people were lying around. Some kids were building a sand castle. A group of five—three guys and two girls—claimed the volleyball net near the sandy area where we’d set up. They tossed the ball back and forth among themselves for a while.
    Then one of the girls wandered over to Fletcher and thrust out a hip in what I guessed she thought was a provocative pose.
    â€œWant to join our game?” she asked, like Avery wasn’t sitting right beside him.
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said.
    â€œBut we need someone on our team.”
    He waved his hand. “Lot of people around.”
    I thought she’d ask Jeremy next. Instead, she trudged away. I huffed.
    â€œWhat?” Jeremy asked.
    â€œI can’t believe how girls notice him.”
    â€œHe’s six three. He could spike the ball without even jumping, so of course they asked him.”
    â€œYou’re tall.”
    â€œFive eleven. Not that tall.”
    â€œTall enough that they should have asked you,” I said.
    â€œIf they asked, I would have declined, so what’s the point?”
    The point was that they should have paid attention to him. That I didn’t like that he was ignored. If they weren’t impressed with him, who was going to notice him at the gun show? But I couldn’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, undermining his confidence. “You’re right. I just thought it was rude.”
    â€œMaybe they could just tell that I was

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