Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (best management books of all time txt) 📕

of Coppertone that looks like it’s twenty years old. I eye it warily. “It’s all I got, Priscilla,”he says. “Take it or leave it.”He’s waving the bottle in front of me teas- ingly. I snatch it. “Nice snag,”he says, closing his eyes and turning his face toward the sun. “Me, I’m gonna get a little tan today.”I look at Russ’s face. His strong jawline moves up and down as he chews a piece of gum, and his rust-colored hair is getting longer, I notice. It’s curling over his ear a little and almost touching the back of his plaid collar. He cut off the arms of the shirt, and the tan on his biceps looks golden enough to me. “Ready?”he asks, clapping his hands together. I’m a little startled to see him snap his eyes open and look at me looking at him. Did he know

108 I was looking at him? I mean, obviously he knew I was looking, but did he know I was looking look- ing? I have really dark aviator sunglasses on, so he probably can’t tell where my eyes are, right? “You should really wear sunblock,”I say snarkily to hide my embarrassment. “You could die of skin cancer.”We pay a small admission fee and enter alongside what looks like a really long, narrow swimming pool. The springs are blocked off partially by a dam at one end, and Russ and I walk that way to cross over to the far side, which is grassy. He leads me to a huge pecan tree. “Shade for you, sun for me,”he says, pull- ing a blue cotton blanket out of the huge bag he brought. I spread out my piddly off-white bath towel. “There’s room on mine,”he says, laying half of his blanket in the shade. “That’s okay,”I say. “I’m fi ne over here.”I put my towel on the far side of his blanket, well in the shade, so that there’s a good four feet between us. I sit down and slather sunblock on

109 my arms, hands, calves, feet, and face, which are the only parts that are exposed right now—I’m not ready for the bikini reveal. I start to click through my iPod, trying to fi nd the right album for the day. Then Russ takes off his shirt, and I lose my mind. I’ve never been one of those girls who goes gaga for muscles. I never tore out a teen magazine centerfold for my locker—I was more likely to put up Venus Zine interviews. I never got the appeal of Nick Lachey when there were guys like Jack White who deserved my atten- tion. But up close and in person, let me just say that muscles look good. “Do you really think I need sunblock?”asks Russ, squinting at me. I will my eyes to move up from his abs, thank- ing God again for sunglasses. “Yeah, I do,”I say, handing over the bottle. I lie back on my little towel and concentrate on a good iPod selection, willing my head not to turn to the left, willing my eyes not to be drawn to the way his hands are moving over his unde- niably beautiful body.

110 “A little help?”He laughs, breaking my do- not-stare concentration. “Huh?”I ask, looking over and focusing my eyes on his face, just his face. “I can’t reach my back,”he says. I feel like I’m in the middle of a horribly awk- ward movie scene. I take the sunblock from him and scoot over onto the shady side of his blan- ket. After I pour the lotion into my hand, I close my eyes and start to spread it over his back. My heartbeat speeds up as my hands touch his skin, and I hope he can’t feel my freakishly fast pulse. I do a really shoddy job, honestly, because I’m eager to stop and slow down my racing heart. “Done!”I say overly cheerful, wiping the extra lotion on my legs. Then I slide back to my towel, press PLAY, and lie down with my eyes closed. Within three minutes, I’m so hot I might scream. I sit up on my elbows and look at everyone splashing in the water, running around in next to nothing. I guess my bikini will fi t in here. Slowly, I unbutton my jeans and pull them off my pale legs. Then I slip off my T-shirt.

111 “Hook ’em, Horns!”shouts Russ. “Wooooo- hoooo!”“Excuse me?”I ask, hoping he’s not making some crude reference to my body, which I’m comfortable with, but not, like, confi dent about. Is anyone really one hundred percent sure of herself in a bathing suit? I mean, besides Olympic swimmers. Did he say “Horns”? “That’s a UT bikini—burnt-orange and white!”Russ says. Then he whistles in appreciation. “I had no idea,”I say. “Well, it was a good choice,”Russ says, smiling at me. I wish he would quit looking over here. I lie back down. “Let’s go in the water!”he says. And it’s one of those requests that’s not really a question—it’s a demand. Like the neighbor boys who used to spray me with Super Soakers in my front yard, Russ will take no prisoners. Because I don’t feel like being dragged into the spring, I willingly stand up and saunter to the concrete edge behind him. He jumps in, shaking his head with a “brrr”when he surfaces. I can’t imagine being cold

112 right now in this hundred-degree heat, but the idea is appealing. I spring off the side and into the water. Ice cubes. Penguins. Klondike bars. It is freezing. And awesome. I give Russ a toothy grin—I can’t help myself. He swims over to me and we tread water next to each other; neither of us can stand in this deep end. “I’m impressed,”he says. “I thought you’d take major coaxing to get in.”“You don’t really know me very well,”I say, swimming to the wall so I can hold on and rest for a minute. I’m often the fi rst person to jump