I have no idea how long I swim for, but when my skin starts to feel more hot than warm, I grab my towel and head in. Anton’s sitting on the huge front deck, wearing swim shorts and a T-shirt, black hair parted as neatly as ever, while he sips a glass of scotch or bourbon or something. Even just hanging out casually, he intimidates me a bit. Where Tripp’s thing is being the sweet one, and I’m the dumbass one, Anton is the one who has his shit together. “Good swim?” “Yeah, it was nice.” I nod at his swim trunks. “You going in?” “Maybe when Ezra gets back. I’m relaxing for the moment. Winning the
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