Page 3 of Hide And Seek

“Okay, so… the counselors are split into two unofficial camps. No pun intended.” She paused for a beat, gesturing to herself. “There's people like me. Locals from Millhaven, which is about forty-five minutes that way.” She paused again, jabbing a finger westward. “We're here because we need the paycheck and it beats waiting tables all summer. So that’s the Dirtbags. And we chose the name ourselves, before you feel bad about it.”

“Noted,” I said, lips twitching.

“Then there's the Legacies.” Something in her tone shifted, like she was trying to sound neutral but not quite managing it. “Ex-campers. They grew up coming here every summer, and now that they’re in college, they come back as counselors. They don't need the money, of course. It's all about the connections. The networking. Having something pretty on their resumes so they look like real people with real interests, and not just trust fund kids who spend their entire summers wandering around Europe.”

“I see.”

“So… where do you slot in?”

“Well, I’m not from anywhere around here, but I guess I’d be classified as a Dirtbag anyway.” I sidestepped a gnarled rootcutting across the path before us. “I grew up in a tiny town in Montana, so the wealthiest people I know are the family that own the general store. And maybe a handful of classmates at NYU, but I don't make a habit of asking people for their financial statements.”

Jasmine laughed softly at that, and I felt her relax beside me. “Thank god,” she said. “I was hoping, but I wasn’t sure, because I’ve never seen you around Millhaven.”

“They’re really that bad?”

“The Legacies?” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, a couple of them are fine, I guess. But most of them are…” She trailed off again, seeming to weigh her words, then apparently decided against the effort. “Snobby assholes. They think they’re better than everyone, and a few of them are pretty open about that.” She paused. “I guess you'll see.”

Before I could respond, the path opened out into a wide, flat clearing, and Jasmine swung her arm out in a vague ta-da gesture.

“Here’s the archery and ax throwing section.”

I took in the range ahead of us: the neat row of targets at the far end, the marked throwing lines, the locked equipment sheds running along the side fence.

“I know what you're thinking,” Jasmine said, arching a ginger brow.

“You do?”

“Swimming’s banned because one kid drowned, but at the same time, we're handing kidsaxes. What the fuck is up with that?”

My forehead crinkled. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“It's actually really well regulated,” she said. “The counselors who run these sessions are properly trained in the sport and all the safety protocols. The equipment stays locked up when it's not in active use, so there's no sneaking out at midnightand accidentally putting an ax through someone. But… the lake doesn't lock.”

“Fair point.”

There was someone at the range already. A guy in dark athletic shorts and a gray henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows.

He stood side-on to the nearest target, relaxed but focused, and as I watched, his tanned arm swung back. The ax left his hand in one fluid arc, burying itself in the wood dead center with a sound like a period at the end of a sentence.

He was good.

He was also one of the hottest people I'd ever seen in my life. He was tall, well over six feet, with the kind of build that suggested he'd been athletic his entire life. His dark hair was pushed carelessly back from his forehead, and his strong jaw was a few days past a shave. Even from this distance I could see the clean, sharp lines of his profile; the sort of face that was unfairly handsome.

“Ugh.” Jasmine said it quietly, almost to herself.

I looked over at her. “What’s wrong?”

“That's Rhys Usher on the range.” She said his name like it was a curse word. “Ever heard of Northgate?”

I nodded. It was impossiblenotto have heard of the massive telecommunications conglomerate. “Yeah, how come?”

“His family owns it, so he’s a Legacy, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He might seem decent to you at first because he's got a killer smile and actually works hard, unlike his lazy-ass buddies. But don't let any of that fool you. He's an asshole just like the rest of them.”

As if on cue, because apparently the universe had a sense of humor, Rhys retrieved his ax from the target, turned around, and looked directly at me. Not a casual glance. A full up-and-down look.

Then he smiled.

Good god.Jasmine wasn’t wrong about that smile. I was about ready to melt right into the damn ground.