The Junior (College Years 3)

Time is literally flying. I’ve been at Mitchell’s Landing for three weeks already, working five days a week, full-time hours out in the sun and let me tell you… I’m busting my ass out there every single day.

Dealing with customers. Happy ones, grumpy ones, flat-out angry ones. I’ve played that boating safety video so many times, I can already recite it word for word—and I’ve still got months to go. After being on the boat dock for eight hours straight, the world feels like it’s in constant motion. As if I’m always walking on a boat that’s rocking back and forth. That feeling does eventually go away once I’m off the clock though.

Thank God.

I’d hoped the girls in the fountain would be friendly toward me

, and some of them are, don’t get me wrong, but a lot of them don’t like me because I work with the guys. Makes me wonder if they’re jealous. They want to be the ones working with the boys on the dock—funny how they all call them boys, when more than a few of them are full-blown adults in their early twenties.

I’ve been asked multiple times how I got the job without any of them finding out the position was open in the first place. More than one person has asked me this question, and I don’t have the answer. Michelle certainly never told me, and TJ, the dock manager, never mentioned it either.

I also had no idea my starting on the dock would cause so much drama, but oh well. I get why so many of the girls want to work on the dock. It’s easy money. As in, they’re up in the restaurant busting their ass all day, rushing around serving people, taking their orders, and cleaning up after everyone. While I’m chilling down at the dock, in my very own office—the other “dock girl” who works the shifts opposite of mine shares it with me—and I get to spend every work shift with the guys.

The very attractive, handsome guys who love to pull pranks and push each other in the water and jump off the roof of the dock office while twisting their bodies into somersaults, making me scream at the top of my lungs like a mother scolding her naughty children.

I screamed at Caleb like that, but I couldn’t help it. Watching him jump off the roof scared the crap out of me. The lake isn’t as deep this summer, thanks to the drought we’re currently suffering through in California, and I worried if he landed wrong and oh, I don’t know, broke his neck.

My yelling didn’t matter though. His head popped out of the water within seconds, a giant grin on his stupidly handsome face, all the other guys cheering him on and encouraging him.

Hanging with Caleb and the boys is a true test of my patience, I swear.

These past three weeks though, we’ve been getting along for the most part. He’s not giving me endless shit like he usually does, which is nice. We’ve even commuted together a couple of times, which okay yeah, I had to deal with him saying the normal wild and crazy things Caleb usually says, but for the most part, I can handle him. He’s not as bad as he used to be, that’s for sure. Maybe he’s maturing?

So yes, he’s being tame, save for the occasional sexy look he sends my way. And by sexy look, I mean the way his gaze scans over me as if he’s imagining me naked. Maybe I send him the same look back, because I am constantly trying to figure out what he looks like naked. I’ve seen a lot of him already. He’s always shirtless, like he has something against wearing shirts. And his legs are a work of muscular art, covered in just enough hair to look manly without reminding me of Bigfoot.

Okay, that last thought is a tad cruel, but I’m trying to put forth a mental picture here.

Maybe that’s just the way Caleb looks at all women all the time, but I swear to God, sometimes I catch him watching me, and I can read his expression. He’s thinking about—things. Naked things. Between the two of us, and that can’t be good.

Yeah, can’t be good at all.

Currently, we’re close to the end of our shift—it’s one of those days when Caleb and I drove here together—and one of the girls who works in the restaurant is hanging out on the dock, trying to get Caleb’s attention. She’s a newbie like me, having started a couple of weeks before I did, and she’s completely boy crazy, like a rabid fangirl over pretty much any guy she sees, specifically all the guys who work at Mitchell’s. Considering she’s almost twenty, I find her behavior a little over-the-top.

Since I’m twenty-two, I suppose there’s a bigger age and maturity level difference between us than I originally thought. Two years can feel like a lot of time. Caleb is two years younger than me as well, but I swear he’s acted more mature than usual lately, and it’s refreshing.

Currently, I’m standing in front of the open window of my office that I use to first greet customers on the dock, watching in silent amusement as Caleb is trying his best to get away from this girl. Her name is Noelle. She’s cute, I’ll give her that. Petite and overly tan with light blue eyes that stand out against her sun-browned skin. Those eyes of hers are full of mischief. As if she’d be down for anything.

Pretty sure she’d be down for anything involving Caleb.

“Are you almost off, Caleb?” she asks as she follows him along the dock. That’s one of her annoying habits. She constantly says his name, as if she enjoys the way the two syllables fall from her lips. It’s Caleb this and Caleb that, and I myself find it particularly irritating. So do the rest of the guys who work on the dock.

But they’re also extremely grateful she’s not chasing after them, so they tolerate it.

Caleb is struggling to find something to do, I can tell. He glances around at the mostly empty dock—we had a busy morning, pretty much every single boat and jet ski has been rented—and that little crease is forming between his eyebrows that I can’t help but find cute.

I shouldn’t find anything he does cute, but come on. There’s a reason women flock to him. Caleb is gorgeous.

Noelle goes right up on him, practically standing on top of his feet, she’s so close. He takes a step back as if he needs the distance, coming perilously close to stepping right off the dock and into the water.

I will burst out laughing if that happens.

“We should take out a boat someday, Caleb,” she tells him, her voice ever so hopeful.

The expression on his face clearly states hell no, but he smiles. It’s pitifully fake. “Probably not.”

“Oh, I know! We could take a jet ski! That would be fun, don’t you think, Caleb?” She’s bouncing up and down, all excited at the idea of sharing a jet ski with him, her arms wrapped around his middle as she clings to him while he speeds across the water. I’m sure she’s envisioning it right now.

I am too, until I tell myself to snap out of it.