I was crushing. It hit me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me blinking like a clueless fool. My heart hammered while I willed my knees not to buckle. At twenty-three, I’d always known I had a decent shot at turning heads, but after an eight-hour slog down Interstate 95, followed by a full day’s work and thirty minutes of sleep in the driver’s seat of my Mustang, confidence was in short supply. Don’t judge—I’m barely a year out of college, and a real motel room was a luxury my dive-gear fund simply couldn’t afford.

I slammed the silver door, feeling the vibration through my palms. My copper hair—pulled back haphazardly into two loose braids—swung free, catching stray rays of dawn light and turning each strand into molten fire. I tugged at the hem of my thin white tank, a deliberate nod to “car-drive chic,” my striped pink bikini top peeked through. My blue cotton short-shorts with “college” written on the back in block white letters rolled themselves into cheeky little bundles, exposing pale thighs that still hadn’t seen real sun. I knew exactly how I looked.

What I didn’t know was how long I could keep my jaw from hitting the dock. Because as soon as I stepped onto the weathered wood and caught sight of him—he was packing battered tanks onto the boat like he’d done it a thousand times—every scrap of dignity flew right out of my brain. Maybe it was a photo shoot; maybe he was an Instagram influencer testing shiny new equipment. My eyes locked onto his. He glanced up, caught me staring, and smirked—a slow, confident tilt of a smile that felt like a dare. My cheeks scorched hotter than my car’s engine on a summer afternoon.

He stood at least six-four, shoulders broad enough to make the rest of the crew look undernourished. Morning light poured across his hair, turning each lock to liquid gold, and his skin was bronzed to perfection, like he’d been baptized by every sunrise and sunset the coast could offer. If the myths about Adonis had any truth, I’d just found his doppelgänger. And just when I thought I couldn’t take another second of that impossible perfection, my gaze drifted to his eyes—glacial blue, deeper than any ocean trench, cold enough to freeze my bravado in place.

He wore a faded navy tee that clung to his chest and a pair of cargo shorts with a jagged rip above the thigh. No fancy logos, no designer brand—just raw, practiced ease. He hoisted a steel tank onto the deck with one fluid motion, muscles rippling beneath tanned skin. Then he noticed me again. This time, he offered a half-salute—two fingers raised, shoulders tilting in casual invitation—and my face flamed so fiercely I could feel the heat at my roots.

For a heartbeat, I stood paralyzed by the hiss of the water below, the salty morning breeze tangling my braids, and the echo of his smile. I immediately wanted to retreat to the safety of the car and regroup, but my time was up. The Carolina Wreck Crew ran like clockwork—boarding at 6:00 AM sharp, with a zero-tolerance policy for lateness. I had exactly two minutes to haul my gear down the dock, or I’d be dragging it onto the boat while everyone watched. The regulars showed up with rolling scuba duffels and hard cases, all labeled with their names in blocky Sharpie, but I—because I am a glutton for punishment—was still rocking a collection of battered hand-me-downs, all crammed into a black Korean roller bag with my name stitched into it.

I heaved it all out of my trunk and walked straight down the gangway, refusing to give in and break eye contact with the blond Adonis, which, in retrospect, was a terrible idea because my left flip-flop caught on a mooring line and I nearly face-planted.

He was there in a flash, stepping lightly over the gunwale and reaching out to steady me by the elbow. His touch was electrifying. My entire arm was tingling How the hell had he moved that fast? He had been at least twenty feet away. “You alright?” His voice was warm, a deep baritone, and way too close to my ear. The dock rocked under us, or maybe I did.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” I squeaked, which was not the tone I had hoped for. He still had his hand on my arm, long fingers wrapping most of the way around my bicep, and for a second I just stood there, internally buffering.

“You’re Eva?” he asked. He likely already knew the answer before asking. There were only three new people on the manifest, and the other two were still climbing out of a minivan at the end of the lot. I nodded, suddenly aware of the sweat trickling down the back of my neck and how much I probably looked like someone who had just slept in her car at a truck stop. Seriously, I had only stopped for thirty minutes.

“Braden,” he offered, and smiled again, this time wide enough to show perfect white teeth. Wow. Even his smile was perfect. That smile should have settled me. Instead, I felt that I was in the grip of a dangerous predator.

Braden nodded and glanced down at the luggage. “Let me help with that.” He grabbed the handle and, despite its monstrous size, lifted it like it was a pillow brushing my fingers. The contact left little tingles. I followed him up the ramp.

I trailed behind, a bit awkwardly, resisting the urge to check out his ass (which was perfect, for the record) and failing. He knew, too—I could tell by the way he turned at the top of the steps and caught me in the act again. This time, he just laughed, low and genuine, then dropped my stuff next to the tank racks. I was going to buy a pair of those reflective sunglasses.

“So you’re the new wreck diver?” he asked as we walked. “Have you done this boat before?”

“First time on this one,” I said. “I’ve done Caribbean reefs, a few Atlantic tours, but I heard this place has the best shipwrecks on the East Coast.”

“Best…and craziest.” He deposited my bag beside a row of tanks. “You ready for the Shark’s Tooth?”

“The what?” I asked.

Braden grinned, tugging the tank strap tight. “Our prime site today. The hull looks like a gnarled jaw. It’s a tight fit. Only experienced divers—no panicking allowed.”

I laughed. “No panicking here. This is just what I was looking for.”

He winked again. “You’ll be fine. And hey, if you need backup, I’ve got your six.”

I felt that same tingle in my arm. “Appreciate it.”

He stepped back, eyes crinkling in another easy smile. “I’ll see you at gear check in five?” Then he turned and was off to help unload another tank.

I suddenly remembered all the things I was supposed to be doing—checking in with Karma, finding the buddy roster, not acting like a total fangirl over a hot guy. But the whole world had narrowed to a hot wedge of sunlight and the golden hair of a man who looked like he was a chiseled work of art. I had a full-on, paralyzing crush, and we hadn’t even left the dock.