There's the filthy-rich spoiled princess lounging in her Versace gold string bikini. The uber-hot pool boy who never has his shirt on. The poor-but-beautiful girl stuck working behind the snack bar. The handsome tennis star whose even better at kissing.The tight pack of best friends who've been spending summers at the Club forever. . . AND the mysterious newcomer who throws everything off whack.
This summer, their lives and loves will all intersect in the most juicy ways imaginable. Because, in the Club, no rules apply. . . except the rules of attraction.

“You guys?” Brooke Farnsworth whispered to her two best friends. “I’ve seen the future, and his name is Marcus Craft. I told you this summer would be killer, didn’t I?”

Brooke huddled with Georgia Palmer and Charlotte von Klaus in the shadows of the cabana entrance, surveying the otherwise deserted pool patio in the bright June morning. There was still a chill in the air – in coastal Connecticut, summer never truly kicked in until July – and she shivered, partly from the breeze, and partly from delight.

Brooke glanced back inside at the terry-cloth robes hanging near the door, freshly washed and waiting, the silver S.O. monograms glinting on each lapel. (Every item of white cloth on the premises of the Silver Oaks Country Club bore the same stitched silver monogram, from the napkins in the dining room to the curtains in the parlor.) Maybe she and Georgia and Charlotte should have worn robes over their bikinis? Nah…

Brooke turned back toward the pool. It was all just as she remembered from late June: the piles of fluffy towels, the empty loungers, the water like a solid block of blue ice.

Everything that symbolized the start of another typical Silver Oaks season…everything that is, except for the shaggy blond boy in the lifeguard chair.

“I thought you said this summer would be more of the same old, same old,” Georgia teased.

“Did I?” Brooke whispered back. “Please stop listening to anything I say at school.”

“Let’s just hope he can swim,” Charlotte muttered.

The three girls broke into laughter, but Brooke quickly brought a hand to her glossy lips. She didn’t want Marcus Craft to notice her. Not quite yet. She wanted him to spy her as she strolled over and settled into her usual lounger at the far edge of the patio, the one under the big green tennis courts. Brooke had been settling into that lounger for as long as she’d been wearing a bikini, and she’d learned how to play it for its full effect.

Brooke was obsessed with entrances.