10. Chapter 9 #3
Eventually, when Diego starts clearing the table while refusing any form of help, the brothers drift toward the basketball hoop on the far side of the deck, trash talk arriving approximately four seconds before they do. Biscuit gallops after them, ears at full attention, one flopping magnificently.
Morgan has changed into her bright pink swimmers, and is currently surveying the three women left lounging by the pool.
"Alright. Who's swimming with me?" she asks.
Josie wobbles to her feet, immediately pulling her sundress over her head, heer cheeks flushed from one too many drinks. "Oh! I'm in!"
Zoey does the same, and Morgan spins to turn her attention to me.
"Oh. I don't have a swimsuit, sweetie," I say. "Another time?"
Morgan looks me up and down. "I can get you one of Mom's. Your boobs look about the same size."
I look down at my chest. "Um. I'm completely fine here—"
"Darcy." Morgan plants her small hands on her hips, and I swear to God, she is one hundred percent her mother's daughter. "The pool is right there."
Across the deck, Beck sinks a three-pointer over Declan's outstretched arms and lets out a victory sound that carries over the entire property. He looks across and smirks at the little girl currently demanding I do something I've never done before.
"Morgan, I—"
Morgan starts tugging on my arm when Beck’s voice cuts in, catching me off-guard.
“Morgs!” He jogs up from the basketball hoop, still grinning from his three-pointer. “I’ve got an idea. You ever tried the reverse cannonball?”
“The what?” Morgan spins toward him with wide-eyed wonder, instantly distracted.
“You lean backward off the diving board. Trust me, way bigger splash. I’ll show you.” He points toward the pool but shoots me a quick glance as he leads Morgan away, his grin softening into something that looks almost… protective.
My body wobbles in a way unrelated to spending the afternoon consuming margaritas.
I think.
Relieved but suddenly unsteady, I retreat toward the outdoor bar, needing something to keep my hands busy. I’ve just grabbed a clean shaker when Beck sidles up next to me again, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He grabs some limes and a knife.
“So.” Beck slices the lime, his tone light. “What happened back there? You didn’t want to swim?”
“It’s not a big deal.” I grab for the margarita mix, avoiding his eyes.
Except it IS a big deal. I've spent my entire life not telling anyone my secret.
Beck sets down the knife and leans against the counter. “Darcy.”
I sigh like it’s an inconvenience, but the truth pushes its way out before I can stop it. “I never learned how to swim. Okay?”
His head tilts, eyebrows raised, and I brace for whatever teasing comment he's about to hurl.
A comment about how the girl who grew up with a tennis court, a French tutor, and a pony, somehow never managed to squeeze "basic human survival skill" into her packed schedule of being perfect at everything else.
“You…”
But it never comes.
Instead, his expression softens, like he’s connecting invisible dots in that overactive brain of his.
“Okay.” He shrugs, casual as hell. “You can't swim. So I’ll teach you.”
“Beck—”
“Privately. When no one else is awake,” he says, pressing a lime wedge into my hand. “How about… Six AM?”
"Six AM?" I freeze as my eyes narrow. “This is because of the boardwalk run, isn’t it?”
“You tell me, babe. Does revenge taste like lime juice and salt?” His grin is wicked, his blue eyes sparkling brighter. “I think so. Now, we’re even.”
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “This is going on your report.”
"Good." He moves closer, his voice suddenly low and teasing. “But maybe don’t wear that sexy running gear I've been thinking about all week. Pool lessons require swimwear, Darce. Skimpy, slutty swimwear.”
Before I can fire back, Beck leans in like he might kiss me again. I turn to face him, and I can't help but start to lean in.
But as I do, my phone erupts with a sharp ping from the bar top.
I look down to see Colin's name dim on the screen. And from the subject line of the email notification, it’s urgent.
"I, uh," I look back to Beck, then to my phone. "I should get this."
Beck takes one last, satisfied look at my red cheeks before a yell from Declan drags him back to the basketball game.
Beck walks away, and I swipe open the email.
My stomach drops.
Darcy, we've had some serious meetings today. Turns out, I need your professional opinion about Beck Morrison in three weeks. Teams are interested. We're already talking numbers. Make it count.
My stomach knots as I reread Colin's words.
Your professional opinion.
A week ago, that would've been easy.
Now I'm staring across the deck at Beck, laughing as Morgan tries to steal the basketball from him in her drenched swimmers, while Zoey shouts at Mason and Josie sits curled against Declan beneath the California sun.
Three weeks.
I have three weeks to decide whether Beck Morrison belongs in Beachside.
And suddenly, I'm not entirely sure I want to imagine this place without him.