Chapter 3
AVA
“Is it me, or is this a really terrible idea?” I whisper as Camila lines us up in the sand for Beach Olympics. “I’m pretty sure alcohol and sports are like milk and pickles. And real talk, I don’t have insurance, so if I break my ankle, I’m screwed.”
Lexie waves off my concern. “It’ll be fun. It’s not like they’re going to make us do real Olympic sports.”
“Tell that to the tequila sloshing around in my gut.” I kick off my flip-flops and my feet sink into the warm sand, the fine white granules slipping between my toes.
“Just think of this as the first step toward your wild night in paradise,” Kayla suggests, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
“More like my wild night in a foreign hospital.”
I press my lips together and study the other teams.
There are a few middle-aged foursomes who look like they spent the entire day drinking in the sun, a group of tweens in that awkward stage where your limbs are too long for your body, and a trio of college-aged guys in bright swim trunks and backward hats.
They’re kind of cute if you’re into beefy guys who will probably kick your ass at beach games.
At least it’ll be over quickly.
I smile, buoyed by the thought.
“Each team will need two players for this first event,” Camila tells us, holding up two fingers.
Smart woman. Half of her contestants appear to be blitzed out of their minds.
“You will stand arm’s length apart and when I blow the whistle, you’re going to toss a water balloon back and forth, taking one step backward with each successful catch.
If you drop your balloon, or it breaks, you’re out.
The last team standing will earn one point. ”
“Too easy.” Lexie makes a show of buffing her nails on her tank top. “If all the games are this simple, they might as well give us the medals now because we’ve got this in the bag.”
“You shouldn’t count your geese before they hatch.”
The warning comes from one of the guys on the next team, and we turn in unison to stare at him.
He’s a big dude, well over six feet tall, with thick biceps and sunglasses so dark it’s impossible to guess his eye color.
Everything about him screams gym bro from his freakishly large size to his waxed chest, which is on full display in his unbuttoned shirt.
“It’s chickens,” Kayla shoots back, planting a hand on her hip and giving him a slow once-over.
“Who’re you calling a chicken?” he demands, brows pulled low.
The guy on his left laughs, low and deep, the sound reverberating in his chest. “Relax, Jones. The phrase is ‘Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.’”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Gym Bro crosses his arms, going on the defensive as he turns to his buddy, whose navy swim trunks are covered in pink flamingos. “Why would you count chickens? What about the golden eggs?”
Golden eggs? From the sound of it, I’m not the only one who hit happy hour a little too hard. I giggle—the sound escaping before I can stop it—and slap a hand over my mouth.
Flamingo Boy claps his buddy on the back, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Wrong story.”
“Whatever.” Gym Bro rolls his shoulders. “You can count all the eggs you want, but we’re going to win this thing.”
I’m about to agree when I notice the third member of their team clinging to the trunk of a palm tree like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
I jerk my chin in his direction. “Y’all’s friend looks like he could use some water.”
Flamingo Boy heaves a beleaguered sigh, but his clear blue eyes dance with laughter, and for an instant, it’s like we’re sharing a private joke. “Someday he’ll learn to pace himself, but today is not that day.”
A slow smile spreads over his face, revealing the world’s most lickable dimples. They’re perfectly symmetrical, framing his full lips like the work of art they are. The one on the left is carved just a tiny bit deeper, but the imperfection—if you can call it that—makes him even more beautiful.
Which is probably not a thought I should be having.
Freaking tequila.
Right. Blame it on the alcohol. It can’t possibly be the fact that you’re stressed out, burned out, and most likely sexually repressed.
I am not sexually repressed. I have orgasms. Lots of them.
With a machine.
Who doesn’t? It’s the twenty-first century, after all. I don’t have to bang every cute guy I see to get pleasure.
Focus, Ava. There’s a gorgeous man smiling at you. Say something witty.
“Nice shorts.”
He glances down, and I give myself a mental facepalm. Nice shorts? Did those words really just leave my mouth?
Mortified, I do the only thing I can think of and join him in admiring the tiny pink birds embroidered on his swim trunks. His very snug swim trunks. Trunks that hang low on his narrow hips, hinting at the possibility of an imminent wardrobe malfunction.
He rakes a hand through his hair, and the edge of his t-shirt rides up, showcasing a swath of golden-brown skin and the most glorious Adonis belt I’ve ever seen.
My mouth goes bone dry. I should look away, but it’s so not happening. I’ve never seen V-cut abs in real life, and trust me when I say pictures don’t do them justice.
“Checking out the competition?” Lexie asks. “Smart, but totally unnecessary.” She points to the guy hugging the tree. “That one can barely stand.”
Gym Bro shoots her a dark look. I open my mouth to apologize—no point antagonizing the competition—but Camila appears at my side, and I clamp my lips shut.
“Good luck,” she says, beaming as she shoves a jiggly yellow blob into my hands.
The balloon wiggles, nearly sliding from my grasp, and adrenaline floods my system. Water balloons are delicate, and this one is filled near to bursting. One wrong move is all it’ll take to make the little bugger explode.
I tear my gaze from the balloon just long enough to catch Lexie’s eye. “You and Kayla should take this one. You played softball. You’ll be much better at throwing and catching than I am.”
Plus, she’s got a competitive streak a mile wide, and I do not want to be the reason we lose.
Hard pass.
She plucks the balloon from my hands, cupping it easily in her palm as she extends her arm, creating the required distance between herself and Kayla. “Let’s kick some ass.”
I shake my head in wonder. “Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?”
Lexie bounces on the balls of her feet, the balloon swaying dangerously. “I’ve got to get my game face on. No way am I losing to a bunch of drunk frat bros.”
“How do you know they’re frat bros?” I sneak a glance at Flamingo Boy, watching shamelessly as he dusts off his shorts. “For all we know, they’re in the robotics club.”
Kayla snorts. “I’ve never seen a geek with calves like that, but more importantly,” she says, gesturing to Lexie, “can you imagine facing this one on the softball field?”
I make a show of shuddering. “It’s the stuff of nightmares.”
Lexie narrows her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I point directly at her. “Your game face is scary.”
“Scarier than your nanna?”
I shake my head. “No one is scarier than my nanna, bless her heart.”
My roommates burst out laughing and only settle when Camila tells us it’s time to start.
I stand on the sideline, watching as Lexie tosses the balloon to Kayla. They’re so close it’s only airborne for a millisecond, but as they continue, the gap between them widens.
It takes only a few passes for one of the older couples to drop their balloon. It explodes in the sand, and they break into peals of good-natured laughter.
One down.
The tweens are doing just fine, though it’s not the most coordinated-looking effort.
To my right, Jones and Flamingo Boy are keeping up a steady rhythm. I can’t help but notice the care they take with the balloon, cradling it and swinging their arms backward to lessen the impact of the longer catches.
Would it count as cheating if I gave my girls the same advice? Probably.
There’s a high-pitched yelp, and I turn just in time to see one of the tweens scrape a piece of latex off her soaked right arm.
The guy next to her, who’s old enough to be her grandfather, chuckles, but it doesn’t take the universe long to respond.
His pass is short. It slips through his partner’s fingers and splatters in the sand.
Serves the jerk right.
I clap, and even I don’t know if I’m celebrating karma or cheering for my team. “You guys are killing it! Keep up the good work!”
Judging by the determined faces of the remaining players, this could go on for a while. Both teams are a good dozen feet apart now, but they’re making the game look easy.
“Senor, you need to take a step back,” Camila calls out, gesturing to Jones.
He immediately steps back, a chagrined smile on his face. He mumbles an apology, but not before Lexie calls him out for trying to cheat. The girl is not messing around. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were in the real Olympics.
“I don’t have to cheat to win!” he hollers, sweat trickling down his brow. “I just forgot.”
“Riiight,” Lexie trills, tossing her balloon to Kayla. “I’m sure you’re the picture of—”
The balloon explodes in Kayla’s hands, soaking her face and shirt.
So much for having this thing in the bag.