Page 96 of Every Move You Make

“Sh—shoot,” he corrects, and tries to remove theconcealer with his thumb.

The whole time Zay poorly applies my makeup, I’m stuck in a liminal space where we can't talk about us or Dell because the camera is on. And there’s something a little naughty and pleasant about keeping it all locked up and pretending we’re just friends again. Alright, it’s also a little torturous. I do want to feel his big naked body against mine again and the way his chest hair feels against my skin.

Suddenly there’s eyeliner being poked in my cornea. “Oh f—crap,” he says, bringing me out of the memory of the post-orgasm shower we shared. “Okay, I’m calling it. That’s as good as it gets, Robyn.”

I turn around to face the mirror and burst out laughing. “I look like a clown who just performed in a hurricane!”

“Well I call that a win. I was going for drag queen in a flash flood.”

“My turn,” a gremlin-like voice growls out of nowhere, causing both of us to jump out of our skin.

“Khaos!” I scream. “Cheese and rice that scared me.”

She hands her makeup bag to Isaiah. “I’m going for the goth princess look.”

“Sure,” he mutters. “We’ll both pretend I know what that means.”

“Sure you do, Coach,” I smile and pat him on the shoulder. “Just make her into the ideal fan for Agony Nectar.”

He gives me a look that says he’s not amused, but I’m hustling out of the bathroom and giggling.

Before I’m out of ear shot, I hear Khaos ask, “What’s Agony Nectar?”

When each girl is done with their makeup or skincare, they join the rest of us on the expansive deck overlooking the ocean. There’s a massive dark storm system coming in, butwe’re determined to soak up every last bit of sun before it comes our way.

Mo was the last one and sits next to me at the patio table with a grin and a damp face. She’s wearing rugby shorts and a sports bra. That’s pretty much her vacation, lounge, and work wear. Mo has the shortest haircut of all of us and a more masculine build like me. “You can tell he’s trying,” she says.

I smile and nod. “Too much?”

“No. It’s good. What’s too much is the amount of vitamin C serum he applied all over my face—aftermy moisturizer.”

A hard cackle bursts out of me as Isaiah finally makes his way to join us.

“Alright, alright,” Isaiah says, walking over to the table where a well-worn rugby ball sits and he grabs it. “You’ve all had your fun. I think it’s time you indulge me.” He tosses the ball to Serwaa and takes off for the deck stairs to the beach below. “Come on. We’re playing footy.”

“It’s about to rain!” she chortles.

“Then let’s play fast,” he calls over his shoulder as he’s halfway down. Grabbing a baseball cap next to me, I’m already high-tailing it. My pulse picks up as I chase him over the sand and waves lick at my heels. Soon everyone has followed us, and we divide into small teams before giving the ball a foot tap and starting.

There’s no tackling or scrums, there’s no jumpers or real strategic play—it’s just playful ruckus made harder by running through sand—and I’ve never seen Isaiah happier. He’s laughing at Serwaa who keeps tucking her tits back into her bikini top, he’s cheering for Skirt finding a breakaway, and he’s falling over with a thud and a childish grin.

The storm clouds that were once ominous make good on their threat, and when the downpour begins, our game doesn’t stop. Poorly-applied mascara runs from our faces faster than our legs can take us.

I missed1 this Isaiah—the one at college rugby tournaments decked out in a speedo or a thrifted prom dress. The one who led the dirtiest verses in our drinking songs. The one who would do anything for his teammates simply because they were his teammates. The one covered in sand and pelted with rain, running toward me with determination in his eyes.

It's really him. Here's the man I played pickup rugby with all those years ago. Who pinned me to the ground and made me laugh harder than I ever had. Who rubbed Tiger Balm into my skin and gave me his bed to sleep in. He's right here. He's back.

When I wrap up around Isaiah and he tries to push through to the makeshift try zone, he grunts and laughs and shoves a gentle hand in my face to smudge my makeup even more. There may be no real tackling, but I can’t help it when my foot connects with the back of his knee and I take him down.

“You ruined my makeup!” I squeal.

He grunts from the ground below me, “It’s too late for that! Save me, Skirt!” he yells over the din of hard rain and laughter.

In a flash, she’s on him, spraying us with kicked-up sand and picking the ball from his clutch. Losing her footing, Skirt immediately fumbles and falls to the ground before anyone can tackle her, but she’s not getting up.

“You okay?” Isaiah asks. We both get up to find her laying there, laughing her ass off. Everyone around us is doing the same—wheezing and holding their sides as they roll in the wet sand. Khaos is wrapped around Toni. Mo is waving her arms and legs in the sand to make a beach angel. It’s like everyone is laughing in the face of thisdark afternoon storm, reveling in the beauty we can make on our own.

Isaiah’s eyes find mine, and if I could bottle this moment and save it forever, I would. And whenever I would need a little pick-me-up, I’d open the bottle and take a long whiff.

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