Page 60 of Beach Bodies

‘Oh…’ I force a laugh, look down, breaking the moment. My heartbeat returns to its usual rhythm. ‘I was just thinking that I look like my mom.’

‘Well, your mom must be gorgeous, then,’ says River generously.

I don’t bother to correct hermust betomust have been.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘Have you decided what you’re wearing yet?’ says River. ‘Because I have this vegan leather miniskirt? I think it would look amazing on you.’

‘I’ll try it on,’ I say, enjoying this small, innocent connection with my roommate. Ignoring the voice that says,If River knew what you were really doing here, she would literally run screaming away from you.

The skirt is perfect, and goes with the halter top I’d been planning on, and before I know it, I’m ready for battle.

I do one final check in the bathroom mirror.

Somehow, the little curl of a smile hiding in the corner of my lip isn’t mine; it’s Mom’s.

It’s like she’s sending me off, looking at me the same way she did when, as a kid, I waited for the school bus to take me into the big, bad world. She’d say, ‘Be brave, sunshine. You’ve got this. And if you don’t, I’ve gotyou.’

Except she doesn’t have me now.

The tiny smile drops from my lips, and it’s just me again, staring back at myself.

No one does.

*

I spot Daniel at the far end of the Sunset, sitting at a tall table by a window, leaning back in his chair. It takes him a minute to notice my approach. When he does, he sits up straight and smiles slowly.

Excellent.This is the reaction I was hoping for. My halter top with the plunging front shows just enough cleavage to entice– a deep shadow, the promise of soft curves. Chandelier earrings graze my shoulders. My hair, still slightly damp, is gathered at the back of my head and secured with a tortoiseshell clip. And the miniskirt is about half an inch away from public indecency.

I don’t even feel bad about using my body to bring his guard down.

‘May I?’ Daniel rises to pull my chair out.

The Sunset is hopping tonight, but our table feels pleasantly removed from the chatter and clink. The band is playing Brazilian jazz, the singer– a brunette tonight– crooning in Portuguese. The energy in here is… expensive. Not a single pirate hawking electric-blue fishbowls in sight.

I sit, very aware of the way the miniskirt rides up.

‘Thank you,’ I say sweetly.

Daniel settles in across from me, resting forward on his elbows. The table is small. If we both leaned in at the same time, we could kiss across it. I’m grateful for the lipstick: it feels like armour.

A server brings two glasses of water right away, and hands us each a slim drink menu and a more substantial dinner menu. I cross my legs. For a minute, we study our drink menus in silence.

‘I don’t know why I’m looking,’ laughs Daniel. ‘I already know what I want.’

‘So do I,’ I say, setting the menu down.

It doesn’t escape me that he doesn’t volunteer his choice. And I don’t volunteer mine.

Daniel settles back in his chair, propping his elbow on the back rest; I settle back in mine. He studies me, his lip twitching towards what might become a smile. Is he thinking of our afternoon together in his room three days ago? Because I’m not. I’m very actively not.

The server returns. Daniel orders a mango jalapeño frozen margarita; I order a whiskey, neat.

‘Has anyone told you your drink choices are girly?’ I say, as I peruse the dinner options.

‘Have to feed that feminine side.’

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