Page 67 of Beach Bodies

‘I need to not get fired.’

‘Lily—’ He runs a hand through his damp hair.

I interrupt whatever he was going to say with what I intend to be a quick kiss on the mouth, but he pulls me in,lengthening the kiss. The smell of his pine body wash envelops me. The warmth of the shower is still on his skin. But I can’t let myself get drawn into that warmth any more. I push him away and leave without another word.

As I walk down the hallway away from his room, chilly with air conditioning, a single thought keeps repeating in my head: I slept with a man who wants to expose me as a killer.

It felt like he cared, and I let myself believe he did.

But it’s all a game to him.

A game that could end me. I realize this. If I kill this year, Daniel will have one more death to lay at my feet. Would it be stupid to proceed with my plan, knowing that my name is literally in his suspects file? Should I catch the first plane out of here instead? I hate the thought of fleeing– of abandoning all my carefully laid plans. But it would be stupid to put more ammunition into the loaded gun that is Daniel Lukiewicz… which, by the way, is pointed at me. And yet I also despise the thought of letting go, of letting him win…

My brain is a muddle, and for all the possibilities and variables that are battling to make sense in my head, all I can really think right now is,Fuck.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sweat trickles down my temples. I swipe it away, but the trickle just starts again, like a leak I can’t plug. My thoughts feel liquid too, dribbling out no matter how much I try to stuff them away. I need to focus. Whatever I am, I am a good lifeguard… I have a responsibility to these swimmers, but no matter how much I snap my elastic, I can’t seem to keep a correct count of how many people are in the water—

I could kill him.

The brightness on the beach is intense, even behind the protective wall of my sunglasses. Everything feels washed out, not quite real, as if someone poured bleach over the world.

But if I kill him, everything changes.

I snap my elastic.

Focus on the swimmers. One, two, three… No, wait– one—

‘You know, the bass player at the Sunset?’

Two women are shuffling through the sand past my lifeguard chair. From up here, they’re just broad straw hats and slick, reflective legs.

‘Wait, hot band guy?’

‘You wouldn’t believe what he can do with his tongue…’

‘Youdidn’t!’

‘I did!’

There’s a man swimming far out– not too far yet, but almost… He’s the older man who likes to do his laps along the perimeter of the swimming area.

Killing Daniel would solve everything.

Except then, I’d be a true murderer. Up until now, I’ve merely been a killer.

Could I live with myself, if I kill for my own gain?

Could I go back to Cincinnati and run my business and go out with my friends and sleep at night if I killed a guy who wasn’t toxic, just inconvenient?

My thoughts jump track like a wild train. Because there’s another solution: to not kill anyone this year. Not Daniel. And not Serena, either. Not while a true crime podcaster is literally up my ass. A death at the Riovan while I’m still here will just add fodder to his growing files. I can skip this year. Make up for it the next. By then, he and his little podcast will have moved on to greener pastures.

Jessica, I think– a mental plea to someone I’d love to talk this through with. I wish she could tell me what to do. What she wants.Jessica, it’s so bad. Not only is Daniel an investigative reporter on my trail, but he’s the host of last year’s breakout podcast, and I’m set up to be the main course of Season Two.

I try to imagine how she might tilt her head or scrunch her cute nose.

At least the sex was good, I can almost hear her say. Hah. We loved our dark humour.

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