Page 47 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

You know the one. Too handsy at breakfast. Too affectionate in group circles. Too smug during reflection hour.

Sasha makes a comment about our “auras glowing in sync.”

Whitney just mutters, “Their pelvises are certainly syncing. A lot. Loudly.” Everyone chuckles.

Chase hasn’t worn a shirt in over forty-eight hours. And I haven’t worn underwear in days.

I like for my man to have easy access… very easy access.

We’re winning at everything and I’m not being humble about it.

Today’s activity is called “Deep Dive.”

Which sounds like intense meaningful therapy… but it’s actually a literal deep dive. Sasha and Miguel—who are one-hundred-thousand-percent-on-again—have set up a mini beach challenge.

A freaking obstacle course… involving the water and trust-based dares. The winning couple gets a bottle of champagne, a dinner for two at a fancy restaurant, and a “sensual couple’s massage.”

I want the champagne. Chase wants the massage. We both want the date night.

We’re united in our goal to dominate these fools.

“You ready?” I ask him as we all line up on the sand.

He smirks. “Always.”

“Don’t let me fall.” I mutter.

He leans in, nips my earlobe, and says, “You fall, I catch. You jump, I chase. You leave, I follow. And you kick me out, I stay.”

My knees wobble and we haven’t even started the damn game.

The course includes: a rope swing, a water balloon gauntlet, a literal trust fall off a dock into your partners arms—it’s only four feet, but still. And then the final dare… Skinny dip or surrender.

We crush it. He carries me through the water balloon sprint. I launch him onto the rope swing like an Olympian. And we nail the trust fall—he catches me midair, kisses me upside down like Spiderman with a mortgage.

And when we hit the final dare, everyone else bails.

I don’t hesitate. I strip and toss my bikini top at Sasha. “Hold this for me, will ya?” I say. “It’s my ego.”

Chase drops his shorts and grabs my hand. We race into the surf—naked, laughing, glowing.

Like the storm finally passed.

Like we survived it.

We yell as we hit the water. It’s still pretty cold. The ocean is wild. We’re pummeled with waves. Uncaring, we kiss like idiots until a wave knocks us down. Gasping when we resurface, we laugh.

I look at him. Right in those too-pretty eyes and rake my eyes over his tattooed and fit body. Jumping on him, I knock us both down again and say, “You’re it for me, Chase West. No prenup, no exit strategy. You die in this marriage, or you go to Hell trying.”

He stares. His chest is rapidly rising. His mouth is parted in an “o.” His soul is practically showing. Then, he grabs my face and kisses me so hard I forget we’re surrounded by people... until something brushes against my naked ass.

Screaming in terror, I start jumping around, trying to jump over the waves and escape whatever just touched me… it wasn’t Chase!

CHASE

* * *

She said “no exit strategy.” While naked. I was just about to lose all semblance of whatever sanity Roxy hasn’t consumed when she screams in a way that curdles my blood. She starts slapping at the water and jumping over waves in her haste to escape whatever is in it. She screeches, “Something just touched my ass, and it wasn’t you!”

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