Page 96 of Heroes & Hitmen
“Beach day with my sisters,” I say as I pull a box of Thin Mints from the cabinet and shove them into my tote.
“Ooh, you in a bikini?” he muses, biting his lip as his gaze turns molten. “Count me in.”
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “What part of that sounded like an invitation?”
“Youin abikini,” he deadpans, as if repeating that sentence is explanation enough.
I roll my eyes and stuff a bag of pretzels in my bag on top of the cookies. “Sorry. Girls only.”
“Sexist,” he scoffs.
I shrug unapologetically.
He pushes off the counter and takes a step closer, trying that annoyingly charming puppy-dog expression he uses when he really wants something. “Come on,” he presses, the low rumble of his voice stirring something deep in my belly. “It’s your last weekend here, babe. You really gonna deprive me of your company?”
“Yep,” I quip, slinging my beach tote over my shoulder and moving to step past him.
He plants himself right in my path and reaches up to run a hand through his copper hair, my gaze snagging on the way his huge bicep bunches with the movement. “It’s a public beach,” he points out, a mischievous smirk creeping across his lips. “I could just show up, y’know.”
Fair point.
He steps in close enough for me to smell the coffee on his breath and the familiar, intoxicating scent of his skin, and for a second, I forget how to be clever.
“C’mon,” he coaxes, the deep, gritty tone of his voice like steel over velvet.
An awkward little laugh slips from my throat. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope,” he quips, flashing me a grin.
I heave a long-suffering sigh, a smile tugging at my mouth despite myself. “Fine. But only if you’re on your best behavior.”
He slaps a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “I’m always on my best behavior.”
“Sure,” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Just try not to embarrass me.”
He grins wider like this is all a game. “No promises,” he drawls.
My cheeks flush. I hate how smug he looks, and I hate even more how much I secretly love it.
“Go throw on some swim trunks,” I mutter, waving him off. “If you’re not ready in ten minutes, I’m leaving without you.”
He salutes and vanishes down the hall while I pull my phone out again to check the group chat. It’s still alive and chaotic, Jordan now on her eighth message asking where the hell I am.
Miley
On my way. Bringing a plus one. Don’t kill me.
I tuck the phone back into my bag and lean against the counter, trying to decide if I should feel anxious about Ares crashing our sisters-only beach day. But I don’t, not really. If anything, it feels… right. Like if I pretend hard enough this is just a normal Saturday, maybe the rest of the world will stay on pause and let us enjoy it.
A few minutes later, Ares reappears with a towel slung over one shoulder and his aviator sunglasses already on. His swim trunks are a shade of light blue that somehow makes his tan look even deeper, and his tank top clings to his muscular chest in a way that should be illegal.
“Ready, babe?” he asks, all confidence and swagger.
I swallow the knot rising in my throat and turn toward the door. “Let’s go.”
We’re notthe only ones with the brilliant idea to hit the beach today. It’s crawling with bodies– families with loud kids, couples wrapped around each other like pretzels, clusters of hungover college kids nursing beers and sunburns. The air smells like sunscreen and coconut oil, the summer breeze blowing just hard enough to stave off the oppressiveness of the sun’s heat.
We were lucky to carve out a decent patch of sand for ourselves, forming a chaotic sprawl of mismatched towels and beach bags. Jordan and I are currently laying in the sun soaking up the warmth while our other sisters are deep in the throes of a volleyball war with a group of college bros. Judging by the volume and the gleeful heckling, things have escalated.
