Page 124 of Better When Shared
"Look," I said, softening my voice to something approaching gentle. "Stay for one day. Just one. Hit the beach, drink something with an umbrella in it, let someone else make the decisions for a few hours." I nodded toward the coastline. "You deserve at least that much before you go back. Tomorrow’s stop is in Valencia. Then we’re on to France. Surely you’d rather take off from somewhere with a direct flight to London?"
She stared at the beach for what felt like forever, and I held my breath, waiting. She swiped the booking app closed and set the phone down with a decisive click.
"One day," she said. "But I'm not making any commitments beyond that."
"Fuck yes. Beach day it is."
The door opened and we both looked up to see Brian, balancing a plate full of pastries and three coffees.
"Brian! Change of plans. We're doing the Spain thing."
The next hour was a flurry of activity that felt almost domestic, if domestic involved designer luggage and enough sunscreen to protect a small army. Gemma disappeared into the walk-in closet, emerging with a selection of swimwear. She held up two options—a black one-piece that looked like something from a high-end magazine shoot, and a navy bikini with gold hardware that screamed money.
"You pick. Whatever you're comfortable in."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, just disappeared back into the closet with the navy option.
Meanwhile, I was doing my best impression of organized packing, which mainly involved shoving random items into a canvas beach bag. Towels, water bottles, that paperback thrillerI'd been meaning to read—everything went in without much thought.
"You're going to forget something important," came Brian's voice from the bathroom, muffled by the closed door. The only parts of our room that had any privacy were the small cubicle around the toilet and the walk-in closet that Gemma was currently occupying.
"Probably," I called back, stuffing a tube of sunscreen into the bag. "But that's what makes it an adventure."
I heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "fucking chaos," but there was no real heat in it.
When the bathroom door opened, I was crouched over the beach bag, trying to figure out how to fit everything. Perhaps we didn’t need an extra towel. The sound of bare feet on marble made me look up, and every coherent thought I'd ever had evaporated like morning mist.
Holy fucking shit.
Brian Casey, uptight accountant extraordinaire, had the body of a goddamn fitness model. His chest was broad and defined, with a sexy smattering of hair trailing down to abs that looked like they'd been carved from marble. His shoulders were wider than I'd realized, tapering to a narrow waist that made my mouth go dry.
He was wearing board shorts in a conservative navy color, of course, and was holding a rash guard in one hand while checking items off a list on his phone with the other. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d stolen my ability to speak.
"UV index is going to be high today.” Brian was in full Boy Scout geek mode, so focused on his lecture that he didn’t notice his effect on me. "We'll need SPF 50 minimum, and I've got extra zinc for faces. The Spanish sun is no joke, especially with the reflection off the water."
I tried to respond, tried to make some joke about him being a walking sunscreen commercial, but the words stuck in my throat. Because holy hell, when had Brian gotten so... built? His abs flexed as he reached up to pull more bottles of sunscreen off a shelf.
"Enzo?" Gemma's voice cut through my stupor. "Are you all right?"
I snapped back to reality, realizing I'd been staring at Brian's torso like a teenager seeing tits for the first time. The beach towel I'd been folding was now a crumpled mess in my hands, and I fumbled to smooth it out while trying to look anywhere except at Brian's ridiculously perfect body.
"Fine,” My voice came out rougher than intended. "Just, uh, making sure we have enough towels."
Gemma's expression was unreadable, but I caught the way her gaze lingered on Brian before sliding back to me with somethingthat might have been amusement. She was wearing a flowing cover-up now, all elegant lines and subtle sophistication, but I could see hints of the navy bikini beneath.
"You look..." she paused, and I held my breath, waiting for her to comment on my obvious ogling. Instead, she looked directly at Brian. "Surprisingly athletic for someone who spends his days behind a desk."
The compliment was delivered in that cool, professional tone she used for everything, but there was something underneath it that made Brian's ears turn red. He ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by the sunscreen bottle in his hand.
"I go to the gym," he said, like it was some kind of confession. "Stress management."
"Clearly effective.” Gemma’s eyes dropped to his chest before she looked away.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the fact that boring, buttoned-up Brian had been hiding a body that belonged in a fucking underwear ad. And trying to ignore the way my own body was responding to the discovery, the way heat was pooling in places it absolutely shouldn't be pooling.
This was Brian. Jake's brother. The guy who organized his sock drawer by color and had never missed a dentist appointment in his life. The guy who'd just spent ten minutes explaining the importance of broad-spectrum sun protection while I stared at his abs, drooling like a horny teenager.
"Anyway," Brian continued, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him, "I've got reef-safe sunscreen because coral bleaching is a serious environmental concern, and these UV-rated lip balms. And I think we should all wear rashguards. No sense in going shirtless with a UV index this high."
