Page 126 of Better When Shared
Gemma
Cadiz, Spain
The Spanish sun was intense, and I pushed my sunglasses down the moment we stepped off the gangway, understanding why Brian had spent twenty minutes lecturing us about UV protection. After two days of the ship's gentle rocking, solid ground felt wrong beneath my feet, like the earth itself was somehow unstable.
"Sea legs," Enzo said with a grin, catching my elbow as I stumbled down on the dock. "Takes a little time to readjust."
The beach at Cádiz spread before us like something from a travel magazine, all golden sand and impossibly blue water, edged by a patchwork of beautiful historic buildings and more modern hotels. Brightly colored umbrellas dotted the sand, and in the distance, I could see a grand cathedral on the other side of the curving landmass. I could smell salt air mixed with sunscreenand the faint aroma of grilled seafood from nearby beach bars. The contrast to Bath's grey stones and proper gardens was so stark it felt like stepping into another world entirely.
I'd rented us what the concierge had called a "deluxe beach experience" — a cushiony shaded lounger with billowing curtains, that could be pulled closed for privacy, and a dedicated server who appeared every twenty minutes to refill our water glasses and offer fresh towels. It was ridiculous and excessive and exactly what I needed.
"Fantastic," I muttered, settling onto the big, wide cushion, looking out at the water with a smile. "This is what people mean when they talk about relaxation."
Enzo flopped down beside me with considerably less grace, his canvas beach bag spilling its contents across the pristine white fabric. "This is what I was trying to tell you. Sometimes the best thing you can do is absolutely nothing."
Brian, however, was already pacing the perimeter of our little paradise like a caged animal. He'd kept his rash guard on despite the heat, the navy fabric clinging to his chest in ways that made my mouth go dry. Every few seconds, he'd check his fitness tracker, then scan the beach like he was looking for something specific.
"I'm going for a run," he announced suddenly. "The UV index is manageable for the next hour, and I need to maintain my training schedule."
The words were barely out of his mouth before I heard myself saying, "I'll come with you."
Brian's expression shifted from surprise to something that looked suspiciously like concern.
"Gemma," Brian said carefully, "when's the last time you went running?"
“Are you saying I’m not fit?” I asked.
Enzo eyed me from head to toe. “Looking very fit to me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sure, maybe my exercise routine consisted mainly of yoga classes squeezed between meetings and the occasional Pilates session. But something about his assumption that I couldn't keep up made my spine straighten with determination. “I think I can manage a light jog on the beach."
"Fuck it," Enzo said, bouncing to his feet. "If Gemma's going, I'm going. Can't let you two have all the fun."
Brian sighed — the long-suffering sound of a man who specialized in cleaning up other people's messes. "You can come if you want to, but I'm not adjusting my pace. And I'm not carrying anyone back when they collapse from heat exhaustion."
The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and I felt something competitive and decidedly unprofessional unfurl inmy chest. When was the last time someone had dared me to do something physical?
"Wouldn't dream of slowing you down," I said, stripping off my cover-up to reveal the navy bikini underneath. The way both men's eyes tracked the movement sent heat pooling low in my stomach. Maybe that reaction that should have embarrassed me, but instead it felt like power.
"Right," Brian said. "Let's go then."
He took off down the beach with the fluid grace of someone who'd been running seriously for years, his stride eating up distance with mechanical efficiency. The rash guard clung to his back as he moved, revealing the play of muscles beneath the fabric, the powerful drive of his legs as they carried him across the sand.
"Holy shit," Enzo breathed beside me, both of us momentarily transfixed by the sight. "When did accountants start looking like that? And when did I develop a thing for thick thighs?"
“It’s the power, I think. Shit, we’re supposed to be running, not imagining how hard Brian can fuck.” My brain-mouth filter had vanished under the mesmerizing influence of Brian’s magnificent body.
Enzo hooted with laughter, and we stumbled into motion, scrambling to catch up. The sand shifted treacherously beneath my feet, each step requiring more energy than it should have,and within minutes I could feel sweat beading along my hairline despite the ocean breeze.
The sun was relentless, beating down on my shoulders and back with an intensity that made me grateful for Brian's earlier sunscreen lecture. I could taste salt in the air with every gulp of oxygen.
"Jesus," Enzo panted beside me, already falling behind despite his longer stride. "It’s like chasing some kind of fitness android."
I tried to laugh, but the sound came out as more of a wheeze. My lungs were burning, my legs felt like they were made of lead, and Brian was still pulling away from us with the inexorable certainty of a tide.
"Maybe he's a cyborg," Enzo continued, his usual humor intact despite his obvious distress. "Secret government experiment gone wrong. Mild-mannered accountant by day, superhuman running machine when it’s time to get his steps in."
This time I did manage a laugh, though it cost me precious oxygen I couldn't afford to spare. Brian had become a distant figure now, his navy rash guard a small splash of color against the endless stretch of golden sand. He moved like running was as natural as breathing, his form never wavering despite the heat and the challenging terrain.
