Page 61 of Double Puck

The side gate shuts behind me, and I freeze.

The pool glows turquoise in the early hint of the sunrise peeking out in the distance. I swallow down the fear that's been swirling in my stomach ever since I went shopping with Josie late last night.

I'd never bought a swim suit before. I had no idea what to get.

Lucky for me, Josie had had so many margaritas by then that she'd lost all filter between her brain and her mouth. Which is the only explanation for how I ended up standing on the boardwalk at ten o'clock at night, holding a swimsuit I would never have picked for myself.

My mother considered poolside lounging an activity for "women who didn't have goals," and my father had always booked vacations at resorts with private pools where no one would see me. The Madden family did not do public beaches. We did not do swimwear shopping.

But Josie, bless her drunk heart, had dragged me into a tiny shop off the boardwalk and started pulling things off racks before I could form a protest.

"This one," she'd slurred, shoving a tiny piece of fabric into my hands. "You're gonna look hot. He's gonna lose his mind. Trust me, I know what men want."

I asked her if she was talking about Beck or Declan. She just winked so hard she nearly fell over.

And now I'm standing here, wearing that dark green swimsuit, wondering if Josie's margarita-fueled fashion advice is about to make me the biggest fool in Beachside history.

"Okay. Deep breaths, Darce. You can do this," I tell myself, pausing at the side entrance to check my reflection in an insanely clean window.

The loose white top I threw on flutters in the breeze, barely thick enough to cover where the green swimsuit underneath dares to peek through.

The swimsuit itself is gorgeous, I'll give drunk Josie that.

It hugs my waist, cuts high enough over my hips to make my legs look indecently long, and dips into a deep V between my breasts, pushing enough cleavage into view that I keep tugging uselessly at the fabric.

Josie called it classy hot. I call it one deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction.

I drag my eyes away from my reflection, round the corner, and immediately forget every reassuring thing I just told myself.

Beck is sitting on the pool steps wrapped in the kind of thick white robe that belongs in one of my father's five-star resorts. He has his feet submerged in the water, his head tipped back like he's posing for something no one asked him to model for.

Steam curls off the heated water, drifting across the deck where I see two white coffee mugs sitting side by side on the edge of a lounger.

“Morning, sunshine.” Beck smirks, his voice carrying that warm gravelly tone that suggests he hasn’t been awake long either.

My insides begin to stir as he looks slowly down my body.

“Is that the swimsuit?”

“Unless you've started giving me a dress code, yes.”

“I specifically requested a small one.”

“And I specifically ignored you.”

His eyes travel over me again. Slowly.

“I'm gonna need more evidence before I believe that.”

“You know… I think it’s unnatural to be this cheerful this early in the morning,” I mutter, dropping my bag onto the nearest lounger. “Did you sleep here, or do you just roll out of bed already looking like this?”

His eyes snap up to mine.

“Like what?” His eyes lock with mine, but I don't even bother explaining myself. “Coffee?”

“Unless you’ve spiked it with tequila, yes.”

Sliding the mug into my hand, Beck casts a look toward the ocean, the sunlight sparking in his eyes. “You’re visibly tense already. What’s up, Darce? Afraid of the water?”