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THREE
GRACIE
I slipmy rounded sunglasses back over my eyes and lean against one of the many colourful lounge chairs spread out along the infinity pool. The sun is hot against my tanning-oil-lathered pale skin, making the frozen drink in my hand more noticeable as it melts into a slushy.
Ava gave me a hard time about using such a hefty amount of tanning oil before I left her room, considering I burn even under a thick layer of SPF, and tanning lotion probably isn’t the smartest choice to avoid that. But if there’s one thing I’m going to get on this trip, it’s a freaking tan.
It’s just after lunchtime, and the resort is packed full of bikini-clad women and shirtless men. A sight I can’t say isn’t the least bit enjoyable.
Back in Vancouver, the guys are either wearing white tees with rolled sleeves and chinos, or fancy business suits that have short-legged pants to show off their ugly socks covered with pot leaves. I much prefer glistening washboard abs and brightly coloured swim trunks.
The five of us have been in Mexico for just over a day now, leaving me with only five days left to drink as many complimentary alcoholic beverages as possible and kiss as many random half-naked beach bums as it takes to forget about all of my petty problems back home.
It had been way too freaking hard to convince my new boss to let me take this week off, so I think I deserve not to worry about a damn thing for a few days.
When I first started working for Cleo at her small dance studio in downtown Van, I half expected to spend my days standing off to the side as an extra in case she needed someone to cover for her or help the odd kid remember a missed step. I didn’t expect her to throw all of the choreography for our upcoming recitals onto me.
I’m not new to the world of dance or to creating my own routines. I’ve been a dancer for all my life, for Pete’s sake. But until now, I’ve never had to come up with a complete performance, top to bottom, for someone else, let alone multiple little ones with overly involved parents ready with their pitchforks freshly sharpened in case I embarrass their children.
I know that I should be looking at the situation in a more positive light, considering it will give me experience with something I’ve never done before. But the stress from the bucketload of new responsibilities is already building up, and with my unwanted anxiety rearing its ugly head whenever possible, it seems like more of a chore than a learning opportunity.
“You couldn’t have worn a bathing suit with a bit more fabric?” I hear Oakley ask as he comes up on my left and sits in an empty chair. “What kind of bathing suit is that, anyway?”
Ava follows shortly after, a large sun hat flopping in her eyes and an adorable white one-piece with criss-crossed straps covering her lean body.
“Leave her alone, babe.” She swats his arm and flops down on his lap. Oakley wraps an arm around her middle and pulls her closer to his chest. “I think she looks beautiful.”
I grin. “And that’s why you’re my favourite.” Wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead, I look at the crowds of people in the pool and ask, “What took you guys so long? I’m going to burn if I stay out here for much longer.”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” Oakley says smugly, a smirk on his lips, no doubt. I don’t look to find out for sure.
Ava snorts when I scrunch my face in disgust. “I told you not to put so much oil on. Been there, done that, Gray.”
She reaches into the large bag she set beside her chair and pulls out a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of sunscreen. She slides her sunglasses on and holds the sunscreen toward Oakley. “Heads up.”
As my brother reaches forward to grab the bottle, a stray hand pushes him away and swipes the sunscreen.
“Thanks, Ava. I left mine upstairs,” Tyler teases. He joins the group with a beautifully rare and relaxed grin. The same one that never fails to awaken the family of butterflies in my stomach.
Oakley scoffs and shoots his elbow back, hitting Tyler above the band of his swim trunks. A pained groan slips from his lips, and I become way too easily distracted by the hand rubbing at the two deep lines leading to what hides beneath his trunks.
“Asshole,” Tyler mutters and smacks the back of Oakley’s head on his way to the empty chair beside mine.
Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not.
I immediately look away and chew on my lip, praying that nobody caught the eggplant emojis in my eyes just now. Oakley would have a field day with that. I probably wouldn’t see another day outside of my hotel room.
The legs of the chair squeak as Tyler sits down. I peek over at him to find him watching me, his head tilted and the ghost of a grin tugging on his lips.
“You know, if I wasn’t such a confident guy, your staring would have made me self-conscious.”
The teasing whisper has my eyes bulging as I gulp air like a fish out of water.
“I wasn’t staring,” I argue.
He arches a brow and leans toward me, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers mere inches from my thigh. “No? Because I was.”
I twist in my seat and stare at him open-mouthed.
