Page 34 of All Our Nevers

He drops his shorts to the ground, standing before me in nothing but black boxer briefs. The air is thick between us. Summer heat and sweat and the delirious limbo of the unfamiliar.

Whatever game this is, we’ve clearly determined that looking is allowed. So we do.

Owen looks… strong. Not cut. Not some overly sculpted gym bro Instagram model, but strong, like he could toss me over his shoulder and carry me exactly where he wants me. I shouldn’t like that thought—couldn’t live with myself if he or anyone else found out I just had that thought—but damn.

“Seems we’ve reached a stalemate,” he says, all feigned nonchalance despite the scrape of the words in his throat, the front of his briefs barely concealing his growing need.

“Does that mean you’re done?” I ask. “You concede?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I never said that.”

Then the spirit of Satan takes me by the hand, guiding my way. “In that case...”

I reach across my body, grabbing hold of the elastic band below my breasts, not hesitating for a moment before pulling it up over my head, completely exposing my chest.

Owen’s palms slam over his eyes. “What are you doing!”

Triumph stretches a smile across my face. Lia 1. Owen 0.

His eyes are still covered as I stride past him into the bathroom, pausing at his shoulder to murmur, “Try not to make too much noise when you think about me later.”

The bathroom door slams shut, the shower turns on, and I hear a loud “Fuck!” from the hallway. I’m grinning as I step under the water.

8

Owen

The beaches of Provincetown, Massachusetts are no white sand luxury accommodation. There’s a thin strip of rocky sand speckled with tourists, a border of rickety wooden fencing, and swaths of long, stringy grass blowing in the wind. The water is freezing even though we’re a week into July. After two hours out here, the patina of my childhood memories has fully chipped away.

But Andy seems to be having a great time, so really that’s all that matters.

Our beach towels sit in a jagged row on the sand: Amelia, Sophie, Andy, Nolan, me. Most of us still have clothes on over our bathing suits, except for the banshee on the far right, tanning her long, lean body in a miniscule brown bikini. As if I needed more reasons to fixate on Amelia today.

I can admit it. I was bested this morning.

I already knew she was combative and competitive to a fault, but I didn’t realize just how far she would go.

And the thing that kills me the most, as I think back on my morning’s humiliation… why the fuck did I cover my eyes?

Now every glimpse of her that I catch, I’m picturing her toned body in the hallway of the Airbnb. That purple sports bra and black thong. How she must look underneath it. What I almost saw only hours ago.

I mean, the woman is literally paid to be hot, with social media modelling gigs accounting for what sounds like a frighteningly volatile percent of her monthly rent payments. That fact, paired with her wicked mouth and razor-sharp wit, and she could be my dream girl—if I were looking for a relationship. And if she didn’t hate the sight of me.

“What kind of lawyer are you again?”

Nolan’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he offers me a Sam Adams from the cooler. I take one, then reach for the bottle opener.

“Mergers and acquisitions.”

From the far right side of our line, a witch lets out a wry cackle.

“What, Amelia?” I snap—testier than usual after this morning’s checkmate.

“It’s just that I couldn’t have invented a more boring, pretentious job for you if I tried.”

“I’ll take being boring over being broke.”

She sits up, pushing her sunhat back from her eyes and glaring across the row of her friends. “I’m sorry, did you just call me broke?”