Page 14 of Bitter Truths

The beach means you in that pink bikini again. I’m in.

I’m blushing like an idiot. I press my cold water glass to my cheek, grateful no one can see.

Tristan

The waterhole is one thing… a public beach though?

Freddie

Hard no on the pink bikini in public, bumblebee.

Weller

Perhaps a swimsuit with more coverage?

Me

Perhaps not. You do realize 90% of girls my age wear bikinis? Some even wear... gasp... thongs.

They’ve always been wildly protective… like when Owen broke a guy’s nose in seventh grade for grabbing my hand after I said no. I enjoy escalating situations sometimes and watching them lose it. It’s a small token of reassurance that they do care.

Owen

Glad your mom’s taking you to the mountains. You’ll be bundled up in hiking gear, safe from every male gaze except bears.

Me

You’re acting like Winston. And that’s NOT a compliment.

Owen

I can make your brother seem like a minor annoyance. You have no idea.

I roll my eyes, but my stomach does that stupid fluttery thing. Apparently, my body has decided that possessive alpha behavior is its new kink. Great.

Tristan

Not interested in being compared to your brother... especially after your birthday.

Fuck. Just thinking about those kisses makes me dizzy. I need to get a grip.

Freddie

You need to see the ocean. We could rent a private island—no crowds, no problem. When you get home?

Me

A private island? Seriously?

Weller

Not bad. I know someone who owns one off the coast. One call.

Me

So out of touch it’s ridiculous. Normal people don’t rent islands for beach days. I think I’ll pack this just in case.

I grab the pink bikini from my drawer and throw it on my bed, moving across the mattress to take a picture of it. The flash catches the curve of my thigh in the frame. Perfect. Sent.