Adjusting my sunglasses, I pretend to size up the competition. My goal is to look strategic, thoughtful, even intimidating. You know—like a man focused on winning.
But truthfully, I’m mostly thinking about what I want to do to Rorie later tonight. In the hot tub. Or with that detachable shower head in her villa bathroom.
I find her standing next to her team, and God help me because she’s wearing a pink bikini today. Thin straps. Tied at the hips. It’s killing me.
Absolutely killing me.
My cock is now in a state of emergency. Her sarong sits low, hips bare, and when she laughs, throws her head back and shines like summer itself, it’s a punch to the chest. In the best possible way.
She looks at me. Smirks, even. We have a secret we’ve burned into each other and now we’re just waiting for nightfall to burn again. Or maybe lunch.
Brunch?
Now?
So yeah, I’m not exactly focused on sandcastle strategy right now.
Shelby strides onto the beach with her signature confidence, sundress billowing, sunglasses perched on her head, and not a single bead of sweat betraying her despite the heat.
“Good morning, everyone!” she calls out, her voice somehow carrying over the sound of waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull probably plotting to steal someone’s snack.
The crowd quiets, all eyes on her.
“Today’s challenge,” she continues, “is simple: build the bestsandcastle. But—and this is important—you won’t be working with your teams. You’ll be paired with people from other firms. As I stated last night, we believe the true test of teamwork is adaptability. You’ll be judged on creativity, structure, and, of course, how well you work in a group.”
She starts reading off the team assignments. Names blur together as I focus on not staring at Rorie’s ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.
“…and for our final team: Nolan Rhodes from Big Stream, Jeremy Brooks from the Laurel Group, Sierra Lin from Taylor & Blythe, and Marcus Dean from Halston, Inc.”
The sun beats down, baking not only us but the sand beneath our feet as we gather around our designated patch of beach. Sierra and Marcus start debating structural integrity and sand-to-water ratios like this is the Olympics of sandcastle building.
I’m not really listening. Rorie Adams is on all fours in the sand, skin kissed golden by the sun, that thin bikini top doing everything but hiding temptation. Her back arches slightly as she shifts, and her legs stretch out behind her, gleaming and sun-drenched. The sarong slips again, baring more of her thigh. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to get behind her and bury myself to the hilt.
Jeremy doesn’t look at me right away, but when he does, his expression is deeply judgy.
Rorie crouches, molding a wet cylinder of sand, lips parted slightly in concentration, and I am seconds from losing it.
All I picture is her giving me a hand job, those same fingers wrapped around me instead of wet sand. It doesn’t help that she smooths the sides slowly, purposefully, like she’s got nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to ruin me.
I clear my throat, trying to snap out of it. “We should build a moat. You know, for structural… defense.”
“A moat?” Jeremy deadpans. “What are we defending it from? Your fragile ego?”
Marcus snorts. Sierra doesn’t even look up.
I force my attention back to our team. Marcus squats down andsketches a rough outline of a castle in the sand, while Sierra tilts her head, evaluating.
“We should elevate the foundation a little,” Sierra suggests. “The higher the base, the less likely the structure is to collapse when the tide comes in.”
“Good call,” Marcus agrees. “What about towers? We could go for something grand, like a medieval fortress.”
Jeremy nods, tapping a finger against his chin. “That could work, but we need to think about stability too. Wet sand holds better. If we reinforce the walls with a mix of damp and dry sand, it'll keep things from caving in too easily.”
I glance at Jeremy, impressed. “Didn’t take you for an expert in sandcastle physics.”
He shrugs. “Was in a physics club in high school. Won a few contests.”
Marcus grins. “Guess we know who the real mastermind is.”
