I watch Jalen squeeze sunscreen into his hands and start working it across Sierra’s shoulders with the kind of reverentcare usually reserved for priceless artifacts. She makes this small contented sound, and my own hands itch with the desire to touch her like that.
“You good with me helping?” I ask, grabbing the sunscreen bottle.
Sierra glances back at me, and there’s something in her expression. Heat, maybe. Or just... awareness. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I kneel beside her and start working sunscreen down her arms while Jalen handles her back. Her skin is soft and still slightly warm from the heat. I try to keep my touch clinical, but it’s impossible not to notice the way she shivers slightly when my fingers brush the inside of her wrist.
“Ticklish?” I ask.
“Maybe a little,” she admits.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When we’re done with her back and arms, she turns to face me. “My turn?”
“Your turn for what?”
“To help you with sunscreen.” She’s already reaching for the bottle. “Can’t have you burning.”
The thought of Sierra’s hands on me makes my mouth go dry, but I manage to nod. “Sure. Thanks.”
She squeezes sunscreen into her palm, and then her hands are on my shoulders, rubbing the lotion in with careful movements. Her touch is gentle but thorough, making sure she covers every inch of exposed skin.
“You have freckles,” she observes, tracing a constellation across my shoulder blade.
“I do,” I confirm, trying to keep my voice steady. “They multiply in the sun.”
“They’re cute.”
Cute. Sierra Smith just called something about me cute, and my brain is short-circuiting.
“Thanks,” I manage.
She works her way down my back, and I’m acutely aware ofJalen, Malik, and Dax watching this interaction with varying degrees of amusement and... something else. Something that looks almost like pride.
Like they’re happy to see her comfortable enough to touch me like this. To play along with the beach day rules.
When she’s done, she pats my shoulder. “All set. You’re protected from UV rays.”
“My hero,” I say, turning to face her.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Someone has to look out for you.”
“True. I’m helpless without omega supervision.”
“You really are,” she agrees, deadpan.
The others finish with their own sunscreen applications, and then we’re just... standing there. On a beautiful beach, with perfect weather, and absolutely no plan.
“So,” Sierra says after a moment. “What now?”
I grin. “Now? Now we play.”
“Play how?”
“However we want.” I gesture toward the ocean. “Swim, build sandcastles, play chicken, whatever sounds fun.”
“I haven’t built a sandcastle since I was eight,” Sierra says, but I can hear the interest in her voice.
