I can do hard things.
Ezra puts the car in reverse. “Let’s go to the beach.”
My stomach sinks at the prospect. “Uh…”
“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who hates getting her hair wet or a little sand between her cheeks.”
Despite the dread that’s churning inside me now, I chuckle at the comment. I’m familiar with the type of girl he’s talking about. High-maintenance girlies are so not my type. If you can’t let your hair down—and get it wet—what kind of fun are you evenhaving?
“No. I grew up in Southern California, remember? It’s not that. I, uh…” I breathe deeply, ignoring the pain in my chest. “I actually didn’t bring a bathing suit.”
“What?” He jerks his head in my direction. “How could you come to Hawaii and not pack a bathing suit?”
“Um…” Because my old suits resemble dental floss now. When I tried them on, I looked like a tightly wrapped burrito ready to burst. Not that I’d tell him that. I planned to buy one or two before the trip, but I dreaded standing under horrible fluorescent lighting in a dressing room and kept putting it off until… well, I never got around to it, clearly.
Ezra passes the street that would take us to Val’s without even a glance that way.
“Where are we going?”
His lips quirk, though he doesn’t look away from the road. “To a nude beach.”
All the air is sucked from my lungs. Hell, the entire car, I think. “Wh-what?”
“You said you don’t have a bathing suit.” With a grin, he squeezes above my knee quickly before planting his hand on the steering wheel again. “Relax. We’re going to get a suit for you.”
I absolutely do not want to go shopping with this man and his book-boyfriend body, but I have no interest in explaining my reasons. Plus, he’s right. What was I thinking, showing up in Hawaii without a bathing suit?
Inside the store, we go our separate ways—me to the swimsuit section and him to the surfboards. It’s a small shop with a minimal selection of boards, so before I can even make it to the dressing room, Ezra is following me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hanging suits in a variety of sizes and styles on a rack.
“Sitting.” He plops his large frame onto a small stool and laces his fingers.
Eyes narrowed, I close the curtain with more gusto than necessary. Then I force myself to face the mirror.
Fuck. I don’t want to be here. There was a section of full-body wetsuits out there. Maybe I could get away with wearing one of those. But the thought of stuffing my body like a sausage into neoprene creates a tightness in my chest.
I can do hard things.
Repeating that mantra, I strip down to my thong and quickly throw on the first bathing suit, avoiding the mirror until it’s in place. It’s a one-piece, which will solve the problem of hating my midsection, but future me will probably despise how pale my stomach will be in comparison to the rest of my body. So I peel it off and replace it with a basic black bikini.
“You okay?” Ezra calls, his voice gruff.
“Yeah, just… why do they make the lighting so awful in these things?”
“Come out here and look. There’s a mirror, and the lighting looks pretty good.”
Slipping my feet into my Birks, I pull back the curtain. As I step out into the tiny hallway, I nearly bump into Ezra’s knees.
He straightens his spine, his eyes level with my?—
Cheeks heating, I cross my arms in front of my breasts, but that only pushes them up.
He swipes a hand down his face and clears his throat, shifting his long legs to the side to make room for me to pass by. At the mirror, I can see him, which means he can see me.All of me.
Fuck, why am I like this? I never used to be this insecure about my body.
The lighting really is better out here, giving the illusion of less cellulite and fewer stretch marks. A hint of relief travels through me as I take myself in. The bikini keeps all my lady bits secured properly, so rather than torture myself and try on any other suits, I dart back into the changing room and put my clothesback on. Then I grab the same suit in two other colors and snag a large, flowy cover-up before heading to the checkout counter.
