“Remember this? Junior year… spring break?” he angles his phone toward us. “Jax tried to crowd-surf the bonfire. Idiot nearly set his hair on fire.”
Jax, two lounges over, doesn’t look up from his screen. “Still have the scar. Worth it, though.”
“Ha!” Ethan snorts, pulling up another photo. “Remember when Ryan tried to?—”
Ryan groans from his lounger, arms draped over his face to block out the sun. “Can we not relive my trauma? I lost spectacularly today. Let me grieve in peace. I never lose at volleyball.Ever.”
Laughter ripples through the group, but I’m not part of it. I lean against the cabana post, beer bottle sweating in my hand. I’ve barely touched the drink because my attention has been elsewhere—has been since the moment Sienna sat beside me on that plane.
She’s claimed the lounger farthest from the group, partially tucked into the shade of an umbrella. She lies on her stomach, a paperback propped open on a folded towel, still wearing that white bikini that should be illegal.
A sheer white cover-up drapes loosely over her shoulders. The damp fabric is translucent where it touches her skin, outlining the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, and the soft swell of her breasts as they press against her arms.
Her hair is drying in chaotic waves, spilling across her sun-kissed shoulders. She’s propped on her elbows, chin resting in one palm, legs bent at the knees, bare feet kicking absently like she’s keeping in time to music only she can hear.
She looks peaceful.
It might be the most dangerous thing she’s done all day.
In the pool earlier, she was fire—sharp spikes, taunting grins, body glistening. Out here, she’s… quieter. Just existing. Reading. Breathing.
She reads with the same focus she brings to everything else. Her head tilted slightly, lips parted just enough to show the edge of her teeth when she smiles at a page. Every few minutes, she bites her lower lip or lets out a tiny huff of amusement that carries across the deck.
I don’t know what drug Sienna is producing, but I’m standing here, watching her like an idiot, because looking away feels impossible.
Ethan’s foot nudges my ankle. “You’re doing it again, Reyes.”
I blink and drag my gaze to him. “Doing what?”
“Staring like she’s about to reveal the meaning of life in chapter twelve.”
I grunt and take a sip of beer that tastes bitter. “I’m not staring.”
“You literally are,” Jax supplies without lifting his head. “You’ve been at her since she cracked the book open. She’s got you in a chokehold, Reyes.”
“I’m not in a chokehold.”
Ryan lifts his beer bottle by the neck. “To Milo Reyes—may he survive the next eleven days without dropping to one knee mid-sentence.”
Bottles clink, and laughter erupts.
I scowl, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling heat crawl up my skin that has nothing to do with the sun. I’m thirty-three, and I’ve never thought about marriage, a wife, or kids. But with her…no. It’s the effect she has. That’s all.”
“You’re all assholes,” I mutter.
“Accurate,” Ethan says cheerfully. “But also concerned friends. You good, man?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He follows my gaze back to her. “She’s reading.”
“I know.”
“And you’re watching her read.”
I ignore him because I don’t have a response.
Sienna turns a page, her fingers lingering on the paper. She bites her lip again and lets out a quiet “ha!” that floats on the breeze. She tucks a damp curl behind her ear, and the small movement shifts the cover-up, baring the smooth curve of her side.
