Chapter 32

The Katseye van crunched to a stop in loose Malibu sand, doors sliding open like you were releasing a pop single straight into the ocean air. Sophia was already blasting a demo from a portable speaker – something unreleased with a chorus catchier than sunscreen. You hop out last, tote bag slung over your shoulder, and Dani beats you to the trunk, snagging your beach towel along with hers.

“Sharing?” You ask.

She snaps the towel like a cape, lavender ponytail whipping. “Only if you promise not to drool on me when you nap.”

“Deal,” I grin. “But I can’t control drool included by your bikini.”

Which – honestly – should come with a warning label: a tiny black crochet, side-ties begging to be tugged, and a top that leaves sun-kissed freckles on full display. She catches you staring, flicks the towel end against your thigh. “Eyes up, lifeguard. Water’s that way.”

Manon struts past, cooler in hand. “Save the PDA for a low tide. I’m not re-applying SPF while you two eye-flirt.”

Lara dumps a bag of inflatable tubes at your feet. “Team floatie assembly starts now. Winner gets first pick of snacks.”

“Spoiler,” you say, “Dani and I are building a two-person throne. Losers can tow us.”

Dani raises an eyebrow. “Two-person? You planning to sit on my lap or am I sitting in yours?”

“Yes,” I answer, and Sophia fake-gags.

*

You stake your spot halfway between the dunes and the foam line. The girls scatter – Yoonchae and Megan race to the water, Manon sets up a portable volleyball net, phone balanced on a tripod for ‘documentary purposes.” Dani smooths your shared towel, but instead of sitting, she steps behind you and draws a lazy heart on your shoulder blade with drug-store sun screen.

“Cold,” you yelp.

“Hold still.” Her palms glide lower, tracing the strap of your coral two-piece, stopping where the knot sits at the small of your back. “Can’t have you burning… in sensitive areas.”

You twist, snag the bottle, and squeeze a stripe across her collarbone – a drip sliding straight into the hollow above her bikini clasp. “Fair’s fair.”

She bites her lip, whispers, “If you miss a spot, I’ll expect you to re-apply after we swim… privately.”

“Dani, that’s called a bait-and-switch.”

“More like a bait-and-sunscreen,” she laughs, tugging you toward the waves.

*

Water hit your calves – icy for California standards – and you squeak. Dani doesn’t hesitate; she splashes forward, diving under a crest, coming up slick and sparking like she’d been dipped in rhinestones. “Quit stalling,” she called, pushing wet hair back. “Channel the bravery you had last night texting me ‘wish you were here’ at 2 a.m.”

“That was a sleepy confession. This is hypothermia.”

She waded back, grabbed your wrists, and pulled until the water kissed your waists. “Body heat,” she said, wrapping her arms around your neck. “Scientific solution.”

A set rolled in. You jump the first wave together, laughter swallowed by foam. The second was bigger; she spun you so your back met the push, kissed you quick – salt and strawberries – before you surfaced.

Applause erupted from the shore. Manon cupped her hands. “Ten outta ten, get a room with sea-views.”

Dani flipped her off sweetly, then cupped water and launched it in Manon’s direction. Retaliation soon became an all-out splash war – 6 pop-stars versus the Pacific and each other. Somewhere in the chaos, Dani sneaked behind you again, arms looping your waist, chin on your shoulder.

“You taste like summer,” she murmured, loud enough for only you.

*

Dry-off break. You collapse on the towels. Sophia produces a bag of chilled mango slices; Dani steals one, brushes it against your lower lip before feeding it to you. Sticky juice runs down your chin; she leans in, licks it away with an innocent hum that fools no one.

Lara whistled. “You two are gonna attract seagulls with that sugar show.”

“Fine by me.” Dani says. “They can form a perimeter. Keep the exes away.”

You snort. “You planning to write that into the next single? ‘Seagull Security’?”

“Bridge lyric,” she nods solemnly. “Peck-peck, never coming back.”

*

The sun starts it’s lazy dip, painting everything copper. Manon challenges you and Dani on a two-on-two volleyball slaughter. Dani serves first, sky-high, and the game dissolves into theatrics. Lara setting with ballet arms, Sophia spiking like she was headlining a concert. Dani and you ‘accidentally’ bump hips every rotation; on the final point, she dove, saving the ball, landing butt-first in sand. You offer her a hand, she yanks you down instead. You tumble together, giggling, her leg sliding between yours.

“Sandy,” you complain.

“Romantic,” she counters, brushing grains from your cheek. “Think of it as exfoliation sponsored by yours truly.”

She starts to lean in – public kiss alert – when a rogue wave rushes farther than expected, soaking your towels and both of your egos. You scramble, squealing, collecting flip-flops, before the ocean had chance to claim them.

*

Golden hour barbecue. Someone’s portable grill sizzled; the breeze carried cilantro and lime. Dani claimed the corner of the picnic blanket, hoodie now thrown over her bikini, sleeves pushed to elbows. You sit between her legs, back to her chest, sharing earbuds plugged into a demo she’s tweaking. Every time the bass drops she taps fingers against your ribs – secret morse: I want you, I want you, I want you.

Sophia toasts a marshmallow, points it at you like a microphone. “Interview time: favourite part of today?”

Dani answered instantly, chin on your shoulder. “Low tide, high chaos, coral bikini.”

You feel heat flood your cheeks. “Sunscreen hearts and mango kisses,” you say quietly.

Megan fake-sobs. “This is why we can’t have chill days!”

Lara raises her soda. “To no chill, ever.”

You clink cans. The sky melts into sherbet streaks; the ocean applauds softly against the shore. Dani’s arms tighten, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Later,” she whispers, “when the fire’s just embers, walk with me to the water. I’ve got one more heart to draw – somewhere where the tide can’t wash it away.”

You twist enough to meet her eyes, salt still clinging to your lashes. “Promise?”

“Pop-star’s honour,” she smiles, as she kisses your temple whilst the others roast the last of the marshmallows, the beach holding it’s breath for whatever tomorrow’s headlines will never know.

———-

Idk abt this one :/

Like it anyways bc you love me 😉