"Well. We're here. At the beach," I declare, a line of sweat trailing down my back. "Can we go now?"

Nicholai kicks off his shoes. He's carrying a sleek black beach bag, which he suddenly drops on the boardwalk at his feet. "For you," he says, procuring a flimsy string bikini from the outer pocket.

I snatch it out of his hands, flustered. "What am I supposed to do with this? Floss my teeth?" It's impossibly small.

"There's a changing room there, by the tiki bar." He inclines his head, indicating the small, concrete structure at the edge of the boardwalk. A line of hoses runs along the outer edge. I watch a mother corral her toddler under the stream of water, blasting the sand from his feet. "Go on. I'll be right behind you."

"Wonderful." I rip off my heels before I go, glaring at the scrap of fabric in my fist.

There's one free stall left. I hurry inside and shuck off my dress, and the relief is immediate. I lift my arms, savoring the salty breeze against my bare skin. But I can't stand here, naked, forever. So I wiggle into the black bikini, fussing with the straps, trying to ensure all the important bits are covered. I succeed, for the most part. The ensemble leaves very little to the imagination.

When I step outside, I find Nicholai is already waiting for me, scrolling absently through his phone. He's changed into navy blue swimming trunks—designer, no doubt—that complement his eyes nicely, paired with a nondescript baseball cap that is utterly at odds with his usual wardrobe. Only the gold chain at his collarbone is familiar.

He looks different. He looks—

Delicious.

I immediately banish the thought, though my eyes linger on the expanse of his chest. And lower still, to the ridges of muscle running across his abdomen.

Focus. I have to focus. I force my eyes up—and just in time. His head lifts, and though I can't read the expression behind his black sunglasses, there's something about his smile that tells me he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

I shove my dress into the beach bag. "Did you bring any sunscreen, sir?"

The additional sir is a bit gratuitous, but between the two of us, someone has to remain cognizant of our professional relationship.

He tucks his phone in his back pocket. "Of course. Safety first."

I produce said bottle of sunscreen from an inner pocket. "You're still going to burn," I inform him, slapping the bottle in his waiting hand. "I hope you realize that."

He sighs. "Probably, yes." As if this is inevitable. Considering his complexion, it most definitely is.

We start down the beach, venturing as close to the waterline as we dare. It's still fairly early in the season, so the water is startlingly frigid, yet not entirely unwelcome as the burning sand sucks at our feet, slowing our progress. Beachgoers dart across our path: toddlers, sunburned fathers, teenagers snapping videos of one another along the shore.

We're slick with sweat by the time we arrive at the same stretch where we first watched the sunrise. It looks nothing like what I remember. The crowds, the smell of food permeating the air—everything is different.

Or maybe it's me. I am sober this time around, after all.

Right on cue, Nicholai produces a silver flask from the beach bag and takes an impressive pull. I shake my head in disapproval.

He smacks his lips together and holds out the flask. "Tempting, isn't it?"

My eyes stray to his abdomen. Sweat is starting to gather there. Tempting.

I grab the flask. "You're a bad influence," I tell him, taking a quick swig. And then I gag. "Oh my g—is that tequila?"

He laughs. "I thought I should mix it up a little. You're always complaining about the vodka."

"Give a girl some warning. Christ." I screw on the cap and shove it against his chest, my fingers brushing his skin. Just for the barest moment. "If I'd thrown up all over the beach, what then? They'd haul my ass away for a drunk and disorderly."

"And you'd deserve it," he tells me, angling away from the shore. "For not being able to hold your liquor."

He drops the bag on an empty patch of sand and digs out an oversized navy blue towel. I help him fan out the edges, fighting against the wind, until finally we sit, sprawling out beneath the harsh glare of the sun.

I lay back and fling my arms over my head, watching a flock of seagulls wheel overhead, calling restlessly to one another. Beside me, Nicholai uncaps the sunscreen. The smell of coconut, sweet and cloying, fills the space between us.

"Sit up," he orders. "You're going to fry."

"Maybe I want to fry." I sound petulant, even to my ears. I sit up with a sigh.

"Your hair is in the way."

Obediently, I lift my hair off my neck. I'm expecting it, but I still flinch when his hands first slide across my shoulders..

"Hold still," he murmurs. Heat sparks along my skin as his hands glide down my arms, my spine. He works slowly, pushing aside the dainty straps of the bikini to spread the sunscreen along the top of my ribcage, his fingers venturing close—tantalizingly close—to the side of my breasts.

Nicholai is nothing if not thorough.

My eyes flutter closed as his fingers wander into my hairline, massaging the last of the lotion into the skin there.

"There." He slowly slides the straps of my bikini back into place. "All done."

I open my eyes, somewhat dazed. Then I hold out my hand. "I need to get my front," I explain at his questioning glance.

He holds my gaze, squeezing sunscreen into my outstretched palm. I kneel and begin rubbing lotion across my abdomen, carefully slipping my fingers beneath the thin straps at my hips.

Nicholai watches me, unwavering. I know this because I can't stop looking at him. Each time, I think I might catch him gazing at the ocean, or perhaps entertaining himself with the gulls nearby as they attempt to steal the lunch meat from neighboring sunbathers. But his eyes are glued to my hands, tracking their movement across my hips, my chest. The dip between my breasts.

I can be thorough, too.

"Your turn," I tell him once my skin is glistening with lotion.

He quickly supplies more sunscreen, as if this is exact the moment he's been waiting for. Biting back a smile, I position myself behind him. Careful, Amara. You're drifting back into dangerous territory.

But this is just a bit of sunblock. Friends don't let friends get sunburn.

I rub my hands along his overheated skin, stifling a shiver as the muscles in his back flex, rippling beneath my fingers. Briefly, I allow myself to fantasize about a different day, a different beach, a different life. One where I might lean forward and plant a kiss beneath his ear, the two of us smelling of sunscreen and sweat and the promise of tequila.

But those are naughty, inappropriate thoughts. Naughty, because he's my boss. Inappropriate, because I left—left when I might have had him, tasted him. All of him.

Chastised, I convince myself to pull away and settle back down on the towel. Still. I can't entirely resist his pull. I crack open an eye just long enough to watch him apply sunblock across his chest, further down along the contours of his stomach—

He's smirking, and I quickly realize it's at my expense, because I'm goggling the man like a wide-eyed teenager. I quickly turn my head, refusing to acknowledge the heat in my face.

"You used to come here?" I ask, mostly to distract myself. "With your brothers?"

"I did. Apparently, I'm not the only one who enjoys the view here."

Embarrassment burns through my veins, hotter than the sun. I push myself to my elbows and prepare to apologize—I can't send mixed signals, not like this, and not so soon—but Nicholai isn't looking at me. He's looking over me. Looking at—

Larissa.

She's leaning against the nearby lifeguard stand; the paint has chipped in several places, but it still stands out like an eyesore. She looks divine in a yellow one-piece. A goddess of the sea, come to bless the mortals with her beauty. I watch, entranced, as she tilts her head back and laughs.

But who is she laughing with? I turn my attention to the lifeguard perched above her, her bright blonde hair at odds with the deep tan she's sporting. She's grinning, having clearly just shared some sort of inside joke. As I watch, she glances over her shoulder, peering intently at a member of the Coast Guard lingering against a bike rack with one of his buddies.

He waves at her. The lifeguard rolls her eyes, obviously unimpressed. Larissa returns the friendly hello, wearing a flirtatious smile I know well.

I quickly look away.

"Interesting," Nicholai muses. I have no idea what could possibly be interesting about this situation. Maybe it's because we ended up on the same stretch of beach as my ex. Or maybe it's because said ex is making moon eyes at a handsome Coast Guard personnel, right in front of her boyfriend's older brother.

I roll onto my stomach and close my eyes. I don't want to think about Larissa anymore. I don't want to think about anything at all.

"Pass me that flask, will you?" I mumble into the towel.

Nicholai indulges me.