5
1080 Words
“I’m not wearing this.”
I stood in the middle of the sand-dusted parking lot, holding up the offending item like it was a biohazard. It was neon pink. It had ruffles. It was less “beach chic” and more “deranged flamingo meets toddler beauty pageant.”
Mom had somehow packed it for me—probably while I was asleep, unaware and vulnerable.
Callie, traitor to all things decent and protective sisterhoods, was already spinning in her own Pinterest-worthy two-piece, the kind with daisies and the kind of confidence that only comes from never having been pantsed in gym class.
“Aww, c’mon,” she chirped, hands clasped under her chin. “You’d look adorable!”
“I’d look like a preschooler lost at a rave.”
“Same thing.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I chucked the bikini at her head.
Before she could retaliate, a deep voice interrupted. “Trouble in paradise?”
I froze. The air suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.
Slowly—too slowly—I turned around.
And there he was.
Nikolai.
Shirtless. Again.
This guy had a personal vendetta against wearing shirts and, apparently, against letting my blood pressure remain normal. He leaned casually against the side of the SUV like he belonged in a cologne commercial, the sun turning his already stupidly tanned skin golden and his hair windswept in that “I don’t try, but I still look better than you” way.
His eyes—cold, glacier blue—raked over me with infuriating amusement.
I crossed my arms. “Don’t you own clothes?”
“Don’t you own a better attitude?”
Rude.
Before I could clap back with something clever (or at least a mildly scathing insult), a high-pitched shriek cut through the air.
“LAST ONE IN THE WATER IS A ROTTEN EGG!”
Knox flew past us like a rocket—wearing bright green swim trunks and, inexplicably, a neon orange life jacket.
“That’s not even the saying!” I called after him.
Didn’t matter. The words had been spoken. A challenge had been issued.
All nine of my stepbrothers reacted instantly, like a switch had been flipped:
• Kit tripped over his own flip-flops, doing a full somersault and eating sand.
• Grayson and Emerson tackled each other like gladiators fighting over a beach ball.
• Milo was already halfway buried in the sand, shrieking with laughter as Anders poured more on him.
• Forrest meticulously applied sunscreen to a grumpy-looking Blue, muttering something about UV exposure and long-term skin damage.
• Vinnie, predictably, was flirting with a group of girls nearby—until Rune walked by and drenched him with an ice-cold bucket of seawater.
And Nikolai?
Still staring at me. Like he could see through me. Like I was a particularly irritating puzzle he couldn’t stop trying to solve.
I shifted. “What?”
He tilted his head, smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “You’re not going in?”
“Not dressed like a flamingo at a Barbie rave, no.”
His gaze dropped, just for a second, to the bikini dangling from my hand—and then to me.
Without a word, he shrugged off the unbuttoned shirt hanging from his shoulders and tossed it at me.
I caught it on pure reflex. “What the hell is this?”
“Your compromise,” he said, already turning toward the beach. “Now stop sulking and move.”
I stared at the shirt. It was huge. Baggy. Smelled faintly of sea salt and cedar and—ugh, him.
Callie let out a high-pitched squeal. “OH MY GOD. JUNIE. THIS IS THE CUTEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED.”
“Say that again and I will drown you,” I hissed.
Callie wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re halfway to a fanfic.”
Nikolai glanced over his shoulder. “Try to keep up, Flamingo.” Then he sprinted into the waves like the smug, muscled menace he was.
Oh, it was on.
I threw off my sandals and bolted after him, the sand burning under my feet. The ocean wind whipped through my curls, and Nikolai was fast—but I was angry.
And angry people had purpose.
SPLASH.
I cannonballed into the water right next to him, soaking us both.
He staggered back, blinking saltwater out of his eyes. “Did you just—”
“Win?” I grinned. “Yeah.”
For a beat, he just stared at me. Something unreadable flickered in his expression—surprise? Amusement? Maybe both.
Then—SPLASH.
He dunked me.
I came up sputtering, my curls glued to my face. “YOU JERK—”
But he was laughing. Actually, laughing, like full-on joyful chaos had temporarily taken over his face. It was… weirdly charming.
And then—
Rune appeared.
Like some kind of beach ninja, silent and strategic. He grabbed Nikolai from behind and yeeted him farther into the waves.
Nikolai resurfaced, spitting water and flipping his wet hair out of his face. “TRAITOR.”
Rune just smirked. At me.
And my stupid heart did a somersault.
Meanwhile, on shore:
• Knox had somehow strapped himself to a unicorn float and was drifting further out, singing sea shanties.
• Callie had entered a one-woman sandcastle competition.
• Vinnie was now being passed around like a water balloon, dunked repeatedly by his own brothers.
And me?
I was laughing. Like, genuinely, unfiltered laughing. Despite the bikini from hell. Despite the sand in places sand should never be. Despite the fact that Nikolai’s shirt was now completely see-through and clinging to me like a dramatic ex.
I didn’t care.
This—this ridiculous, sun-soaked chaos—was actually fun.
Then I heard it:
“LUNCH IS READY!”
Mom’s voice carried across the beach like a dinner bell for wild animals.
The boys moved like a herd of starved wolves—sprinting, shoving, diving for the cooler.
Nikolai waded over, wet hair slicked back, water droplets glistening on his skin. “You survived.”
I wrung out my curls. “Barely. I was attacked by two idiots and a rogue wave.”
He reached toward me, and for a second, I froze. Was he actually going to—?
Yep. He plucked a strand of seaweed from my shoulder, smirking. “Cute.”
Cute.
I was going to kill him. Maybe. Eventually. After lunch.
- Writer
