Chapter 3: Poolside Introductions
The hotel pool was a crucible of heat and reflected light. Josh lay sprawled on a lounger, a damp towel over his face, trying to will away the thrumming behind his eyes. Last night’s cocktails had left a sugary, metallic residue in his mouth. Dean was still upstairs, undoubtedly snoring like a chain-saw. The air was a thick soup of chlorine, coconut oil, and the pervasive, sweet decay of tropical flowers. Reggaeton pumped from hidden speakers, the bass line a persistent, physical thing in his sternum.
He heard the click of sandals on wet tiles nearby, a lighter, quicker step beside a firmer one. Peeling the towel from his face, he blinked up into the sun. Two silhouettes resolved into focus.
Lynda stood there, one hand shielding her eyes. She wore a simple black one-piece, high-cut at the thighs, professional and severe. It should have been conservative, but the way it clung to her athletic frame, all lean muscle and sharp angles, was somehow more arresting than any bikini. Her hair was piled up, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
Beside her was a younger version, but softer, as if all Lynda’s hard edges had been melted and rounded by sunshine. The sister—Nikki. She was a vision in a tiny white bikini, triangles of fabric tied precariously at her neck and hips. Her skin was a deep, even gold, her blonde hair falling in beachy waves. She beamed at him, a smile so wide and open it felt like a shove. Her eyes, a lighter blue than Lynda’s cutting green, danced with immediate, unconcealed appraisal.
“Recovering?” Lynda asked. Her tone was dry, but not unkind.
Josh pushed himself up on his elbows, acutely aware of his own bare chest, the old scar from a tussle with a forklift on a site. “Just marinating. You look… ready for business.”
“We just finished a morning poolside segment,” Lynda said, gesturing vaguely towards a tripod set up near the cabanas. “This is my sister, Nikki. Nik, this is Josh. The phone-retrieval specialist from yesterday.”
Nikki stepped forward, her hand outstretched. Josh took it. Her grip was firm, her skin warm and slick with sunscreen. “The hero of the hour,” she said, her voice a melodic, playful contrast to her sister’s crisp tones. She didn’t let go immediately. “Lynda said you were cheeky. And tall. She didn’t mention the hair.” Her eyes flicked to his messy curls.
He retrieved his hand, a slow grin spreading. “She didn’t mention a sister at all. Too busy defending the sanctity of her probiotic yogurt.”
Lynda’s lips twitched. Nikki threw her head back and laughed, a bright, cascading sound that cut through the drone of the music. “Oh, I like him. See, Lyd? Not a stalker. Just a brickie with good manners.”
“Bricklayer,” Josh and Lynda corrected in unison. They glanced at each other. A flicker of something—amusement, understanding—passed between them before Lynda looked away, adjusting the strap of her bag.
“So you’re on holiday with your mates?” Nikki asked, lowering herself onto the vacant lounger next to his without invitation. She stretched out, the movement conscious and fluid. “Getting up to much trouble?”
“Trying to. My mate Dean’s the designated troublemaker. I’m just the support crew.”
“Everyone needs a wingman,” Nikki said, her gaze drifting over his shoulder, probably scanning for said wingman. “We’re grabbing lunch at the cabana grill. You should join. Unless you’re too delicate from last night’s adventures?” She raised a teasing eyebrow.
Lynda shifted her weight. “Nikki, he might have plans.”
“Do you?” Nikki asked, her eyes back on Josh, full of open challenge.
He felt the pull. It was a direct, uncomplicated pull towards Nikki’s sunshine and laughter, towards an easy afternoon of flirty banter and cold drinks. It felt like the holiday he’d signed up for. But then he looked at Lynda. She was watching a gull wheel over the water, her profile a study in composed distance. He remembered the crack in her facade on the rooftop, the confession about the terrible yogurt. That felt like a different kind of adventure, one with harder edges and more interesting depths.
He was, quite suddenly, trapped in the space between them. The disciplined, intriguing frost and the inviting, effervescent warmth. The air felt charged, the pool’s glitter suddenly too bright.
“Lunch sounds good,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. He stood, grabbing his towel. “Just let me grab a shirt. Don’t want to offend the other diners.”
Nikki’s smile widened in victory. Lynda gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her expression unreadable. As Josh turned to find his t-shirt, he felt both their eyes on his back. Nikki’s gaze was a physical warmth. Lynda’s felt like a precise, measuring touch.
He fumbled with the cheap cotton of his shirt. The easy recovery day was gone. Now he was walking into a different kind of heat entirely, and he had no idea which woman he was hoping to see more of when he sat down.