Page 4 of Whispers on the Water

Tilly’s digging through our shared shoe pile near the front door like she’s hunting for treasure. Knowing our collection, it’s more likely she’ll find a lost civilization than whatever else she’s looking for. “Why do you think I’m dragging Tommy along? I never get hit on with him as my wingman. Tonight’s about you, Sam.”

I smile at her reasoning. To the outside eye, bringing Tommy might seem strategic, a way to ward off unwanted attention. But I know better; it’s just as much about her chance to flirt with him. I keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to risk altering our plans. Tilly’s already slipping into white flip-flops. “What’re you wearing?”

Glancing down at my usual shorts and tank combo, I half-joke, “This?”

But Tilly’s swoops in faster than a redneck for a blue light special, yanking me off the couch. “No way, Sam. Dive into my closet, you nun.”

I can’t suppress my laughter as I flick through her collection of daring outfits. Most of Tilly’s dresses are a far cry from my comfort zone, but her excitement is infectious. It’s been forever since we went out on the town together.

I balk when she hands me a choice—tight, short, and black. “I’ll be way over dressed!”

Tilly’s already tugging at my top, adamant. My friend might be small, but she is fierce when she wants to be. I shove her back, trying to keep her from pulling my clothes off. When she pushes me over, we fall to the ground, but we’re both laughing so hard we’re nearly crying.

Tilly holds my hands away from my stomach. “You will wear this and have a good time,” she demands as I giggle along. I’m about to argue back when suddenly there’s a knock.

“Come in!” Tilly calls, still wrestling with me.

Tommy walks in, rocking casual khaki shorts and a snug tee that clings to his muscles. Catching us in our playful mess, he turns beet red. “Whoa, didn’t realize it was this kind of party,” he jokes, making a show of removing his shoes.

Tilly springs to her feet, smoothing her dress. “Don’t be gross. Tell Sam she’ll look killer in this,” she insists, thrusting the dress at me.

Tommy, with a glance, says, “Is she trying to get laid? Cause that’s how you get laid.”

With a laugh, Tilly flings the dress my way. I eye it warily from where I’m propped up against the couch. “I’m trying to have fun without being assaulted.”

Tommy waves his hand. “We won’t let anyone bug you, Sammy. Wear what you want.”

As I take a second look, Tilly moves to our makeshift kitchenette, fetching a bottle of pricey tequila. She returns, glasses in hand, and pours three shots like she’s behind the bar instead of in our living room.

“To the nun,” she toasts, a smirk directed my way. Tommy and she down their shots, his gaze lingering on her.

With a resigned sigh, I follow suit, the tequila burning all the way down. Standing, I start to change right there. Tommy, ever the gentleman, spins around as I slip into the dress. Catching my reflection, I’m forced to admit—I look damn good. The dress flatters my athletic build in ways I hadn’t expected, proving that maybe, just maybe, I can pull off sexy after all.

Surfing keeps me fit, shaping a body that I love, even if it’s more sporty than sultry. But tonight, looking at myself in the mirror, I feel a surge of confidence. Right now, I’m not just Sam the surfer; I’m Sam the sexy, ready to take on whatever the night throws our way.

Tommy spins back around, eyes wide. “Damn, Sam!”

But I’m fidgeting with the hem of the dress on my thigh, trying to tug it down a bit. “Really? It’s not too much?” I ask, hoping I’m not overdoing it.

He gives me a once-over. “Not at all. You look like you’re about to conquer a million-dollar deal or something.”

Tilly steps in, fixing the neckline of the dress, even adjusting my chest a bit to her liking. “I agree. It’s the perfect mix of daring and professional. Let’s go before she decides to bail on us.”

Tommy leads the way, holding the door open while Tilly nudges me forward. I relent, stepping out into the night behind them.

Outside the surf shack, Tommy waves down a cab. He has a car, but dealing with parking at the clubs is always a hassle, and none of us wants to be the designated driver tonight—definitely not me.

The ride feels longer than usual. Tilly has a thing about hitting the tourist spots; it keeps us away from the same local faces we see every weekend. Ron’s Surf Shack and Bar might be popular along the beach, but it’s nice to blend in with the tourists for a change, especially since Tommy can sometimes attract unwanted attention from his surf groupies back home. Tourists don’t usually recognize him—surfing’s fame doesn’t quite match up to the major league sports.

As we step out of the cab in front of the club, my dress rides up my thighs again. I’m tugging at it self-consciously while the pulsating bass and infectious music lure us inside. Tommy generously covers the entry fee for all three of us, and we make our way in.

“You keep that up, and people will think we’re a throuple,” Tilly shouts over the music, teasing.

Tommy puts on a confused act. “We aren’t? Woah, the only reason I agreed to come out is because I thought we’d all end up in bed together.”

Instead of shoving him away, like I would, Tilly just laughs, linking arms with him to steer us through the crowd. “Not tonight, cowboy. We’ve got other plans,” she says, throwing a glance my way. Despite the chaos of earlier, the laughter and dancing here start to peel away the day’s tension. Though I don’t want to admit it, Tilly was right. It’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed a night out.

“I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” I yell to my friends. Both give me a quick nod, and I head for the long, crowded bar. It’s hot inside, even though they probably have the air conditioning blaring. I’m glad I’m not wearing much and that it’s a dark color. Otherwise, everyone might be privy to how much I’m already sweating. A nice cool drink will certainly help.

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