Page 85 of The Forgotten Queen
It was the stupidest conversation she’d ever been a part of. She’d probably lost brain cells because of it, but at the same time, it was the best.
His mouth got closer. Was he going to kiss her?
“Marx?” Cheney said, clearing her throat above them.
Sydria jumped back. How had they gotten so close? People didn’t usually sit that close unless they were together. A couple. In a relationship. None of which they were.
When it came to faking their physical attraction, they were nailing it.
“My skin is burning,” Cheney said.
Apparently, Sydria wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the record-breaking heat.
Cheney flopped her hand forward, revealing a white tube. “Can you put sun blocking lotion on me?” Her lips puckered together, creating a pouty expression.
Marx stared at her blankly. “I’m not sure what you need help with,” he said flatly. “You can reach every part of your body that’s exposed to the sun.”
Cheney’s swim garment was almost exactly like Sydria’s. It covered her front and back, high enough that only her arms, chest and neck would need the lotion, and logically, Cheney could reach the front and back of her legs on her own.
“But,” Marx said. He stood, reaching for the lotion, causing Sydria’s heart to plummet into the depths of her stomach. Was he really going to lather Cheney up right in front of hiswife? Fake or not, that had to be crossing some sort of spousal line. “My back is getting burned.” He took the bottle, turning to Sydria. “Hey surfer girl,” he said with a playful expression, “would you mind putting some blocking lotion on me?”
“Sure, darling.” Sydria stood, surprised by her use of the worddarling, but she was new at this, and improv wasn’t her thing.
Cheney’s mouth dropped, and she shook her head before turning and walking away.
“Poor girl,” he said, watching her walk away. “She can’t get it through her head that she doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Why doesn’t she stand a chance?” Sydria asked, feeling a little bad for Cheney.
Marx shook his head as if it were obvious. “Because I’m already married to the most incredible woman ever.”
Sydria let out a self-conscious laugh.
“Now,” he said, placing the bottle in her hand. “Weren’t you going to help me protect my skin?”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “You really want me to do that?”
Marx tapped his finger over his mouth like he was thinking. “Do I want my wife to rub lotion over me?” He paused, looking at her with a gleam. “Yes, I do.”
Sydria rolled her eyes. “You’re taking advantage of the situation.”
“I don’t think so. You agreed to this.” He nodded to the rest of their friends. “If you don’t want to, I can always ask Cheney to come back.”
“Fine,” she said, reaching for the bottle.
Marx had a smug expression as he slowly turned around.
Sydria flipped the lid up and pounded the bottle against her open palm, feeling nerves flitter through her stomach. She was going to need a pep talk to get through this.
Okay.I’m going to touch—no, rub—this lotion on Marx. My hands are going to be all over him. It’s not a big deal. This is part of the agreement. Just get in and get out.
Touching was not one of her strengths, but she mentally visualized the task at hand.
She pounded the bottle against her palm one last time and looked down. There was a glob of lotion in her hand so big she would have to apply sun blocking lotion to everyone on the beach to get rid of it.
Marx cleared his throat, no doubt wondering what was taking her so long.
Sydria dipped her index finger into the liquid and brought it up to his right shoulder blade, lightly rubbing the lotion into his skin.
