Page 15 of Better Than the Beach
Ow ow!
Bailey
BONEAGE!
I turn in a circle in front of the oval mirror in my room. The green bikini I’m wearing is definitely my skimpiest, with triangles of fabric covering my breasts and between my legs, and thin strings holding everything together. Even the ass coverage is minimal. This is what I was going to use to hook me a young surfer hunk. Here’s hoping it will work on Nolan.
I look hot enough to tempt him into taking my V card, right?
I scan my eyes over my body again. I bet he prefers older women who wear classier bathing suits. Women closer to his age. Women who don’t look like every other girl in the classes he TAs.
Damn it.
I take a deep breath, then snap a pic and send it to Bailey and Ivy because I need the confidence boost. Immediately they respond with compliments, emojis, and a few vulgar GIFs. I’m so grateful for these two.
Okay. I’m committed. It’s now or never.
I grab a towel and make my way downstairs. When I step onto the patio, the heating towers are turned on, the hot tub is running, and a small firepit is blazing.
But there’s no Nolan.
I glance around and wait a few moments, but even with the heating towers, it’s cold as shit out here, so I get into the hot tub without him.
After a bit longer, my thoughts start to spiral, and I worry I’ve been stood up. I’m ready to discard the plan and enjoy the hot tub alone when the wooden pergola above me lights up with colorful Christmas lights, and a small speaker starts to play Bing Crosby’s “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”
The surprised smile on my face stretches wider when I see Nolan step up to the hot tub wearing a pair of plain black swim trunks, and I drink him in. His body is sculpted, with pectorals and abs that make my mouth water, defined biceps I want to grab on to, and a deep V on his hips.The dick denoter, Bailey calls it.
Damn it. He is way hot. So hot that I am squirming a little on the bench seat and praying that he thinks the flush on my face is from the temperature of the water.
God, I amsucha virgin.
“You figured it out?” Nolan says as he sits on the hot tub edge and swings his legs around.
“Figured what out?”
“The hot tub.”
“Oh,” I say, furrowing my brow. “I thought you did this. It was on when I came out.”
Nolan chuckles and shakes his head.
“My mom,” he says, as if that answers everything. I’d question him, but when he sinks down across from me, he lets out a low, rumbling groan that makes me erupt in goosebumps.
“That good, huh?” I rasp.
“Fuck yes.”
Seriously nothing has ever been hotter than the word fuck on this man’s lips. I have to change the subject before I pounce on him—sex is the end goal, yeah. But by slow seduction, not scary sneak attack.
“Tell me about your dissertation,” I say, and he smiles, eyes still closed and head dropped back.
“I’m focusing on parental alienation of maternal figures within divorced or separated heterosexual couples, and how it affects the mental health and emotional development of pre-teen boys. Specifically, when that’s paired with the parentification of younger siblings.”
“Wow,” I breathe out. “And how’s it going? What are you arguing?”
“Fascinating and heartbreaking, as you can probably imagine,” he says, and lifts his head to look at me. “Of course, we’ve determined that alienation of the mother can instill a misogynistic mindset in the boys, one that is likely modeled by the father. But also how parentification can shield younger siblings of some of that trauma.”
“Because the oldest sibling gets the brunt of it.”
