Chapter 4: Hot Tub Confession

The rosé bottle was already half-empty by the time the sun dipped low enough to turn the deck boards golden. Sarah poured another generous glass, the liquid catching the last light like pale ruby, and launched into another round of complaints about the endless stream of work pings lighting up her phone. Her words slurred at the edges, cheeks flushed deeper than the wine itself. I flipped the last pieces of fish on the grill, the flesh flaking white and fragrant with garlic and lemon, while Kayla cleared plates with quiet efficiency. The ocean murmured its usual lullaby below the dunes, steady and low.

By nine Sarah was done. She kissed my cheek with breath that smelled sweet and boozy, muttered something about the drive still catching up to her, and climbed the stairs. Her door shut with a soft click. The fan kicked on overhead a moment later, its low whir blending into the night sounds. Silence settled over the deck like a blanket, thick and expectant.

Kayla looked at me across the table, her smile small and certain. “Hot tub again? I could use it after all that sun.”

My heart gave a single hard thud. We both knew what had happened under the outdoor shower the night before—hands, mouths, the edge we’d teetered on without falling. I nodded anyway.

She went inside first. I stripped down to my board shorts and eased into the water, the heat wrapping around my legs, then my waist, bubbles rising in lazy spirals. The underwater lights glowed soft amber tonight, turning the surface into a shifting mirror of gold. Steam lifted into the cool air, carrying the faint mineral tang of the tub mixed with distant salt. I sank deeper, letting the jets knead the small of my back, and waited.

When she stepped out, the bikini was the same electric blue, but the way she wore it felt different—hips rolling with quiet confidence, strings tied a fraction looser at the sides. The triangles of fabric clung to the full curve of her breasts, the cool breeze already tightening her nipples into visible peaks. She crossed the deck without hurry, dipped one toe in to test, then slid down opposite me. Water swallowed her up to her collarbones. For a minute we just sat there, the bubbles popping softly around us, the dark house windows reflecting faint outlines of our bodies like a private stage.