Chapter 2

The next morning, Tina roused early, stretching before rolling out of her bed. She paused and shook her head at Lindsay, splayed across the adjacent bed, one nipple peeking out from under the rumpled Egyptian cotton sheet like a pink half-moon. She ordered room service breakfast: fresh fruit platters, eggs Benedict, and mimosas, then made a cup of coffee with the in-room Keurig, inhaling the rich aroma as steam curled upward. Throwing on a whisper-thin silk robe, the material cool against her naked body, she took her steaming coffee out onto the balcony to wait for breakfast to arrive. The morning air caressed her bare skin as she settled into a wicker chair that creaked beneath her weight. She sipped her coffee, savoring the bitter warmth on her tongue while watching the golden sunlight fracture into a thousand diamond sparkles across the azure waters of the resort’s private beach, where early-rising staff were already arranging pristine white loungers in perfect rows beneath swaying palms.

She heard Lindsay mumbling something about the ungodly hour before clomping onto the balcony in a shapeless hotel robe, her hair a wild tangle, carrying her own cup of java. She blinked at the brightness and then plopped down in the chair next to Tina and cradled her mug between both hands, sighing as she sipped.

They sat in silence for a beat, the easy silence of friends who’d long ago grown familiar with the edges and bulges of conversation. Down below, the sounds of the resort began a gradual crescendo: shouts of children, the punctuated calls of beach vendors selling parasailing and jet skis, the unctuous drone of the hotel’s steel drum band already tuning up by the poolside bar. Lindsay shaded her eyes with one hand, tracking a squadron of pelicans strafing the surf. “Any regrets about yesterday?” she asked quietly.

Tina considered, tracing a fingertip along the rim of her coffee mug. There were a few. She regretted not sucking Eric’s cock, she regretted leaving the tiki hut with a splinter in her palm, but nothing that truly mattered. “Nope,” she said with a casual shrug. “You?”

Lindsay snorted, a caramel-colored froth of coffee bubbling at the corner of her mouth before she caught it with the tip of her tongue. “I regret not getting fucked by all three of those guys at once,” she said, eyes glinting with mischief. “I mean, two was great, but if that third kid hadn’t blown his load so early, he could have been in my ass.”

“Ewww,” Tina retorted, wrinkling her nose.

Before Lindsay could respond, a sharp triple knock rattled the door to their room, followed by a man’s lilting Caribbean accent calling out, “Room service.”

Tina cinched her robe tighter and padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to answer the door. She opened it to find a tall steward in a starched white jacket with gold epaulets that was a sharp contrast with his deep ebony skin. He balanced the breakfast tray with the solemnity of a ritual and stepped inside. “Good morning,” Tina greeted him cheerfully. “Would you mind setting up out there?” she asked, gesturing toward the sliding glass doors.

“As you wish,” he replied with a brilliant white smile. He moved with practiced efficiency, unfurling a crisp white tablecloth that snapped in the breeze before settling onto the glass-topped table. With balletic precision, he arranged the silver-domed plates, crystal flutes, and a small vase containing a single crimson hibiscus bloom. Tina signed the bill with a flourish, adding a generous tip, and rejoined Lindsay on the balcony.

They attacked breakfast with the gleeful abandon of people who had decided calories did not exist within the boundaries of the Caribbean. Lindsay dipped a slice of mango into her mimosa, the pulpy orange flesh absorbing the champagne’s effervescence before she brought it to her lips and ate it, sucking the tangy-sweet juices from her fingertips one by one. Across the table, Tina stabbed her fork into a quivering mound of hollandaise-drenched eggs, lifting the bite to her mouth and letting out a happy little moan with each deliberately savory swallow. They laughed and chit-chatted, and at one point Lindsay squirted mimosa through her nose at Tina’s impression of her ex’s orgasm face.

With their plates empty and streaked with remnants of their feast, Lindsay tilted her head back, capturing the final swallow of her third mimosa, the bubbles tickling her upper lip. She placed the crystal flute on the table with a musical tap. “So,” she said, “what’s the plan for today?”

Tina sat back in her chair and took a small sip of her morning cocktail, “Well,” she said, her lips curving into a conspiratorial smile that dimpled her right cheek, “I did a little research on my phone last night while you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Lindsay protested.

“Yes, you do,” Tina countered with a slight smirk, “little puppy snores. It’s kinda cute.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and took another sip of mimosa. “As I was saying, I did some research last night and discovered there’s a nude beach about twenty minutes up the coast. Supposedly, it’s tucked between these two massive rock formations, totally secluded, and I thought we could grab one of those convertibles they rent in the lobby and go check it out.”

Lindsay mulled this for a second, her bottom lip captured between her teeth, brows pinched together, all the while glancing at Tina through the slits of her eyelashes. “You? The same Tina who used to wear those high-necked Speedo monstrosities at the Hendersons’ pool parties?” The same woman who hides behind her locker door at the gym to change? That Tina wants to parade around a nude beach with her tits and ass on full display for everyone?” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched so high in disbelief; they disappeared beneath her tangled bangs.

Tina’s fingers played nervously with the silk belt of her robe. “I dunno?” Her shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “I just want to see what it’s like to be seen, to be looked at. To not give a shit about how my nipples aren’t symmetrical, or the stretch marks on my hips, or what some random pervert thinks when he sees my bare butt.” The words tumbled from her lips, but behind her casual tone, she was thinking about yesterday behind the shack. About how wet her pussy got when she realized anyone could have wandered around the corner and caught her naked with her legs spread and a cock buried inside her.

Lindsay dabbed the corner of her mouth with a crisp white napkin, her eyes narrowing, gauging her friend’s commitment. “Okay, what the fuck?” she said, tossing the napkin onto her empty plate with a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Let’s go get naked for the world.”

After showering and getting ready, they decided what to wear. Since they weren’t going to need them, they passed on the swimsuits and opted for sundresses. Tina selected a tangerine-colored number with thin spaghetti straps that clung to her curves before flaring at the hips; Lindsay opted for a cerulean blue floral print with a plunging neckline that made her eyes pop. Neither one of them bothered with underwear, the bare sensation both illicit and liberating against the featherlight fabrics. They completed their outfits with enormous tortoiseshell sunglasses and floppy straw hats, tacky souvenirs from one of the beachfront shops. Into a weathered canvas tote went the essentials: Tina’s phone, a bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen, beach towels splashed with gaudy tropical patterns, and Evian that was already beading with condensation.

The car rental agency was housed in a hut at the edge of the resort, painted in a migraine-inducing palette of hot pink and slime green. Inside, a bored teenage girl with an intricate tattoo peeking out from under her pale yellow uniform shirt and a nose ring barely batted an eye as they signed for a candy-apple red convertible shaped like a jellybean. Lindsay hopped behind the wheel, and Tina set the bag on the floor and climbed in, feet propped on the dash, her sundress riding high up her thighs. The engine let out a fitful cough before catching, the car’s speakers immediately blaring out reggae at an improbable volume as they zipped away from the resort.

They took the highway north, following the GPS on the phone, a thin blue line snaking upward along the coast. When the GPS chirped “Destination on left,” they followed a single-lane dirt road down to a small gravel parking lot where Lindsay parked between a battered Land Cruiser and an old, faded mint green Volkswagen van.

Tina flung the fraying canvas tote bag over her shoulder, and the pair hiked down a sandy path that snaked between spindly palms and flowering hibiscus. The beach revealed itself gradually, a perfect crescent carved between two jagged, rocky outcrops, white, powder sand stretching perhaps a half-mile. The shallows beyond rippled in bands of impossible blue; first aquamarine, then turquoise, then a deep cobalt that merged with the horizon. Over the leftmost outcrop, a thirty-foot waterfall cascaded in ribbons of silver, tumbling over moss-slicked black rock before dissolving into the silken tide with a constant hiss, throwing up a gossamer cloud of mist that caught the morning light in fleeting rainbows. Anchored just beyond the shallows, a brilliant white catamaran bobbed gently, its twin hulls casting elongated shadows on the seabed below.

Lindsay and Tina stopped at the bottom of the path, their bare feet sinking into the warm, sugar-fine sand. Tina fidgeted with the hem of her sundress, twisting the delicate fabric until it wrinkled between her knuckles. Lindsay’s eyes, shielded behind her sunglasses, methodically scanned the beach, lingering on a couple whose bronzed bodies stretched out on matching towels, their nakedness as casual as their conversation. “Are we really doing this?” Tina whispered.