Runaway Groom [Ethma]

6

Emma

It's only the knowledge that it's my first and last day at the villa that lets me allow Olivia to talk me into putting on the floral bikini for the kickoff pool party today. That, and the fact that I fully intend to keep my shirt on the entire time.

Then tonight I'll have my ticket home, and I can put this entire mistake behind me.

Olivia hands me a bottle of SPF 50. "Is it too forward if I ask you to put this on my back?"

Our roommate LeAnn bats my hand, knocking the bottle of sunscreen to the ground. "Are you crazy?" she asks Olivia. "Don't have her do it, ask Ethan to do it!"

"Yeah, because I'm sure nobody else will have thought of the whole 'put sunscreen on my back' ploy," Eden says snidely as she arranges her small but perky boobs inside her bandeau bikini.

"I'm not," LeAnn says, plopping down onto her bottom bunk, making her own, more generous boobs bounce within the confines of her hot-pink halter top. "I've got something else in mind."

"Oh?" Eden asks. "What's your plan?"

Olivia gives me a slight eye roll, but I notice all of her attention's on Eden and LeAnn's conversation, as though taking mental notes of the competition's game plan.

I pick the sunscreen off the floor and start applying it to Olivia's back. The girl's skin is gorgeous, but it's alabaster white. She can have Ethan slather a second coat over all of her if she wants, but no way am I letting her out into the tropical sunshine without a base layer.

The unmistakable smell of sunscreen immediately adds to the already scent-drenched room.

Four women living in a small space with two sets of bunk beds (Olivia and I are on the top bunks) and a tiny connected bathroom means that the place smells constantly like perfume, hair spray, mouthwash, shampoo, and now Coppertone.

It's as noxious as it sounds, although most of the girls seem to think the unobstructed view of the Pacific makes the cramped quarters worth it.

Me? Not so much.

I realize I'm going to sound like a spoiled brat here, but I grew up in San Diego. My mom's apartment didn't have a waterfront view—far from it—but weekends spent at the beach are pretty much par for the course.

In other words, it'd take a hell of a lot more than a great view to make this situation more tolerable.

One more day. I can do this.

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking," LeAnn says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though the door to our room's closed. "When I was in high school, I used to spend Saturdays at the pool at my parents' country club. There was this super-hot lifeguard, and all my friends and I had like, the biggest crush, but he never noticed us—"

"Shocker," Eden says cattily, studying her pink-tipped nails.

LeAnn, bless her, doesn't seem to notice Eden's bitchiness. Actually, if I'm being honest, LeAnn doesn't seem to notice much. She's a curvy brunette, with great curly hair and huge blue eyes, but there's something just slightly off about her social skills. At dinner last night, her laughs usually came five seconds too late, and her jokes were a touch too off the wall.

Adding insult to injury, she's a close-talker—you know, one of those people who stands far closer than necessary when speaking to you.

"So anyway," LeAnn is saying, "my friend Karen, she's always been super-clumsy, and one day she slipped and fell at the pool and hit her head—"