I wake up with the sun doing everything it can to blind me. The golden rays stream in between the half-opened blinds and slash right across my face. But, for the first time in a long time, I am not complaining.

Gracyn is lying on her stomach, wedged partly underneath me. My arm snaked around her waist, leg twined between hers, I’m completely wrapped around her, breathing in the warm vanilla scent of her hair, the strands tangled with mine.

I don’t remember ever waking up like this with Sarah. Completely intertwined and undeniably comfortable. Other than our little hiccup—okay, it was a medium-sized hiccup at the very least—being with Gracyn is the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time.

The way we move with each other, the way we fit together …

The shit we’ve talked about …

Never have I felt this kind of connection before.

Her skin pebbles beneath my fingers as I trace her faint tan lines. The fact that they are so defined across her ass and tits and just barely visible on her back is hot as fuck.

Gracyn starts to squirm, her ass sliding against my morning wood.

And can we just acknowledge the fact that my dick’s perseverance should be commended?

When Gracyn finally gave in last night and used her words—her dirty fucking words begging me to make her scream—we burned through every condom we had between the two of us. And he’s still willing and interested, and he has absolutely risen to the occasion.

“Babe, you’re gonna start something we can’t finish.” I push the hair away from the back of her neck, placing soft kisses down the column of warm skin.

She groans and pushes back even more, wiggling until she’s rolled over, facing me. “You should go get some more condoms,” she says while lazily tracing letters on the skin across my chest, spelling, S-A-F-E-T-Y F-I-R-S-T.

I enclose her fingers in my hand, squeezing slightly before bringing them to my lips. “Not gonna happen, babe. Not unless you get your sweet ass out of bed and come with me.”

God help me, Gracyn needs to stop rubbing up against me.

“What guy goes on spring break with only two condoms?” she asks, trailing her hand from my lips to down my chest until it’s wrapped firmly around my cock. Stroking my length, she twists her wrist on each upstroke.

A groan rumbles from the back of my throat as her lips follow the path her fingers just danced, her tongue darting out to swirl the tip of my cock.

“Not on spring break, babe,” I rasp as she palms my balls, wrapping her pillow-soft lips around me, sliding over my head. Mercy. “Who brings a shit-ton of them on a business trip?”

And, just like that, my joy and bliss, my thoughts of ecstasy, come to a screeching halt. The air shifts as Gracyn pulls back and pushes herself up off the bed, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

I’m lost … like fucking lost on what just happened here.

“Gracyn?” I rub my hand down my face as I roll off the bed and head for the en suite. “Babe, what … what’s going on?”

The shower coming on is the only response I get.

The knob turns easily, and I push my way into the small space that’s already filling with steam. I lean my bare ass against the countertop, ankles crossed, hands on the surface behind me, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

“You can come in,” she says without much conviction.

And wait.

“I know you’re out there.”

And wait.

She whips the shower curtain back and glares at me. “What?”

“I obviously struck a nerve,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

Naked apologies. There is something to be said for naked apologies because, as the coiled tension starts to ease out, her shoulders droop, and her head bows.

“No, I’m sorry. Just … just come take a shower. I don’t want to talk about it.” She steps back under the spray, making room for me in the shower.

“Nah, I’ll wait and let you have some space. Just wanted to apologize.” I push off the counter and head back out to the bedroom. I pull on my shorts and use the other bathroom out in the hall to take a piss.

The tension is palpable by the time we’re both cleaned up and ready for the day, and like any immature asshole out there, we grit our teeth and dance around each other until the tension dissipates, naturally misting off into the atmosphere.

Well, that sucks. Two steps forward and one step back. But really? What the fuck? It shouldn’t even matter.

Blow jobs are not a right. They’re a fucking privilege, and sometimes, the shit that comes out of the other person’s mouth … sours the mood.

It’s not like I owe him an explanation or anything. This is a fling … a spring fling and nothing more.

It’s early, and the beach is pretty empty. Coffee cups in hand, we stroll along the water’s edge, watching little kids dance in and out of the water, waves chasing them, bright-colored pails swinging from their hands.

The rolling tide of the beach demographics is fascinating. Families with young kiddos in the mornings, sprinkled with the occasional collegiate walk of shame from the night before. The hungover tend to come out later when the families are heading in for lunch and naptime.

Back and forth, flood and recede … ebb and flow.

Gavin gives a chin lift to a walker of shame. The guy looks vaguely familiar and veers toward us when Gavin lifts his coffee cup in the guy’s direction.

“Nathaniel, you just getting in?”

They do the guy-hug thing, and the guy shakes his head. “No, I just had to get out of the room. Kane had, uh … a lot of company?” He finishes like it’s a question but tries to laugh it off before smiling at me and thrusting his hand out to me. “Hey, I’m Nate.”

“Gracyn.” I shake his hand “You’re in the band, right?” I ask, tilting my head so that the sun’s not blinding me.

“Yeah, I’m the other guy on strings, but Gavin’s the one everyone loves.” He shrugs a little, like it’s no big deal.

Gavin pulls his room key from his wallet and holds it out to Nate. “Here, we can switch up roommates. Kane’s too much to take for an entire week, man. Just move my shit and give me your key.”

Nate swaps out keys with Gavin and looks absolutely relieved. “Thanks, man. I haven’t slept in days. And I’m fucking sick of his leftovers trying to crawl into bed with me.” His eyes go wide, and he looks over at me. “Sorry, I—”

Popping my hand up between us, my palm out in surrender, I cut him off, “I probably don’t need to know.”

“He’s the singer. It’s just …” Poor Nate is shuffling from one foot to the other, and his cheeks are flaming red.

“Nuff said. I’ve seen him in action.”

Both sets of eyebrows fly high at me.

“Not like that. No. Nope. Hard pass.” I laugh at the idea of having firsthand knowledge of anything that has to do with their front man.

He exudes sex and bad decisions. It rolls off of him, crashing into those around him like the waves hitting the sand. Beautiful and savage, shifting and destructive, and sometimes knocking you on your ass.