I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet

“Mrr.”

I don’t want to wake up. My head’s still fuzzy from last night, all stuffed full of cotton balls. My breath tastes like island booze and morning. I drape the back of my hand over still-closed eyes, appreciating that extra bit of darkness before I move to shift closer to the warm body next to me. It’s colder in the room than it should be, which is my first clue that Something Is Not Right, but just a little more sleep sounds a lot more awesome than getting up to turn down the A/C.

Nuzzling at Chase’s chest, I tuck freezing toes under his legs, sleepily tugging at the sheet to pull it up over my shoulders. Only the sheet’s all wrong, too, and I reluctantly crack open an eye.

“When’d you get Egyptian cotton?”

Okay, this looks good.

Beautiful sunny day, a stack of magazines to flip through, a killer outfit, and nothing but the sound of the waves to keep me company while I catch up on all the outdated celebrity gossip. It should be paradise. People pay thousands of dollars for this exact kind of vacation.

Except I'm bored out of my mind. Ugh. I make it halfway through a Janet van Dyne fashion retrospective until I decide I've had enough lounging to last me a lifetime and shove the magazine back under the rock I've been using to prevent them all from flying away. Untying my sarong, I bunch it into a ball and shove it into my sunhat to keep its shape, sliding my sunglasses around the brim.

I squint out towards the ocean. The waves aren't too bad today, meaning I might actually get a decent swim out of the deal instead of wishing I had a surfboard. Toeing off my flip flops, I make a run for it, biting back a totally badass shriek at the temperature change and barreling forward 'til I'm thigh deep in the water.