The boyfriend of my best friend

“It’s a bikini, just tie the strings, Bianca.”

Siobhan, it’s pronounced ‘Shiv-awn’, spoke through the phone in a high pitch. I could hear the blast of the music station and the splash of the beach waves through my phone. She was probably posed in one of those magazine poses she copied off the numerous fashion magazines in our hotel room and it worked because guys fawned over her. The boys hanging around our umbrella flexing their muscles in a game of beach balls probably didn’t even notice I was gone. Siobhan was enough to hold their attention. She’s just that pretty. I had to leave because the stringy bikini she insisted I wear had decided to come undone just when I was about to join the boys in their games. Now here I am behind an abandoned ice cream kiosk trying to fix it myself.

I tried once again to get a firm grip on the strings holding the front and the back together and once again it slipped off my fingers.

“Need help with that?” a voice said suddenly.

Throwing a glance over my shoulder without seeing who it was that spoke, I answered. “Duh. Don’t just stand there, help me please,” I bit out in frustration.

Cool, strong fingers closed around the strings, pulled tight on them so that the front part of my bikini wasn’t falling apart anymore, and tied them together. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body as he worked expertly on the strings. What is he, a part-time bikini adjuster?

“There,” he stepped back. “All done. Got it tied and hard. Wouldn’t want to show those nice titties to those boys out there, am I right?”

I turned to give him a lash of my tongue at the audacity when I paused and tilted my head to get a really good look at him. Dark eyes, dark brows over them, dark hair blowing in the wind, nice high cheekbones, incredibly sexy, moisturized lips, great smile, very tall, and boy oh boy he’s hot. I’m 18, I’m in my final year in high school and yes I know a hot guy when I see one and this boy tops the chart.

His lips tilted up. “This is the part where you say ‘Thank you',” he whispered leaning toward me a bit.

I was tongue-tied for a bit but somehow I found my tongue. I meant to say thank you, I truly did but he provoked me and the next thing I knew I said, “And this is the part where you apologize for talking about my boobs.”

His eyes sparkled and in the bright summer sun, his eyes drifted down to my chest. My breasts suddenly felt tight and heavy. Why was he staring?!

“But they are nice, aren’t they? A bit on the small size but I’m not a man of discriminating taste.”

“If you’re even a man at all,” I scoffed suddenly exasperated. What kind of man objectifies a woman so cruelly?! “Does that line work on every dimwit girl you try it on?”

“Not when their bikini straps are falling off, no, but usually,” he had the audacity to pretend to think. “Yes, it works pretty well.”

“Ha!” I said with just enough sarcasm to make my tone biting but he simply smirked even more. “You must have dated idiots then.”