“I’m good for now,” I say. “I’m not that hungry.”
Ella smiles, nods, and leaves. At least she’s making an effort. I was expecting her to be like a stereotypical wicked stepmother. But so far, she hasn’t handed me any mops.
With my hair damp, I braid it and slip back into bed. I’m not going to the beach until the afternoon, and I can’t stop myself from yawning after waking up so early, so a quick power nap is the only way to go.
*
“Tiffani and Megs are already there,” Rachael says the second I get inside her car, five hours later. She arches her eyebrows and looks me up and down. “You look like you just woke up.”
“I did,” I say. “Twenty minutes ago.”
“Okay, I get that it’s summer, but waking up at”—she taps the clock on the radio—“12:20 p.m. is a little lazy, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes, working my fingers through my hair to ensure I’ve fully undone the braids. I’m left with mermaid waves—perfect for the beach and up to Rachael’s standards. I pull my floral kimono tighter around my body. “I was up super early.”
“Why?”
“I went for a run.”
Rachael snorts. “Okay, my earlier statement is now dismissed. Have you been to the pier yet?”
I slip on my sunglasses and turn to face her, watching her closely as she focuses on the road. “The thing with the Ferris wheel? I saw it this morning. I jogged down the highway.”
“Yeah, that’s the pier,” Rachael confirms. “We can check it out later if we have time.”
It’s extremely hot out today, with only a slight breeze finding its way in from the Pacific, but it’s refreshing so I don’t complain, especially now the fog has been burned off. Portland isn’t exactly a city known for its beaches, mostly because it has none. There are the odd few so-called “beaches” by lakes or along the Willamette River, but nothing on the scale of the beach here. It runs along the edge of the city for miles before meeting up with Venice Beach and has a constant flow of visitors.
Rachael finds a parking spot in the lot by the pier, and I grab my bag and step out. It took me ten minutes back at the house to convince myself to even put a bikini on, and now that I have, I know it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made. While Rachael fetches her towel and speakers from the trunk, I make sure my shorts are tight and my kimono is fully spread over me. There’s absolutely no way I’m taking my clothes off.
“Okay,” Rachael says as she walks around to meet me at the front of the car, her sunglasses pushed up as she squints at her phone. “Meghan says they’re by the volleyball courts next to Perry’s, sooooooo they’re over there somewhere.” She points off to the right. It must be difficult to find the people you are looking for on a beach this big, but thanks to technology, the struggle is minimized.
I follow Rachael from the lot onto the sand, my flip-flops flapping around my feet in the most uncomfortable of ways, and we walk for a good five or so minutes before finally spotting Tiffani and Meghan. It’s hard not to—they’re on their feet and waving their arms around like maniacs.
“Guys!” Tiffani calls. “You just missed some cute guy ask Meg for her number.”
I glance over at Meghan, and she sheepishly drops back down to the sand again, color flooding to her cheeks. “He’s from Pasadena,” she murmurs, biting her lip.
As Tiffani settles back onto the sand too, I follow suit with Rachael by laying down my towel and getting comfy. I cross my legs and smile. The beach really is huge, with rows of tiny stores behind us and cycle routes and guys hurling volleyballs at one another.
“So, Rach,” Tiffani says, raising a brow from behind her sunglasses, “what happened with you and Trevor on Saturday?”
Rachael smirks, rolls her eyes, and looks away. “Nothing,” she says, but she’s still smiling.
“Nothing my ass,” Meghan shoots. “I’m guessing third base this time, because a home run two weeks in a row isn’t your thing. Am I right or am I right?”
Rachael stays silent for a long moment and then finally whispers, “You’re right,” before laughing. She pulls off her lace cover-up and tosses it to the side, lying down on her back and getting comfortable. I notice how perfect her figure is, how long her legs and how flat her stomach is. The perfect body to complement her mint bikini.
“Eden, what even happened to you at the party?” Tiffani asks, and I’m so distracted by Rachael’s legs that it takes me by surprise.
“What?”
“Where did you go?” She sits up her equally perfect body and looks at me from behind her shades. “Who’d you go home with? What’s his name?”