Page 25 of Merry Mischief List
“Fine,” I concede. “In Andi I trust.”
“Thank you.” She beams as we trudge through the warm sand and settle a few yards from the shoreline.
“So are you and Stella sharing score cards, or is this like a ‘we’ll see who won when we’re done’ type of situation?”
“Right now, it’s four to four,” she says, competitive spirit peeking through. “But after today, we should have two more, easy.”
After we’ve arranged our towels, Andi grabs the hem of her oversized Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and tugs it upwards. I tryand failnot to let my eyes drink in every drop of her body as she pulls it off and tosses it in her bag. Her little blue bikini accentuates her curves, and my eyes are drawn to her thick thighs. Crystal Bay cheerleaders aren’t only trained to dance and do a high kick. They’re true gymnasts. Trueathletes.Which is abundantly clear with every definition of muscle on Andi’s body.
“Do you even know who Guns N’ Roses is?” I tease to stop my ogling.
“Really?” Andi says, rubbing a bit of sunscreen into her shoulders, making it harder to look away. “I grew up on NFL and ‘80s rock music. Don’t insult me.”
“You grew up on Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers.”
“And? Why limit yourself? I like to dip my toes in all types of water,” she replies, reaching down to rub lotion onto one of her long legs.I wonder if they feel as soft as they look.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, struggling to look away as she switches legs.
“What’s wrong, Coach? Not used to seeing a girl apply proper sun protection?”
My eyes meet hers. “I think I can handle seeing a beautiful woman in a bathing suit.”
“Beautiful, huh?” She steps away and shoots me a mischievous smile. I clench my jaw, cursing myself for letting the compliment slip. “Thanks again for last night,” she says, tone softening from playful to friendly.
“Of course. I had a good time,” I admit because it’s the truth. It was the most actual fun I’ve had in months. My routine, while great for winning games and succeeding in my career, doesn’t leave much room for it. I try to get out once or twice a month to blow off a little steam. Okay, to be honest, Knoxforcesme out, but even still, I could probably use more of it.
My eyes swing to Andi bending down to get something out of her bag, and I curse the little voice in my head reminding me she’s a bad idea. It doesn’t matter if she’s beautiful or funny or has the confidence of a Super Bowl winning quarterback. I can never have her.
“Alright, Porter,” Andi says, pulling me out of my personal TED Talk. She’s wiggling two sand buckets and small shovels at me. “Time to build some snowmen.”
“Snow?”Just trust the process, Porter, and stop questioning everything.
“Sandmen, whatever.” She waves me off. “Obviously a true snowman is out, so I figured it’s the actualshapeof the snowman that matters. We’re gonna make the fattest, roundest sand snowman ever created. And then I’m gonna be one check mark closer to beating Stella.”
“Alright.” I grab the shovel and a bucket. “Let’s make some snow babies.”
After one hour and three hundred buckets of sand, we’re finally done.
“What do you think?” Andi asks, posing proudly next to her life-size sandman complete with a mangrove seed nose, seashell button eyes, and matching mouth.
“I think that’s the best sand snowman you could make in these conditions.”
“In these conditions?” she scoffs. “This is the best there couldeverbe. A sandman masterpiece, if I say so myself.” She pats the back of the “snowman,” and the head tumbles off, splatting against the ground. “Shit.”
“Nobody has to know,” I say, bending down and molding what’s left of the head with some water we had in a pail and plop it back on.
“Who’s gonna know?” She shrugs casually.
“No one’sgonna know,” I repeat.
We tilt our heads staring at the now deformed “snowman.”
“It said I had to make one. Didn’t say it had to live.” Her eyes glide to mine. “I’m counting it.”
“Oh, definitely.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “A win is a win.”
“A winisa win,” she responds. “Okay, next item on the list!”
