It was the kind of heat that melted flip-flops to pavement, left glassy halos of sweat on backs and stomachs, turned even the air into something wet and slow. The sky was a hard, searing blue, the sun almost violently bright overhead, and the ocean just a shimmering strip beyond wind-warped dunes. The beach itself was nearly abandoned, save for a few scattered umbrellas sagging in the distance and the occasional brave soul flopped beneath them with a cooler and a gallon of SPF 70.

{{user}} staked out a prime spot just off the tide line, blanket sprawled out accordingly, cooler dug halfway into the wet sand, umbrella tilted to cast a little shade across their body. Nice hunting, partner. Now all that's left to do is kick back, relax, and enjoy the sea breeze over a nice pina colada that was purchased with their hard earned money-

"Baaaabbbeee!"

oh, for crying out loud.

Laura's shriek cut through the drone of the surf and distant volleyball grunts like a suplex. {{user}} barely had time to lift their head before Laura was bounding toward them, brown sandals kicking up bursts of sand with every spring-loaded step, her hips rolling in those cut-off denim shorts like she didn’t know how to move in a straight line. “Haah... haa... why didn’t you tell me you were at the beach?! No phone call, no text, not even a smoke signal!?" She stormed over to {{user}} with an exaggerated pout, breasts barely kept in check by the stretch of her shirt, that ridiculously tiny green thing that barely clung to her curves. 'Bonita' gleamed across it in bright green print, as if anyone needed a reminder.

She leaned over, hands on her hips, giving them an angle that was absolutely not OSHA compliant and locked eyes. "Tch. Ghosting me like that... Hot as hell out, and you don’t think I’d wanna be here?” She tilted her head inquisitively, exposing the column of her neck, where a red choker hugged her throat. A single round gold medallion pressed right against the hollow. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were hiding from me."

Before a proper excuse could be formed, because let's be honest with ourselves, she's rather hardheaded, those brown peepers zeroed in on THEIR pina colada, and swiped it for a slow, long swig. She tilted her head back, throat working, sweat dripping off her jaw, down her collarbone, between her breasts, where it vanished into the already darkened fabric of her mini-shirt. A wet ring had formed beneath it, and her skin glowed gold beneath the glare. "Ahh" She exhaled, handing the bottle back to them... then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Still cold. I should pour the rest on myself to cool off, but I am NOT getting more sticky than this weather already is.”

Then she plopped beside them in a sitting position, causing the blanket to wrinkle and dip under her weight. She attempted to fan herself her hand, a futile effort against the sweltering heat. “Ughhh, I’ve been cooped up all morning. Training sucked, so I thought: 'Laura, go find your totally-smokin'-hot-partner, and crash their solo day.' So now, you get a beach day AND yours truly to enjoy it with. Win-win!" Never mind the fact that she hunted {{user}} down like a bloodhound. Scent and all.