"Thank god," she muttered. "I'm shit at that."
No kidding. She hadn't potted a thing except the white. She was very good at potting the white.
I headed out to the bar while they got their things together and poked their heads in the kitchen. There was barely anyone in the bar, which wasn't a surprise for a Sunday, even in the summer. Mostly everyone was recovering from the night before and doing family stuff. I told Sienna where I was going and reminded her to call if it got busier. By the time I was done mixing our drinks, the girls emerged from the kitchen with some take-out boxes, so I put our drinks into some tumblers with the bar's logo with "This is definitely vodka" written on them.
That drew some chuckles. There was definitely vodka inside those tumblers. That was why I liked them.
I waved goodbye to Sienna and we made our way down to the beach.
***
The soft sand shifted as I sunk my toes into it. It was mostly golden, but tiny flecks of both darker and lighter grains reflected through it, stealing my attention as they all flowed together, moving to make way for my feet.
Our finished take-out containers were dumped in a pile to our side, and Lani had been keeping an eye on a seagull that ventured too close, clapping her hands and screeching at it every now and then.
This was a 'now.'
"You know that egg in Harry Potter? The one with the clue?" I said, staring at her. "You sound like that when it's opened outside of water."
She turned her head around and met my eyes. "It's keeping the seagull away."
"Or you could get the boxes and put them in the trash," Camille drawled.
She was right. We were only feet away from the sidewalk, which meant in less than two minutes, we'd be able to get rid of the trash and sit back down.
"Give them here." I stood and held out my hands.
Lani passed them up to me, and I tucked them against my body with a careful glance in the direction of the seagull. I wasn't interested in losing my hand to a seagull just because it decided it was hungry.
Thankfully, I managed to get rid of the boxes without any harm coming to me from the seagull, although he did turn his attention to the trashcan as I joined the girls again.
"So," Lani started. "Parker."
I blinked and looked out at the Dalmatian playing in the water.
"Yes. Parker," Camille continued.
The Dalmatian jumped to avoid some light spray from a wave.
"Oh, good, she's ignoring us."
The echoes of a few barks traveled up the sea breeze to where we were sitting.
"You'd think she'd know better by now," Lani mused.
"We're like dogs with a bone," Camille agreed.
"What are you doing?" Brett's-strangely welcome-voice carried over their going on. "Who's ignoring who?"
"Raven's ignoring us because we want to know about Parker," Lani explained.
He snorted. "Smart chick."
I smirked as I glanced his way.
"Watch it," Lani warned him.
"But of course she should listen to you, kitten," he said, surprisingly without an inch of sarcasm. He sat next to her and draped his arm over her shoulder. "You speak total sense all the time."
Lani cleared her throat. She wasn't buying it.
I leaned forward with a grimace. "You almost had it believable. You should have stopped before you sat down."
"Damn it. Overcompensation," he muttered, shaking his head. "Do I get points for trying?"
I nodded while Lani and Camille shook their heads.
Outnumbered. He was always outnumbered with these two.
"Really," he drawled. "This from the two bugging her about something she clearly doesn't want to talk about?"
"Suck up," Camille said under her breath.
He flipped his twin sister the bird.
"It's been ever since they got here," I told him. "Yet if I bring up Xavier or you and they don't want to talk about it, crickets would probably lay eggs in my pillowcase and chirp all damn night."
"That's because he and I are assholes," Brett answered.
"You assume Parker isn't."
"Assume Parker isn't what?"
I turned and looked back as the voice of the subject of far too many of my thoughts and conversations traveled through the air. He'd changed out of what he'd been wearing all day into some brown chino shorts and a white polo shirt that fit his muscular upper body a little too comfortably. Forcing myself to look away from his arms and up to his face, I wrinkled my nose and said, "An asshole. Brett's assuming you're not an asshole. Incorrectly, I might add."
"Dunno," Lani said. "Brett is the authority on assholes."
"On being an asshole," he quickly corrected her. "Not assholes in general."