His little gray swim bottoms are probably smaller than…

““His little gray swim bottoms are probably smaller than mine, potbelly hanging over the top of them. I lean toward Darren and whisper, “Take a picture of that. Five euros.” We both look back at the man just as he sheds his bottoms, revealing, well, everything. “Oh, sick out ,” I screech, shrinking down and looking for something to hide under. I’ve seen a few sets of breasts on the beach so far--which is a little uncomfortable, though Darren does a good job pretending he doesn’t see--but this is completely different. I grab a towel and throw it over my head, laughing uncontrollably. Darren sits down cross-legged, our knees touching, and adjusts the towel to cover both of us. His lips fight back a smile. “I can’t believe you’re hiding from that fine specimen of a man,” he says. “I’m sure he’d love it if you helped him reapply his sunscreen.” “Thanks for that visual nightmare!” I’m laughing so hard, I’m crying. I just saw some dude’s thing. Just hanging out there. Morgan is going to die when she hears about this. “Did he put it away yet?” I ask. Darren peeks out from under the towel. “He’s still changing into his clothes.” I meet his eyes as I recover, catching my breath. We’re too close. Our lungs-are-sharing-the-same-moist-air close. The thick towel blocks most of the sunlight from overhead, but it reflects off the sand, illuminating our faces from underneath. We sit perfectly still, holding the gaze. This could be it. The moment Darren kisses me. He raises a hand and I hold my breath…but all he does is lift the edge of the towel to look out. “He’s done now. Aren’t you disappointed?””

— Kristin Rae