Later, when the sun bled orange and purple into the lake, Leo sat on the dock, a towel around his shoulders, the bikini now a memory in a trash can. Mia sat beside him, her polka-dotted shoulder touching his. They weren’t talking about the dare. They were talking about the first issue of a comic book she’d secretly loved as a kid, and he was telling her he had a mint copy in his closet.
Three heads swiveled toward him. Leo, in his baggy swim trunks and faded t-shirt. Leo, who spent more time reading comic books under a tree than showing off his abs. He felt his face ignite.
She was standing in the shallows, water lapping at her shins. Her carefully constructed cool had shattered. Her eyes were wide, not with the mockery he expected, but with a raw, naked wonder. She looked at him—not at the suit, but at him —as if she was seeing him for the very first time. bikini dare
Inside, it smelled of old wood and damp concrete. He shucked off his t-shirt and trunks. The bikini was absurdly small. He fumbled with the ties, his fingers clumsy. The bottoms were a brief so minimal it felt like a suggestion. The top was two tiny triangles and a series of knots he had to figure out by feel. When he was done, he looked in the cracked mirror.
For the first time all summer, the air didn’t smell like competition. It just smelled like rain and lake water and the beginning of something neither of them had a name for yet. Later, when the sun bled orange and purple
“You were scared,” he said, simply. “I wasn’t.”
“No way,” Mia said, but her voice cracked. “That thing’s a lawsuit.” They were talking about the first issue of
She reached out and, very gently, touched the absurd green string tied over his collarbone. Her fingers were cool from the lake.