Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,45

impressive armload of gear on me. I’m not sure if we’re about to go snorkeling or launch a SEAL-style beach invasion. But when she gets that mischievous glint in her eyes, I’m putty—so here we are, me carrying the stuff, Hazel dancing on ahead. Which means I get to ogle her ass in a new bikini.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

The new bikini is pink and silky. The top ties around her neck in a big, loopy bow and there are more bows on her hips. I’d like to undo them, but she really wants to swim in the ocean. She leads the way, which means I can stare at her ass. I need to shave when we get back to the room, because I left a mark on the back of her thigh after I convinced her to go a little cowgirl on my face. Hazel’s face still turns the cutest shade of pink when I suggest something new, but she’s game. She’ll try anything once, and if she likes it, she’s back in line for seconds and thirds. So far we haven’t added anything new to her off-limits list.

Actual, bona fide swimming is on her list to try today. As soon as we hit the water, however, it becomes clear that Hazel has never been snorkeling before. She’s also not a natural. She sucks water in through her snorkel, her mask fogs up worse than a San Francisco morning and she has no clue what to do with her fins, although she mutters loudly about “misleading YouTube videos.”

“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses.

Since it’s true, I just wink at her. Hazel is frighteningly competent at most things, which makes her inability to master snorkeling cute.

I’d like to tell you snorkeling’s awesome because everyone deserves the chance to come face-to-face with something as pretty as coral and fish but that’s not the reason. Hazel’s tits in a bikini top are fantastic. They float along, threatening to swim out of the tiny cups and make my day.

Since she’s determined to check out the bay from under the water, I spend some quality time instructing her. A mask and snorkel aren’t the sexiest headgear ever, but Hazel makes it work. I suit her up in a full-on life jacket rather than just a snorkel vest, because even though I’m happy to be her personal pool float, I don’t want to take those kinds of chances with her. Sharks, sea snakes, Mexican Mafia drug runners, even a leg cramp—if I went down, she’d go down, too, and I’m not a fan.

We swim together, or rather I hold her hand, pulling her after me. The snorkeling in Santa Maria Bay isn’t that great. The occasional blue-and-yellow fish darts through the big boulders that line the bay. There’s also a small school of iridescent damselfish that dart around us. Hazel, however, makes excited, happy sounds through her snorkel, so that’s good.

I want to ask her if she’d like to go to Bora Bora or the Maldives. Maybe one of the barrier reefs, in Belize or Australia. But it’s not as if we’re going to be together forever. No matter how much I don’t want things to change between us, eventually they will.

* * *

Dev and Lola tie the knot at sunset. Lola didn’t want anything over-the-top, so they’ve opted for a simple arch covered in white roses and velvety green succulents facing the bay. White candles in little glass pots twinkle from the sand. I typically don’t pay attention to those kinds of details, but Hazel keeps up a running commentary, snapping a million pictures that she promptly texts to her family. Apparently the Coleman clan can never have too many wedding ideas. I inspect the flowers more closely just in case I’ve missed anything.

There’s a green plant with white flowers just on the tip that looks like a dick coming. Hazel smacks my arm when I suggest this, so I shut up.

I’ve honestly never thought much about the actual ceremony. When Molly and I got married, it was about making her happy—and making her mine. It seems unlikely that Dev helped Lola pick out flowers, but what do I know? The two of them walk up the aisle together, hand in hand, barefoot and beaming. They look happy.

They get hitched as the sun goes down. To no one’s surprise, the rings they give each other are custom-made, as are the vows they’ve written. Dev told me on the plane that he doesn’t really care what the