Finding Love Is A Real Bitch

The pool was too bright for secrets, which was exactly why Claire Marlowe had chosen this spot.

She lay stretched along a poolside lounger with seven other women fanned out like they’d been arranged for impact - straw hats and sunscreen shine, iced drinks sweating into condensation, the low thrum of summer music leaking from somewhere behind the palm trees. Claire’s long, soft red hair spread over her shoulder like a banner she hadn’t meant to wave. The air smelled like chlorine and toasted sugar from the breakfast bar, warm enough that her skin felt awake even when her brain wanted to be off.

A man sat two loungers down, close enough to catch her attention without making it a thing. He had that effortless resort confidence - shirt unbuttoned in a way that suggested he’d practiced it in a mirror, not because he needed to. When he laughed at something one of the women beside him said, the sound rolled toward Claire like a dare.

He’d been noticing her too. Not in a crude, stare-and-grab way - more like he liked the fact that she noticed him back. When their eyes met earlier, he’d offered a small smile, the kind that didn’t ask permission.

Claire shifted, letting the sun warm the curve of her collarbone, and lifted her water bottle in a lazy toast toward him - just a gesture, light as a flip of a page. If he wanted the flirtation, he’d have to step into it. She wasn’t handing out her attention like free samples.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and called, “You’re the only one who looks like she’s actually relaxing.”

It landed in her chest with a little spark. Not because it was a compliment. Because it was specific. Because he’d been watching long enough to know she wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t checking her phone every thirty seconds like she was waiting for someone to disappoint her.

Claire turned her head fully this time, letting the sun catch her hair. “Relaxing is overrated,” she said, and heard how her voice softened on the last word.

He smiled wider, like she’d given him the right answer to a question he hadn’t asked out loud. “Then what’s your thing?”

Claire should’ve said something charming and harmless. Something that didn’t invite him to try. Instead, she glanced sideways at the row of women - their chatter, their bright manicures, the way they watched everything without looking like they were watching - and decided to be a little wicked.

“My thing,” she said, “is making people think I’m calm when I’m actually… chaos with good posture.”

The woman closest to Claire snorted. Not cruel, just caught off guard. The rest of the loungers seemed to tilt their attention in that quiet, communal way women do when something might be fun to talk about later.

The man’s grin faltered for half a beat - like the joke had hit a surface he didn’t expect. Then he recovered, lifting his bottle in a mock salute. “Chaos with good posture. That’s… honestly kind of hot.”

Claire let the words hang. She could feel the shift: the flirtation had moved from playful to charged. Her skin prickled with awareness, the sun suddenly too warm as if it was encouraging her to do something reckless.

“Hot,” she repeated, drawing it out just enough to be a question. “Coming from you, that’s a dangerous compliment.”

He scooted his lounger a few inches closer, wet sand whispering under the wheels. “Dangerous is my love language.”

Claire laughed, the sound bright and easy - too easy. She didn’t laugh like that often anymore. Her laugh had become careful, rationed, like joy was something you could run out of if you spent it too fast.

One of the women beside her - Natalia, if Claire remembered right from introductions earlier - said, “Careful, Claire. He’ll steal your sunscreen.”

Claire’s mouth twitched. “I’m not letting anyone steal anything. I’m a grown woman with strong boundaries.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Claire’s face, then to her hand where she’d been twisting the cap of her water bottle. “You seem like you keep receipts.”

“Only the ones that matter,” Claire said, and leaned back, letting the pool sparkle in the corner of her vision. The music thinned out for a moment as a gust of air carried the sound away. All she heard was water slapping the side of the pool and distant laughter.

He followed her gaze to the water and chuckled. “So what’s the chaos part?”

Claire’s brain, traitor that it was, went for the simplest truth. “It’s… I try to be easy to be around,” she said, like she was talking about weather. “And then someone says the wrong thing and I turn into a whole storm.”

He looked at her then - really looked. His charm didn’t vanish, but it slowed, like he was giving her space to land.

“I don’t think you’re stormy,” he said quietly.

Claire felt heat rise under her skin that had nothing to do with the sun. She rolled her shoulder, smoothing the strap of her bikini top. “You haven’t seen the part where I regret everything five minutes later.”

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