Olivia whispered. Becca hummed her agreement but didn’t take her eyes off front and center, which was a pack of three surfers out in the water. Cole, lean and rangy. Tanner, with more bulk to his muscle. Sam, of the broad shoulders and ripped abs. Becca stared at them and took a lick of her ice cream. Olivia stared at them, too, and took a lick of her ice cream. It was Sunday afternoon, and they were both off work. They’d made a pit stop at Lance’s ice cream stand on the pier, where Becca had also bought a bag of ranch-flavored popcorn for herself for later, and then they’d planted themselves on the sand to watch the show. “I’d have paid money for this,” Olivia said. “Who’s the deliciously mocha-skinned one?” “Tanner,” Becca said. “Tanner’s pretty damn fine,” Olivia said. “They’re all fine.” Olivia snorted. “Like you’re looking at anyone besides Sam.” This was true. Still, Becca tore her gaze off the guys to look at her cohort. “How do you know Sam but not Cole or Tanner?”
