"Your going out like that?" "It's called a bikini Lawson & we are on our honeymoon which just so happens to involve a beach"
Mike lay resting on the lounge chair, sweatpants and a white t-shirt hung from his frame, a discarded magazine from Ginny’s bag plopped open on his lap. The wind from the beach right outside their villa created a series of echoes that rung out over him, casting a spell of music that made any guest feel instantly more calm, serene than their hectic lives back home.
He can hear bare feet crunching in the sand when he peeks up from the magazine, to see Ginny soaking wet, her curls weighed down with water, the dripping of droplets cascading down every inch of her body that wasn’t covered in the gold bathing suit she had on, which if he were being honest, wasn’t very much hidden. She looked like some kind of sea goddess having emerged from the sea, gracing him with her presence.
“Get off your ass, old man. We’re going swimming,” she says, kicking his leg on the chair, getting his foot wet. But he remains frozen, unable to function with her standing in front of him…like that.
“You uhh,” he tries to form words, and a small grin appears on her face watching him fumble. “You going out like that?” He finally asks her, and her face falls.
“It’s called a bikini, Lawson. We’re on our honeymoon, which just so happens to involve a beach,” she reasons, gesturing towards the ocean that she just came from. “So uhh, yeah, I went swimming in a bathing suit. You gotta problem with that?”
“Nope,” he says, tossing the magazine to the side. “Just was waiting for my invitation to join you,” he says with a cock of his head.
“Is that right?” She says, moving closer to his chair, the water dripping from her hair in stray patterns on his shirt, until she sits down on his lap, his arms immediately coming to wrap around her waist, her toes digging into the sand.
“You know when I suggested the beach for our honeymoon, I didn’t actually expect to see the water all that much,” he jokes with a waggle of his eyebrows.
She smiles a dimpled laugh, pushing at his chest.
“Should’ve known better, Lawson. I love the beach,” she says, her forehead coming to rest on his.
“Noted. Baker, loves the beach,” he sighs.
She shakes her head against him, her hands coming to rest on the sides of his face, resting on his beard.
“Baker-Lawson,” she horsely whispers, before punctuating the meaning with a kiss, that has him pulling her closer by the hips. Her words sinking into him, the realization that she was his wife, a notion he still couldn’t quite grasp, despite his grip on her.
Ginny leans back, biting her bottom lip.
“Race you to the water,” she says, hopping up from him, running backwards for a moment to see if he was coming, a bright smile radiating her face, the sun threatening to dry her.
“Come on, old man,” she teases.
He pretends to slowly get out of the chair, until he gets close to her, and then takes off in a run, and she chases after him.
“Not fair, Lawson,” she yells, as he makes it to the water.
“Funny, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” he teases with a nod to her bikini.