Contrary to their expectations, Marc and Theresa managed to beat them to the cottage by a good half hour, and had already unpacked and gotten in beach mode by the time John and Sara arrived. As he walked in the door overburdened by bags, he was greeted by the sight of Theresa standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips, in a black bikini and sheer white sarong around her waist.
Although she did not have the kind of classically beautiful face that Sara possessed, she was nonetheless a beauty—tall, thin, and blessed with the kind of rack that people have historically fought wars over. They were, indeed, sensational, large without being sloppy and despite the flimsy structure of the bikini top heaving straight out and perpendicular to her body. John felt that tightness again for a moment until Marc appeared out of the dining room and shouted "What's shakin', guys?"
Marc was a classic good time guy, the type who never seemed to have a care in the world and was always on the prowl for fun. He clapped his hands together, standing shirtless in his bathing suit. Marc was a big guy—broad-chested, muscular, tall—and as Sara walked in behind him John could have sworn that she was gawking at him for a moment until she snapped out of it and greeted them. "Hey guys, I can't believe that you beat us here?"
"I know, right?" said Marc. "I guess there's a first time for everything."
"We were just going to walk down to the beach—you've got to check it out," said Theresa. "Did you know this place has its own private beach area?"
"Well," John said, "it's not technically private, but the owner said that the only people have real access to it are the couple of houses on this street."
"Whatever it is, it's empty, man. Unpack and meet us down there in ten?" Marc asked. "We only have a couple good hours of sun left."
"Sounds like a plan," said Sara, smiling. For the first time in a while, it struck John as a real, genuine smile.
***** They unpacked quickly and rushed down to beach. Sara wore a one-piece, red swinsuit, which John thought a shame, but he knew had also brought a bikini because he had seen once poking out of her bag as she unpacked.
Need to work on that one, he thought.
The four of them quickly settled into the familiar rhythm they had when hanging out together, spending a few hours on the beach, grilling some fish for dinner, and plowing through three bottles of rosé by the time they were relaxing under the stars on the patio, drifting casually and effortlessly through the conversation. Everyone had a good buzz, and Sara struck John as particularly giggly.
As the conversation begun to wind down Marc, in a classic Marc moment, stood up out of his chair, clapped his hands loudly and yelled "You know what? It can't be vacation unless there's Tequila. Prepare yourselves." He turned and disappeared back in the cottage, heading for the kitchen.
"I don't know," Sara said, "I'm really tired. I think I might head to bed."
"You can't!" said Theresa. "There's no better way to kick off vacation that a couple shots... . Besides, it's not even 10:00 pm. It's not like you've got school tomorrow." Theresa shot what might have been mistaken for a friendly, encouraging look to Sara, but John knew it for what it was. For as long as he had known Sara and Theresa, despite their deep and serious friendship there had always been a fierce competitiveness on the surface.
Theresa's gambit worked. "Alright," said Sara with a hint of defiance, "but if we're gonna party, let's really party."
"Woo-hoo!" shouted Theresa. "Hey Marc," she shouted, "get your ass out here with some shot glasses!"
Marc reappeared with a bottle of Don Julio and four shot glasses.
John was amazed—Marc served up three rounds of shots over the course of the next half hour, and Sara knocked back every one. By now the whole group, and especially the ladies, had gone from buzzed to truly drunk. The conversation morphed into a walk down memory lane, and by the third shot had managed to land on Marc and Theresa's sexual exploits together in college.
"You do realize," said Sara laughing, "that the rest of us on the hall heard you two doing it every night for, like, all of sophomore year?" Theresa's eyes went wide. "No way!" she cried. John was surprised that Sara was being so frank; she was no prude, but he realized she must be drunker then he thought to push the conversation in this direction.
"Totally," said Sara. "And you were so LOUD! For the first few weeks we thought you were watching a porno movie it was so loud."
