Beretta tries to grab my bag as we climb out, but I keep it tucked tight to my side. He laughs as the three lead me down a stairway of cement steps, half hidden by overgrown poppies. They curve to the right at the end, leading us toward a beach cave.

I slow, running my eyes along the spongy-looking rock arch, the opening, the shape of a gemstone; the inside, a shadowy pit of who knows what. There are a lot of these around here, different shapes and sizes, in various lengths from the ocean, some even half full of water.

The guys trek up the small trail to the entrance, turning toward me, and while it looks different from one to the next, humors marked on each of their faces.

Their premature judgment is misplaced but understandable.

I’m wearing solid white and my heels cost more than all of their shoes combined. My hoops are large and solid gold, and yes, visually speaking, I can’t deny I’ve got full-on spoiled, rich girl vibes, but I like to think that’s only at first glance.

That’s not who I am... but I can’t expect them to know this.

I slip my shoes from my feet and climb up as they did.

I’m pretty much check-marking each and every line on the long list of ‘never dos’ by walking into a dark cave on an isolated beach, off a deserted road, with three guys my friends claim are crazy. Yet here I am, being a dumbass.

As I approach, the stereotypical expressions I had thought I first spotted reveal their true selves, and surefire grins curl their mouths.

Beretta slides backward, pushing his body into Arsen’s chest and Arsen’s arm comes over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

I turn to Ransom, who has yet to look away.

He glides closer, tugs my hair tie from my head and watches as my self-made curls fall around me, his middle finger flicking along the strap of my shoulder bag.

“She ties her hair back without a mirror, lets her silk soak in the muddy sand, and carries her own things.” His tone is low, intensely sarcastic, yet somehow not mocking. “What kind of social princess are you?”

“Hm.” I tip my head, playing along. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Beretta’s knuckles brush my collarbone as he seizes a long lock, wraps it around his fingers, and gives a gentle tug. “I sure as fuck would.”

I don’t turn his way, and Ransom’s haughty smirk grows.

Making sure his chest brushes mine, he slips past me into the cave.

I follow behind, maneuvering around the narrow entrance, and my eyes widen with surprise.

It’s not as dark and desolate as I imagined, but, in fact, quite the opposite.