‘Stop it!’ Kris wiggled her foot, knowing exactly what she was thinking. ‘Not him.’

‘No,’ she sighed again. ‘I wasn’t. I –’ She didn’t have the energy to lie.

She gave a small shiver as a sea breeze rippled over her bare skin. She was still in her bikini, having just pulled on a pair of denim shorts, and she tried to remember what she had worn here this morning. It was so long ago now. Fourteen hours spent lying and drinking and crying on this sun lounger.

‘Bell?’

They all turned as one to find a blonde-bearded guy smiling down at her, several beer bottles precariously held between his splayed fingers.

‘Mats?’ She saw Kris and Marc give him the once-over. He was an attractive guy – athletic physique, twinkly eyes, ready smile. ‘Mats!’ she cried, scrambling to stand and accidentally delivering a glancing blow to Kris’s nether regions in the process.

‘Oof!’

‘Guys, this is Mats. He’s Emil’s skipper.’

‘Emil’s skipper?’ Marc repeated, as though this counted against him. Guilty by assocation?

She reached over the lounger and greeted him like an old friend, giving him an enthusiastic kiss on each cheek. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked excitedly. ‘I thought you went back to the city.’

He hesitated. Could he tell she was tipsy? Perhaps she wasn’t doing a terribly good job of hiding it. ‘I did, but I just got back in time. I always like to watch the race from here.’

‘From the bar?’ she laughed, looking down at his beers.

He gave a rueful shrug, as though busted. ‘That was the plan, anyway. You want one?’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t, I’ve had so much already,’ she demurred, before taking it in the next instant anyway. ‘Oh okay then.’ She took a swig. ‘So what are you doing here?’ She winced, catching herself as he laughed; she’d already asked that. God, she was drunk. ‘I mean, I mean, who are you here with?’

‘Those guys over there.’ He jerked his thumb to show a group of eight or so, standing on the other side of the pool. There were five guys and three women, all talking in a group.

‘Oh.’

He looked back at her quickly. ‘But they’re not, I mean, I’m not –’

‘You’re not . . .?’

His gaze fell to her mouth, then back to her eyes. ‘I’m not with them.’

Did he mean the women? ‘Oh.’ She put her lips to the bottle and watched him as she drank. Everything seemed to slow down a little.

‘And you?’ His eyes grazed over Marc and Kris questioningly, as they stood protectively a step behind.

‘Oh. Oh, no,’ she laughed. ‘We’re not a . . . four. They’re a two, in fact,’ she said, taking both Kris and Marc’s chins in her hands and squeezing their handsome faces together like chipmunks. The two men blinked back obligingly.

‘Right,’ Mats grinned, looking relieved.

‘Yes, this is Kris and I’m Marc,’ Marc said as they all shook hands. ‘We’re her pimps.’