No responsible 30-year-old would call in sick just to spend the day at the beach. Luckily, I’ve never been responsible, and I’m only 29.

So here I am, bright and early, with my towel laid out and my chair stuck in the sand. A normal person would have their cooler full of sandwiches and snacks, but we’ve already established that I’m not responsible. Mine’s loaded with tequila and enough White Claws to level a sorority house.

Here’s my plan for today: I don’t have one. But I know how it’s going to start. I grab the tequila and break the seal. First shot of the day.

“Ma’am,” a voice says. “You can’t drink from a bottle on the beach.”

That catches me off guard. I turn to face him and just stare for a few seconds. There are a couple ways I could play this. I decide to just go for it. “I think you’ll find that I can.”

He tosses a red Solo cup and it lands in the sand beside me. “Use that.”

He doesn’t say anything else. I just watch as he walks away. Nice body. Cute butt. He makes his way back to the concession cabana. I guess he works here. Once he’s behind the bar, he waves at me. Most people would wave back, but my brain short-circuits and I freeze up. Now it’s been too long. I’d rather he think I’m a bitch than a crazy lady who doesn’t understand how waving works, so I don’t wave back.

Although now he probably thinks I’m weird. Or worse, a tourist. God. What if he thinks I’m Canadian?

Where was I? Right, salt, shot, lime. Down the hatch. It’s five o’clock somewhere. Let’s ignore that it’s barely 10 am here. Today’s off to a good start.

The best thing about the beach is people-watching. It brings everyone together. There’s only one ocean, well, five, I guess, but only one here and no one has a monopoly on it. So while the broke as fuck surfer dudes make their way back to shore, there’s a Fortune 500 couple laying down a wildly inappropriate Hermès blanket no more than twenty feet away from me. I mean, they had the whole beach, but somehow decided spitting distance from me was the ideal spot for them.

He’s about thirty and looks like a Clark. I’m gonna call him Clark. He’s not a bad-looking guy, just socially awkward. There’s no grace in the way he moves. Lots of hesitation and fumbling. He’s the kind of nerd you only see on TV and don’t believe really exists, but here he is, in the still-too-pale flesh. At least he’s rich. He has to be, because she’s way out of his league.

Madison, that’s what I’m calling her, is the exact opposite. At least five years younger and a total knockout. Tanned, blonde, fit, big tits, probably fake. The idea of her is what got Clark through his computer science degree at MIT. All those all-nighters, the weekends spent staring at his laptop while everyone else was out getting laid. Madison was the payoff.

She spent those same weekends getting wasted at Florida State frat houses, knowing that looking like a Barbie doll would eventually lead her to someone with Clark money. But there’s no way she spent four years, or let’s be honest, two and a half at best, getting passed around at college parties just to settle down with Clark for the rest of her life. She’s definitely getting some dick on the side. She probably takes it up the ass from Chad. Partly because she likes it, partly because it feels like punishment for cheating. Not that she’s going to stop.

I’ve known these people for maybe forty-five seconds. It’s time for a White Claw. Perfect timing because the sun is starting to climb. It’s going to be hot as fuck soon. I can only assume hydration is essential in 95-degree weather. So I’ll get this one down fast and be safely into my second before high noon. You know, for protection or whatever.

Shit. Protection. With all the crap I loaded into the car, the one thing not in my bag is sunscreen. I probably took it out to make room for another drink. I look over my shoulder at Cabana Boy. I bet he has some.

“Hey,” I say when I make my way over to him. “You sell sunscreen?”

“We do.”

“Good, put it on my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab.”

“Can I start one?”

“We don’t do that here.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen dollars.”

“Jesus Christ. Good thing this is a paid sick day.”

“You don’t look sick.”

“And you don’t look like the kind of guy who would charge fifteen bucks for a dollar store tube of sunscreen, but here we are.” I’m pretty sure I got that charm from chapter one of How to Win Friends and Influence People. I give him his ransom and head back to my towel.

“Don’t forget your shoulders.”

I turn back. “Excuse me?”

“It’s hard when you’re on your own, to get your shoulders, I mean.”

“Well, I’m going to see if that blonde with the big titties will give me a hand,” I shoot back at him. “And if you get hard on your own back there, you can give yourself a hand. I’m sure you’ve got fifteen-dollar lotion for that too.”

With wit like this, it’s amazing I’m still single at thir… twenty-nine.

When I get back to my spot, Clark is down by the shoreline, calf-deep in the ocean. I make eye contact with Madison and smile. I’m going to run a little test. I’m not asking her. I’m going to make sure she sees me putting the lotion on, and if she’s a decent person, she’ll offer to help.

I’ve barely started when she gives me a loud whisper. “Hey,” she says, sounding way more suspicious than she has any reason to. “You think I can get one of those White Claws off you? I’ll pay you for it.” Her eyes dart back to Clark, who still has his back to us. “He doesn’t like it when I drink, but c’mon. It’s a day at the beach, right?”

I hold up the tube. “Do my back, and it’s yours.”

She doesn’t waste any time. Before I know it, she’s right behind me, smothering her hands with sunscreen. I sit up, crack open a can and reach it behind my back for her. She’s on her knees, and while I can’t see her, all I can hear is the sound of her guzzling the White Claw. I think she gets half of it down in one go.

“God,” she says when her mouth comes off the can. “I haven’t had one of these since college.”

“Florida State?”

“Tulane.”

So close.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Erica. And you?”

“Britney.”

Of course it is. That’s like one step away from Madison, right? “Is that your husband you’re with?”

“Clark? No, not yet. Soon, I think. Maybe.”

“Did you say Clark?”

“You know him from somewhere?”

Nailed it. “No, he just looks like a Clark.”

“Yeah, I guess he kinda does,” she says, then downs the rest of the White Claw. “How ‘bout you? With anyone? Married?”

“No, no.” I shake my head and laugh it off like she didn’t just kick me directly in the self-esteem. “Not yet. No prospects.” Where’s that fucking tequila? I pop the cooler lid and grab the bottle by the neck.

“Oh… oh boy,” I hear Britney from behind me. “That’s trouble.”

“Not a fan?”

“Too much of a fan. I haven’t touched it in years.” She moves beside me and looks me dead in the eyes. “Last time I had that, I let half a roller-hockey team run a train on me.”

I wait for her to laugh like it’s a joke. She doesn’t. “That’s a no, then?” I say, holding the bottle up in front of her.

Britney glances down the beach toward Clark, who hasn’t turned around once the whole time, then back at me. Now she’s locked on the bottle with one of those thousand-yard stares. “One shot,” she says. “For old times’ sake.”

“You’re safe. No roller-hockey teams anywhere in sight.”

“Quick, before Clark comes back.”

She takes the shot like she’s done it before. Many, many times before. No salt, no lime, just straight from the bottle. She goes to hand it to me, then pulls it back.

“One more,” she says, and takes a second swig before I can answer. “Oh, baby.” She shakes her head and slaps her chest. “I felt that one.”

“You’re welcome to it but—” I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence before she takes another gulp. “—it’ll be on your breath.”

“Oh shit, good point.” She looks at the cooler. “Think I can grab another one of those White Claws? Black Cherry might cover it.”

“Go ahead.” I like Britney. She makes me feel like less of a fuckup. And I love the idea that somewhere out there, there’s a roller-hockey team that has no clue they’re missing out on a golden opportunity.

“I should get back,” she says. “Before Clark… thanks for the drinks.” Her eyes do a little roll and her head wobbles when she stands.

“No problem,” I say. “Pop over later. I’ll be here all day.”

“Are you a,” she’s stumbling with her words now. “Are you a beach bum? We should be friends.”

I have a beach bum is what I want to say. But it’s hard to make friends when you’re an adult, so what comes out is, “Sure.” Don’t judge me.

Britney makes it back to Clark without falling over, and she’s immediately too affectionate for a public beach. She doesn’t just kiss him, her hand goes right for his cock. She’s probably mentally comparing it to Chad’s. Clark looks around and tries to move her hand, apparently remembering there are families nearby. Britney’s got her eyes closed, likely reliving some frat house memory.

The sun is getting brutal now. As much as I’d like to find out how long it’s gonna take Britney to make Clark cum in his shorts, I should hit the ocean and cool off. When I get up, my bikini is already halfway up my butt crack. I’m not going to fix it. I didn’t spend forty-eight dollars on a few square inches of Lycra to discourage people from looking at my ass. Have at it, boys. And girls.

I make the mistake of trying to walk normally for the first few steps, then realize how hot the sand is and do that stupid little fast-walk run you see firewalkers do at team-building retreats. The water isn’t far, but I get there just in time to prevent my feet from bursting into flames. It’s hard to look sexy when you’re hopping from side to side, worried about the owies forming on your feet.

I’m good now. I’ve regained my composure, and I’m walking into the ocean like a femme fatale who’s going to fuck James Bond in the second act and betray him in the third. That’s the way it looks in my mind anyway. Then a wave hits me and knocks me flat on my ass. I do my best to make it look like I was diving back under the water. When I surface, I push my hair out of my face and float on my back like everything that just happened was intentional. Smooth one, Erica.

I let myself drift for a while. There are more people on the beach now. Lots of families pitching umbrellas while kids dig holes that are sure to break someone’s ankle later in the day. Britney’s still barely hiding the fact that she’s giving Clark a handjob. His expression is caught somewhere between complete terror and pure bliss. Whatever it is, he isn’t stopping her.

Eventually I look toward the concession stand. Cabana Boy is watching me. At least I think he’s watching me. There are other people in the ocean, but none of them have my ass. So, fair bet.

I swim a little farther out. And I can still feel his eyes on me. It’s hard to tell if he wants to fuck me or if he’s making sure the woman who started drinking tequila before ten doesn’t drown. I hope it’s both.

Either way, I have his attention. Now to keep it. I reach for the bikini tie behind my neck and loosen it. Not enough for it to fall away. I’m irresponsible, not reckless. The cups stay where they’re supposed to while I float, but I’ve given Cabana Boy a reason to pray for a wave that’ll make his afternoon more interesting.

I stay out there for a half hour or so, checking in every few minutes. He’s there each time, eyes always on me. Got him. My buzz is starting to wear off, and I need another drink.

When I get back to my chair, there’s a slice of pizza waiting for me. There’s a little note written on the paper plate. Eat something. I pick it up and look over. Cabana Boy is leaning against the counter. He raises his hand. I’m ready this time and wave back. There. Now he knows I understand how waving works. I take a bite of the pizza, then realize, fuck it, this isn’t what I want right now. It’s time to pay Cabana Boy another visit.

“Hey,” I say.

“You only took one bite of the pizza. Here to complain?”

“No. I’m here for something else.”

“Water?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Is there a backroom in that hut of yours?”

“A little storage closet.”

“You’ve seen my ass, and I know you’ve been thinking about my tits. I wanna see something of yours.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Now?”

“Unless you’re a stickler for workplace policies, I think you should take me to that storage closet and fuck me.”

It doesn’t take anything more than that. The storage closet is exactly what it sounds like. Cases of Coke, cleaning supplies and junk food stacked floor to ceiling. He locks the door behind us.

I shove my tongue down his throat to avoid having to talk any more. I’ve never been accused of being a romantic. Horny, yes. Lovey-dovey? Fuck off.

His hands start on my waist but only stay there for a few seconds before going straight for my ass. Predictable, but flattering. I’m more interested in getting his shorts off. I didn’t come here just to get my backside groped. I get on my knees and when his shorts come down, I pop him right in my mouth. No sense in wasting time. He’s not getting a full-service blowjob; I just need to get him hard enough to fuck me. A few tongue swirls and a little bit of sucking is the fastest way to get him there.

Only a couple of minutes later, he’s ready and my bikini bottoms are on the floor. Earlier I said I didn’t have a plan; that was a bit of a lie. I don’t have a strict plan per se, but I knew from the moment I woke up this morning that I was going to get some dick today. I kinda figured it would be from a surfer, maybe riding him cowgirl under the pier. In a storage closet, bent over boxes of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles didn’t make my top ten, but life comes at you fast.

I’m waiting for him to stick it in when I feel both of his hands on my ass. When I look over my shoulder, he’s crouched down behind me and gives me a few licks. I was not expecting that. Nice touch, Cabana Boy.

When he stands up, he slides right into me and it’s nice. Like really nice. I don’t think I’ve ever called a dick comfortable before, but that’s what his is. Not too big, not too small, not too thick, not too thin. He’s got an ergonomic cock.

Even better, he knows what to do with it. He’s not just giving me the old in and out. He’s hitting it from all angles, bending at the knees one moment then up on his toes the next. The whole time he’s got me by the waist, tossing me from side to side. Cabana Boy really knows how to fuck.

Maybe that’s one of the perks of his job. Desperately horny cubicle girls constantly throw pussy at him on their fake sick days. His hand slides around my hip and starts rubbing my clit. Yeah. He's definitely fucked a few data-entry clerks over the years.

I brace myself on the boxes and let him do his thing. He goes harder when I push back and eases up when I don’t. Cabana Boy is going to make me cum soon. I’m suddenly willing to forgive him for the overpriced sunscreen. He puts a hand between my shoulder blades and really starts giving it to me. We’re in the home stretch now.

“Hello?” a voice calls from out front.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I say. I get the sense the look in my eye scares him a little.

Cabana Boy puts a hand over my mouth. “Shhh.”

“Hello? Do you guys sell ice pops?”

“I’ll be just a minute,” Cabana Boy says, still going at me.

I look back at him. “I’m almost there…”

He takes it as a challenge, and doesn’t disappoint. I bite down on my lip when it hits me. I have to bury my face against my arm to keep from making enough noise to permanently traumatize whoever is waiting for a frozen sugar treat.

Cabana Boy pulls out and I feel him spray across my back. I’m feeling too good to worry about it right now, but I’m already eyeing the collection of cleaning supplies for paper towels.

There’s a knock at the side door. “You got ice pops or not?” There’s a bit of anger in the voice now.

As I’m pulling my bikini bottoms back into place, Cabana Boy leans in from behind and softly kisses my cheek and I don’t know what to do with that. What does it say about me that I can let him fuck the shit out of me, but tense up when he shows some actual affection?

“That was great,” he says.

“Uh, yeah.” It’s all I can muster.

When he goes to serve the customer, I slip past him without saying a word. As I’m heading back to my chair, Britney sees me coming. Her eyes light up while a huge grin appears on her face. It’s like sorority girls have some magic ability to sense who just got fucked.

“You go, girl!” she shouts. Clark looks at her, then at me. He’s clueless, but I’m guessing he’s used to not understanding Britney.

Now, I don’t want you to think I’m a slut. I’m not saying I’m not. I just don’t want you to think that. There’s a difference. Probably. And I know how this looks. I called in sick, had tequila for breakfast, made a friend by bribing her with booze, then fucked a concession attendant in a storage closet by midafternoon. But it’s not like all my Thursdays are like this. Hardly any of them are. And in my defense, he did give me free pizza.

I drop back into my chair and finally take another bite. The pizza is cold now, but somehow better. Maybe an orgasm is the secret to enjoying a shitty slice. Note to self: break out the Magic Wand before the next time you order Domino’s.

I’m not going to look over at him. I’m not. I’m just going to look over at the cabana, and if he’s there so be it. Not my fault. He’s serving frozen yogurt to an elderly couple like nothing else just happened. I hope he washed his hands. At least he has a smile on his face. I’m choosing to believe that’s because he just blasted a load on my back and not because of something Grandma said.

They’re chatting away at him and he peeks over to me. I look away so quickly I almost give myself whiplash. This is stupid. Ten minutes ago, his dick was poking at my cervix and now eye contact feels like some kind of invasion of privacy. I take another bite of pizza. His pizza. The one he gave me. I can’t look over. I look over. He’s looking back. The old couple are gone and he’s smiling. I guess it was from me. I can’t deal with it though, and immediately become very interested in picking at pizza crust.

This shouldn’t be hard. I wanted dick, he wanted pussy, our clothes came off, and we found a sturdy stack of chip boxes to make it happen.

It was that kiss on the cheek. Why’d he have to do that? It was so unnecessary. A slap on the ass would have been fine, like they do in baseball when you hit a home run or something. But a kiss? It was soft and showed affection. Baseball players don’t kiss, Cabana Boy. You picked the wrong home run celebration, and now the whole team is confused.

It’ll take another White Claw to get it out of my head. There. Problem solved. And for anyone keeping score, alcohol has solved every problem I’ve had today. I won’t remind you that it also caused them.

I finish the pizza and get halfway through the White Claw when I decide I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute. When I open them again, Britney’s hovering over me and the sun’s almost gone.

“Here,” she says, holding a folded-up slip of paper. “I was going to tuck it in your bikini top, but you’re awake now.”

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust before I realize she’s giving me her number.

“Give me a call.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze, then leans in a little closer and whispers, “You can meet my other boyfriend sometime. Bigger dick, less money.”

I fucking knew it.

Clark’s over there carefully folding up their blanket as his girlfriend casually confesses adultery. Wait, was that a threesome invitation?

“I’ll put it in my phone.”

She gives me an exaggerated wink and smile. I think that was a threesome invite. I’ll put a star beside her name in my contact list.

It feels wrong to put clothes on at the beach, but it’s starting to get dark out. I’ve got two things to keep me warm. A hoodie and what’s left of the tequila.

The beach is thinning out now too. Everyone’s packing up. Moms are dragging kids off to the parking lot while dads are wrestling to get folding umbrellas under control. I pull the hoodie over my head and raise the bottle to absolutely nothing. I’ve lost count of which shot this is, but it goes down warm.

I wasn’t trying to find Cabana Boy, but I just so happen to notice him closing up the concession stand. It looks like he’s already got the counter wiped down and is starting to pull the stools inside. I’m only watching because there’s not much else to look at. I mean, other than the spectacular setting sun over the gorgeous Pacific Ocean, but yeah, he’s got my attention too.

When he comes out of the hut, he’s changed into jeans and a button-up shirt. Fuck. He looks even better now. But I guess this is it, his shift’s done and he’s out of here. I’m not going to stoop so low as to watch him walk away. Actually, yes I am. But he doesn’t walk away. He’s coming straight to me.

“You’re still here,” he says.

“It’s gonna be an all-dayer.”

“I’d say the day’s done.” He vaguely points at the sun on the horizon.

“This one’s going right through to midnight.”

“You’ll be ok on your own?”

“I’m twenty-nine. I think I can survive an evening at the beach.”

“I was more worried about the tequila.”

“That’s definitely not going to make it.”

He laughs, then neither of us says anything for a few seconds. Which is only slightly less awkward than a tender kiss after a storage closet quickie-fuck. He’s kicking at the sand like he wants to get something off his chest, but that’s not what comes out.

“I’m heading out.” I don’t think that’s what he wanted to say.

“Okay.”

There’s another second where it feels like one of us should say something else. I know I’ll fuck it up if it’s up to me. Cabana Boy puts an end to it.

“Have a good night.”

“You too,” I say.

He starts toward the parking lot and he’s not more than thirty feet away when I call after him.

“Hey.”

He turns around, and I have no idea what I wanted to say.

“The blonde, with the big tits? She gave me her number. Threesome. Not with the nerd. Chad on the side.”

I told you I’d fuck it up.

He laughs. “Congrats?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He smiles, then he keeps walking until he disappears into the parking lot. I can’t watch anymore. I take another shot of tequila and turn back toward the water. “It’s just you and me ’til midnight,” I tell the ocean.

It turns out two hours after sunset is when independent woman enjoying a day at the beach starts looking a lot like woman hiding from the life she left at home this morning. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with my life, but not everything is right with it either. My job sucks, but it pays the bills. I’m healthy, despite whatever damage I’ve done to my liver today. I have friends. An apartment. Most of what I need. Really, I don’t have much to complain about.

It’s just... oh fuck it.

My best prospect is a threesome with a woman I just met and the boyfriend her boyfriend doesn’t know about. Meanwhile, all my college friends are married now. Most of them have kids. Some of them are already on baby number two.

When’s it going to be my turn for something real?

That’s not a problem I’m going to solve on a beach by myself at 8:37. But some more tequila will put it out of my mind.

9:44. I’m going to text Britney so she’ll have my number too. Maybe she’ll send me a pic of Big-Dick Chad.

Hey, it’s Erica from the beach. Really looking forward to that threesome. How’s this weekend look for you?

Three grey dots start bouncing almost immediately. She’s getting back to me right away.

WTF?

Oh shit. Did I get that whole situation wrong?

New phone who dis?

Erica, you texted me.

Oh fuck.

Sorry, gotta go.

10:38. One shot of tequila left. I’m saving that for midnight. Between now and then, I’m on water only.

11:54. It’s almost time. I’m pulling the cupcake out of the cooler. It looked cute this morning, but it’s smashed now. Same girl, same.

11:57. One candle, that’s all I’ve got. I stick it into what’s left of the icing.

11:59. I light it.

12:00. The alarm I set on my phone this morning goes off. Well, shit. I’m officially thirty. I close my eyes and blow out the candle.

“Happy Birthday.”

It’s him.

“Cabana Boy? You came back?”

“Cabana Boy?”

“Sorry Ryan, I’ve been calling you that all day in my head.”

“Does this mean we can stop pretending we don’t know each other?”

“I guess so, yeah. That seems like something only someone in her twenties would do.”

Ryan laughs. I can always make him laugh.

“I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I might have gone to a different beach if I knew you worked here.”

“Really?”

“Nah.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to miss your birthday.”

“Did you remember?”

“Not at first. It’s been a few years. But I figured it out after I went home.”

“I saved a shot to celebrate. I don’t think I want it now.”

“How ‘bout I take you out for dinner instead?”

“I’m in a hoodie and bikini bottoms.”

“I didn’t say any place fancy.”

It never really made sense why Ryan and I broke up. Nothing bad ever happened. There was no drama or big fight. We just grew apart, saw less of each other over time. I was still in party mode and he was kind of over that already. It wasn’t so much of a breakup as it was a time when we just stopped calling each other. Bad timing, I guess.

“Okay. Dinner.”