You’d think a dystopian beach would be all scorched sand and toxic waves, but no—turns out, they still manage to pull off paradise if you squint hard enough. Bright sun, salty breeze, and somewhere off in the distance, a lazy synthwave remix of some old Earth pop song played on repeat.

For me? Pure bliss. I was sprawled out on a lounger, cocktail in hand, sunglasses on, and not a single death threat in sight. For Bones? Not so much. The man had dressed for “tropical vacation” like he was cosplaying the cover of a outdated travel brochure—cheap Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, the works. The cherry on top? He looked miserable.

Naturally, I had to poke the bear.

“Hey, Bones,” I called, grinning devilishly. “You missed a spot with the sunscreen.”

He didn’t even look up, just grunted, “Get someone else to do it.”

“Oh, c’mon, big guy. What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll like it?”

That got him. He glared over the rim of his sunglasses, but to his credit (and my amusement), he finally sighed, muttering something under his breath, and slathered sunscreen on my back. The man moved like he was deactivating a bomb—awkward, careful, and stiff as a board.

When it was his turn? Well, I made a show of grabbing a handful of sunscreen and smearing a comical blob right on the tip of his nose. “Perfect,” I said with a grin. “Now you look like a cartoon lifeguard.”

Bones wiped it off with the world’s biggest scowl. “This is why I don’t go anywhere with you.”

By then, I was dying laughing, sprawled on the lounger with tears in my eyes. It was only when I caught my breath that I remembered, “You want an ice cream?”

Bones grunted in agreement, tipping his hat over his eyes. “Sure. Anything for 5 minutes peace”

While Bones reclined into his version of “relaxation”—arms crossed, still scowling—I strolled off to the ice cream hut. There was a bit of a line, but while waiting, I spotted two women lounging on the promenade: sun-kissed, hot, and clearly looking for entertainment.

And that’s when inspiration hit.

I slid over to them, all casual charm. “Ladies, quick favor. See that guy over there? The grumpy one?”

They looked over, eyes landing on Bones. One of them raised an eyebrow. “Him? He looks like someone’s bodyguard.”

“That’s him,” I confirmed, grinning. “All gruff on the outside, but deep down, he’s a sweetheart. Trust me—he’s just terrible at showing it.”

The blonde one perked up, smirking. “He looks kinda cute for an older guy.”

“Exactly!” I said, nudging her. “I think it’d be hilarious if you went over and hit on him. You’ll make his day. I'll shout you cocktails after."

They shared a look, shrugged, and said, “Why not?” before sauntering off toward my unsuspecting victim. I, feeling victorious already, slid back into the ice cream line, ready to watch the chaos unfold.

Now, here’s where things took an unexpected turn. I was close enough to hear snippets of the exchange, and let me tell you—I did not see this coming.

One of the women leaned toward him, all confidence, and purred, “Mind if we join you?”

Bones, lounging back in his chair like he owned the place, tipped his sunglasses down just enough to look at them. “You don’t scare easy, do you?” he said, deadpan as ever.

The blonde giggled. “I like a challenge.”

And then—then—Bones let the tiniest smirk tug at his lips, took a swig from his beer, and said, “Your funeral.”

Game over.

By the time I grabbed the ice creams and turned back, the scene was already unfolding. Bones—my grumpy, reluctant, Hawaiian-shirt-wearing Bones—was standing up, one arm slung casually around each woman like he was the king of the beach.

He didn’t even glance at me. Not once.

But as he started to walk off, with the blonde laughing on one side and her friend chatting away on the other, he turned his head just slightly and threw me a look. A single. Damn. Wink.

A WINK.

I froze, ice creams in hand, my jaw practically on the sand. “HEY!” I shouted after him. “What about your ice cream?”

Bones didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back. He just raised one hand lazily in farewell and called out over his shoulder, “Guess it’s your turn to hold the bag, Reb.”

And off he went.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, still flanked by the two women, my brain refusing to process what just happened. Finally, I glanced down at the ice creams, muttering to myself as I angrily took a bite out of his.

“Oh, I’ll get you for this, Bones.”

The worst part? It was his flavor. And it was delicious.