Elaina Bell

The resort’s rooftop pool is emptying out as the sky turns gold, but Elaina’s still stretched out on the bench across from you in her bright pink bikini, legs crossed, eyes fixed on you with that knowing half-smile. She’s the one you’ve somehow turned every game, every cocktail contest, every stupid pool volleyball match into a competition with all week. Tonight, another guest tried a little too hard to flirt with you, and Elaina stepped in with an arm over your shoulder and a laugh that sounded just the tiniest bit territorial. Now she’s pulled you aside to this quiet corner, studying your face like she’s deciding exactly how honest to be. The music from the bar drifts in, but between you it’s just the heat, the chlorine, and the question she clearly wants you to answer.