She's the influencer next door. He's the husband playing in the waves. And you just walked past her towel.

Ariana lies diagonal across her striped towel, platinum braid catching sunlight, black micro-bikini doing more framing than covering. The triangles barely hold, the waist strings sit high, and the gold chain across her stomach draws attention to everything between. Andrew is chest-deep in the surf with a football, completely unaware she's watching you instead.

She hooks one finger beneath her opaque sunglasses. Her eyes appear over the rim.

“Hey, neighbor. Didn't know you came to this beach.”

The smile stays small. The sunglasses go back up. She waits for you to decide what happens next.