The Tenerife sun blazed down on the budget resort beach like a cheap spotlight, turning the cracked plastic sun loungers into sweaty torture devices. Tacky umbrellas, striped in garish neon, flapped pathetically in the breeze, offering about as much shade as a cocktail stick. From a nearby bar, the distant warble of karaoke butchered a Bon Jovi classic, the off-key notes carried on the salty air like a personal insult. Beth Hargreaves, 39 and freshly escaped from Wigan, sprawled awkwardly on her lounger, tugging at the straps of her ill-fitting swimsuit. The damn thing was a relic from a post-kids holiday five years ago, back when her body hadn’t yet surrendered to gravity and three pregnancies.
“Bloody hell, look at the state of me,” she muttered under her breath, glancing down at her pale thighs and the stubborn roll of belly that no amount of sucking in could hide. “Saggy bits everywhere. And this wonky nose—might as well be a sodding lighthouse.” She adjusted her sunglasses, hoping to hide at least half her insecurities behind the scratched lenses.
This was her first solo holiday in over a decade. No Carl snoring through Match of the Day, no kids bickering over who got the last chicken nugget. Just her, a dog-eared romance novel, and a desperate need to feel something other than “mum.” She’d promised herself she’d let loose a bit—nothing wild, just… less uptight. Starting with something she’d never dared before.
“Right, Beth. You’re doing this. No one knows you here. No one cares,” she coached herself, fingers hovering over the clasp of her bikini top. With a deep breath, she unhooked it, letting the fabric fall to her lap. The sudden exposure made her skin prickle, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, scanning the beach for judgmental stares. A couple of sunburnt lads gawked for a second before returning to their beer cans. An older woman in a straw hat raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Beth exhaled, forcing her arms down. “See? No big deal. Just a pair of tits in the sun. Perfectly normal.”
She was just starting to relax, letting the warmth kiss her bare skin, when a shadow loomed over her. A beer-bellied, leathery-skinned man in sagging swim trunks plonked himself onto the lounger next to hers with a grunt. He was easily in his eighties, sporting a patchy white beard and a Union Jack tattoo on his bicep that looked like it had been drawn by a drunk toddler. He cracked open a warm can of lager, the hiss cutting through the air, and turned to her with a grin that showed off a gold tooth.
“Alright, love, didn’t expect to see a proper English rose letting it all hang out!” he bellowed, his voice rough as gravel. “Name’s Reg. Thought I’d seen everythin’ on this beach, but you’ve just made me bloody day.”
Beth’s face flamed red as she scrambled to cover herself with her hands, her earlier bravado evaporating. “Oi, do you mind? I’m not some bloody sideshow for your entertainment!”
Reg chuckled, unfazed, taking a long swig of his lager. “Nah, darlin’, you’re more like the main event. Look at ya, all shy now. Don’t cover up on my account—I’ve seen more knockers than a carpenter’s toolbox. Yours are a fine pair, if I do say so meself.”
She glared at him, torn between outrage and the absurdity of it all. “You’ve got some nerve, you old perv. What are you even doing, sitting here gawping? Haven’t you got a bingo hall to haunt?”
“Cheeky mare!” Reg barked a laugh, slapping his knee. “Bingo’s for when me knees give out proper. Till then, I’m here for the scenery. And right now, you’re the best view I’ve got. Fancy a sip of this?” He waved the sweaty can at her, droplets clinging to the aluminum.
Beth wrinkled her nose. “That looks like it’s been sitting in the sun since last summer. I’ll pass, thanks. And for the record, I’m not here to be your ‘view.’ I’m just… trying something new. So, if you don’t mind—”
“Trying somethin’ new, eh?” Reg interrupted, leaning closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I like that. Bet you’re a right little firecracker under all that blushin’. What’s your name, then? Gotta know who I’m flirtin’ with.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. “It’s Beth. And I’m not blushing, I’m sunburnt. There’s a difference. Now, if you’re done ogling, I’d like to get back to my book.”
Reg peered at the novel in her lap, squinting at the cover—a shirtless bloke clutching a swooning damsel. “Oho, bit of a naughty read, is it? Bet there’s more action in there than you’ve had in years. Am I right?”
Beth snapped the book shut, her cheeks burning hotter. “You’re a right gobshite, aren’t you? For your information, I’ve got a husband and three kids back home. I don’t need ‘action.’ I need peace and quiet, which you’re clearly not giving me.”
“Peace and quiet on a beach like this? With karaoke wankers and screaming brats everywhere? Good luck with that, love.” Reg took another gulp of lager, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Husband, eh? Where’s he at, then? Left ya to fend for yerself with a dirty old codger like me?”
She snorted, unable to help herself. “Carl’s back in Wigan, probably burning toast as we speak. This is my first holiday alone in forever. Thought I’d… I dunno, live a little. Not that you’d understand, with your lager and your leering.”
Reg grinned, undeterred. “Oh, I understand livin’ a little, darlin’. Been doin’ it since before you were born. Tell ya what, I’ve got stories that’d make that book of yours look like a bloody nursery rhyme. Ever shagged in a beach hut during a thunderstorm? I have. Twice.”
Beth choked on her own spit, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You’re disgusting! I don’t need to hear about your ancient escapades. And for the record, I’m not that kind of woman. I’m just here for a tan, not a tawdry fling with some fossil.”
“Fossil, eh? I’ll have ya know I’ve still got plenty of spark in me old engine.” Reg winked, patting his belly like it was a badge of honor. “And you, love, you’ve got a bit of fire in ya too. I can tell. All this ‘proper lady’ nonsense—bollocks. Bet you’ve got a wild side dyin’ to get out. Why else would ya be flashin’ the goods on day one?”
She opened her mouth to snap back, but his words hit a nerve. Wasn’t that exactly why she’d come here? To shake off the mum, the wife, the endless laundry lists? She shifted on her lounger, dropping her hands to her sides again, letting the sun hit her skin. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. But if I’ve got a wild side, it’s not coming out for a bloke who smells like cheap beer and regret.”
Reg roared with laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “That’s the spirit! Keep givin’ me lip, Beth. I like a woman who bites back. Tell ya what, let’s ditch this sweaty hellhole for a bit. There’s a quiet spot round the bend—bit of shade, no nosy buggers. We can get a bit naughtier away from pryin’ eyes. What d’ya say?”
Beth’s heart did a little flip, half from shock, half from something she couldn’t quite name. Curiosity, maybe. Or insanity. She eyed him suspiciously, her sensible side screaming to tell him to sod off. But there was something about his shamelessness, his utter lack of filter, that made her feel… alive. Dangerous, even.
“You’re out of your mind, Reg,” she said, her voice firm but laced with a reluctant smirk. “I’m not traipsing off with some randy old git I’ve just met. But… I’ll give you five more minutes of your nonsense before I chuck my book at your head. Deal?”
“Deal!” Reg crowed, raising his can in a mock toast. “Five minutes, love. I’ll have ya charmed by then, mark my words.”
Beth shook her head, settling back onto her lounger, her skin tingling—not just from the sun. She wasn’t sure if she’d just made a friend or a terrible mistake, but for the first time in years, she felt a spark of something reckless. And damn if it didn’t feel good.
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