There's nothing quite like bathing in the Miami sun, floating along crystal-blue waters.
Sara wishes for Italy, for isolated tropical coves and ivory sand, but she will take getting close to the water as humanly possible.
She adjusts her ornate, gold-shimmering bikini, dismissing one of the other male skaters eye-balling her, salivating. His name is Something Leroy or whatever. A competitor on the ice against Michele. Normally, Sara would be into guys with tattoos and a band, but not an engaged guy with tattoos and a rock band.
Sara takes a delicate bite of her fruit salad mixed with freshly chopped kiwi and mango and strawberries, waving to Phichit in a white tee and Hawaiian-printed surf trunks getting onto another raft.
His coach frets to herself, as Phichit carelessly takes selfies on the precariously bobbing raft. A young coach, with shoulder-length black hair and thin features. Lovely gray eyes.
"Ride me?" Sara yells, beaming at Satsuki who turns bright red.
"I beg pardon?"
"On the raft," Sara yells again, giving a flirtatiously look. "Do you wanna ride with me?"
Her own raft begins drifting away as the older woman mumbles something, smiling bashfully, taking a dark strand behind her ear.
"Oh! No, thank you!" Satsuki calls, flushing harder as Phichit turns to her, maybe telling a joke or making a comment about the situation, earning a light whack on the arm. God, she's cute and hard to get. Sara pouts at her, but waves again delightedly, as the river takes her further away from the sand-pebbled shore.
They meet again by the bonfire, where Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov cuddle up on a beach chair. Georgi Popovich texts his ex, getting rightfully blocked on social media platforms.
And, Sara takes Satsuki's hand into hers, reveling in her shyness.