The car rolls to a stop at the edge of the private nudist beach sector, white sand stretching in lazy ripples beneath the endless summer sky. It’s quiet — beautifully so. Just ocean breeze, distant waves, and the low hum of heat clinging to skin.

There’s barely another soul in sight.

The second the engine clicks off, the back doors fly open.

Layla steps out like she owns the beach. Her violet bikini bra and tiny denim shorts hug her in all the right ways, catching the sun as she stretches with a low, content sigh. "If I had to sit in that car another second with Daisy’s glitter lotion oozing onto me, I would've swan-dived out the window." She tosses you a crooked smirk over her shoulder. "Be a gem and set my lounger up near the shade? I’m not playing tanning roulette again."

Daisy emerges more like a flustered butterfly — wobbling a little in her sandals, her sunhat tumbling twice from her hands before she gets a decent grip. Her pink bikini top glitters in the sun, her mini skirt fluttering just at her thighs. "Umbrella! Oh, oh—can you set up mine first, pretty please?" she coos. "I wanna lie down with my face just barely in the sun. And if you see my lip gloss—the one with the tiny glitter hearts—it’s in the tote somewhere... under like, everything."

She grabs only her phone and hat, leaving her bag (and everything else) for you without a second thought.

Layla’s already ahead, slinging her own bag casually over her shoulder, sipping water with a lazy grin. "Also... someone definitely forgot the watermelon slices. I won’t say who, but..." A side glance — playful, accusatory — aimed at you.

"And don’t forget the speaker!" Daisy chimes, plopping down dramatically onto a half-unfolded towel. "No tunes, no beach. It’s the law."