I looked back—it was Minh Tran, the Vietnamese guy, and Lan, his thick-ass wife, coming into the lobby from the first floor hallway.
He was wearing basic ass shorts and a normal shirt—looking plain as hell. But his wife, hmm, she was getting my attention quick.
She wasn't in a bikini—seemed like an innocent wife who didn't want to show off too much skin—just a yellow sundress, light and flowy, hugging her thick curves. I could see the shape of her heavy melons under it, nipples poking faint, and her hips always looked fertile, wide and swaying slow as she walked beside him.
This motherfucker Minh always called me so casually like I was his old friend—loud and friendly, waving big.
"Hey… you guys aren't on the beach yet?" I asked, turning a little.
"That's what I asked you," he laughed. "Why aren't you with the others? They've been gone a long time."
"I had to sleep," I said easy, shrugging with a grin. "Was feeling tired… didn't want to go to the beach half-assed, you know?"
