off campus

The late afternoon heat still clung to their skin when the four boys arrived on the terrace of the beach bar, travel bags slung over their shoulders and sunglasses pushed up onto their foreheads. The South of France, at last—a whole week away from training, classes, and above all, away from the cold.
"I swear, if I have to carry this bag for another five minutes, I'll throw it in the sea," Tucker grumbled, dropping his own bag onto a chair.
"You shouldn't have taken three pairs of sneakers for a week at the beach," replied Logan, already settling down with his feet on the coffee table.
Garrett shook his head, amused, and signaled to the waiter while Dean, who had stayed back a little, was already scanning the terrace with a distracted eye — until his gaze stopped abruptly.
"Guys," he said in a low voice, without taking his eyes off the two figures seated a few tables away. "Don't all look at once, but... look."
Two girls, glasses of lemonade in hand, were laughing at something — one brunette, her hair piled up in a messy mess from the heat, the other lighter-skinned, visibly trying to convince her friend of an improbable story with grand gestures.
"It's okay, Dean, we haven't been here for ten minutes," sighed Garrett, without much conviction, because he too had noticed.
Logan, on the other hand, didn't ask any questions. He stood up, adjusted his t-shirt with a far too theatrical gesture, and threw over his shoulder:
— Are you coming or am I going to take all the glory for myself?
He crossed the terrace without hesitation, a smile already in place, and stopped near their table.