Page 60 of Not Safe For Work

Once we get inside, I get her settled on the couch and hand her the room service menu. “How about you look at the menu and the wine list and tell me what to order. Then we can swim while we wait for them to bring it.”

“Scottie?”

“Sparkles?”

“You’re a genius.”

I can’t stop laughing at her serious tone, even when I’ve left the room to change into trunks.

Then I hear Liv start huffing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when I get back, trying not to laugh. She’s frustrated about something but the faces she keeps making are so overly animated it’s making me chuckle.

“Well, they have one of my favorite wines, the Goldeneye Pinot. But I’m pretty sure the price is marked up by a thousand percent.”

I take the menu from her. “I’m sure it’s fine. What do you want to eat?”

She grunts again and covers her face in her hands. “They have seven different quesadillas. I can’t decide.”

I eye the menu to check because seven seems excessive. But she’s right.

“I’ll decide for you, okay? Go get your swimsuit on.”

She hops up and throws me a grin full of gratitude. Once she’s in the other room I call for room service. And I order all seven quesadillas.

The wine arrives almost immediately via butler and the quesadillas soon after, so we hold off on getting in the pool. It’s a blessing and a curse because instead of swimming, Liv is sitting cross legged on the bed in her bikini.

I asked If she wanted to sit on the couch. The coffee table seemed like a better place to put the food. But she insisted.

“Scottie, it’s not room service if you don’t eat it in bed.”

I open up each container until she realizes what I ordered.

“You got every kind?” I nod. “I swear I could kiss you right now.” I honest to god seal my lips shut so I don’t say “please.”

We polish off about a third of the quesadillas, which is pretty impressive, and half the wine while we watch some Disney movie in Spanish. Liv can’t understand it, but she says she likes it anyway, and apparently enjoys having me translate.

Before we both pass out from a food coma, I ask if she still wants to go swimming.

“Definitely.” She immediately pops off the bed and runs outside like she just heard the ice cream truck was here. I quickly clean up the food and pour some more wine into each of our glasses before I go out and join her.

The night rolled in, murky and silent, while we were laughing over quesadillas. Liv is floating on her back under a star-filled sky. I’m tempted to take a picture because it fits perfectly with the labels on her family’s wine bottles. Each one I’ve seen has a different starry-night styled image. She said all the bottles are named after different stars or constellations. But from where I’m standing, they need one called The Olivia.

“Hey, beautiful,” I announce when I hop in and hand her the glass of wine.

“Thanks.” She takes a few small sips and places it on the ledge.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made things worse for you, Liv. The way those girls talked to you. It’s fucked up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But—is that always what it’s like? Being a woman? I mean, Marissa is always talking at our company meetings about the women’s group she started. I swear she uses the wordempowermentso much I could make a drinking game from it. But then she talks to you like that? What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Misogyny isn’t always from men. It’s so internalized at this point, it’s like all the shitty men from yesteryear found a way to outsource it. They can just sit back and watch us tear each other apart now.” She grabs the glass andtakes another long sip of wine. “I’m just glad I have Andie. No one else at Sizzl likes me.”

“That’s not true.”

I lean against the edge of the pool, half-hoping she didn’t hear the conviction in my voice. She sets down her glass and swims closer to me, stopping just short of my personal space.

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