Page 26 of Hotter in the Hamptons

“Sleep with other people if you need to. Personally, I don’t.” He said it so matter-of-factly, no secret meaning or hidden agenda to unpack. No tricks orwe were on a breakmental gymnastics to maneuver. So simple. So Justin.

And it broke her a little inside.

He walked toward the door. She felt her heart cracking in two, an actual sharp pain in her chest.

“Justin, please,” she begged.

He turned and looked at her one last time. “I love you,” he said.

“Yeah. I love you too.”

He gathered his Louis Vuitton suitcases, tossed his spring jacket over his shoulder. He put his pristine white sneakers on, crouching to tie the laces as tight as they’d go. And then he left.

Lola wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. She was too angry.

Chapter 5

Lola finally felt ready to take a shower.

It would be an everything shower, she decided. She’d stewed for long enough.

She turned the water on as hot as it would go, trying to scald the week of misery off her skin. She washed her hair twice, the Oribe shampoo sudsing satisfyingly on her scalp, and did a hair mask while she shaved her legs and armpits. She even broke out the body exfoliator for a final polish, scrubbing her elbows and her knees with probably too much force.

She did not think about Justin walking out on her.

She did not think about the horrible-yet-true things Aly wrote about her.

She did not think about Veronica and Todd dropping her, nor of the five million people who had turned from fans to haters in the blink of an eye.

She just focused on the hot water as it pounded down on her, on the fragrant steam that filled the air.

Afterward, her skin so pink it was maybe more raw than fresh, she wrapped herself in the fluffiest white towel she owned and made her way to the kitchen. There, she poured an enormous glass of Chardonnay and took big gulps while she looked around the kitchen and, beyond that, the living room.

It was all just so damn clean. So minimal.

So…Justin.

There were no signs that this was her home at all.

She’d compromised and compromised and compromised until she’d made herself so tiny that there was almost nothing left of her other than what she could squeeze into her little office. The rest of their “shared space” just reflected his taste, his preferences, his…everything.

She felt a surge of fury.

How dare he minimize her like this? How dare he leave her after making her so small?

She finished the rest of her wine in one gulp and then dove into her closet and found the shortest, tightest dress she owned—a floral pink Isabel Marant halter—and fastened a huge, studded belt around her waist, channeling Kate Moss at Glastonbury. She put on her highest Larroude wedge sandals. She wanted to be as tall as possible, show as much of her legs as she could. She let her hair dry naturally, the humidity giving it extra volume and body. Then she grabbed a Fendi Baguette from her collection, the one with sequins.

Without skipping a beat, she dug around in her desk drawer until she found an ancient pack of American Spirits that she’d been saving for emergencies. This was indeed an emergency. She stuffed the cigarettes into the Baguette. It was going to be that kind of night.

Finally, she texted Ryan:Meet me at Fanelli’s. We’re going out.

***

Lola knew that she looked out of place sitting at the corner table at Fanelli’s in Soho, but she didn’t care. Surrounded by tourists in fanny packs and mom jeans and baseball hats, she looked like she got lost on her way to a red carpet. She had to assume that was why everyone was staring at her; she did not want to presume that they knew who she was.

When Ryan finally arrived, his eyes grew wide as he slid into the seat across from her. “I didn’t realize we were serving cunt this evening.”

She grinned. And then as quickly as the smile appeared, it fell. Though she’d left the house angry, having to tell Ryan what happened just felt sad. “Justin dumped me.”

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