Page 27 of Hotter in the Hamptons

He grabbed her hands across the table. “Hewhat?”

“Well, not exactly dumped? He wants to take a break. It’s all…very unclear to me what is actually happening.”

“You better tell me everything,” he said.

They had each polished off their second martini by the time Lola finished giving Ryan a detailed play-by-play of her conversation with Justin.

“I’m so sorry, babes,” he said. “These drinks really aren’t cutting it, huh?”

When the third round came, they clinked their glasses. “To having no future and no one to love me,” Lola declared.

“I will absolutely not drink to that,” Ryan said. “To starting fresh.”

“To being the queen of the bland. Captain Blandet. Cate Blandett?” She was drunk now. Lola always found herself to be very funny after three drinks. She could tell, though, that Ryan was losing his patience. “Okay, okay, enough about all this shit. Tell me aboutyourday.”

“I was wondering when we’d get to me.” He grinned. “So I started talking to this guy named Emmett who’s going to be out east for the summer too.”

Lola squealed. “Show me right now.”

He pulled up Grindr and showed her a photo of a torso so toned and hairless, it almost looked fake.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped. “Does he have a face?”

“Who cares?”

“True,” Lola said and then looked around them. She wondered if there was a set of abs here, waiting for her.

But everything was off about the restaurant: the lighting too bright, the conversations too loud, the waitstaff too cheery. It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be somewhere dark and sexy. Anonymous.

“I want to goout,” Lola said. “Like we used to.”

“The sun hasn’t even set yet,” Ryan laughed. “Plus, I leave for the Hamptons tomorrow morning. I don’t want to be hungover and in traffic on the Long Island Expressway. That’s my personal hellscape.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” she whined. “Don’t you want to have one more night out with me before you go?”

“I’m going to East Hampton, notdying,” he replied. “I have to pick my rental car up in”—he checked his watch—“twelve hours.”

“Please?” She wasn’t above begging. “It’s Friday night. I want to dance and meet new people and escape my real life and just be fucking invisible.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Sweetie, in those heels, you’re six feet tall. Not to mention you’re internet famous. I don’t thinkinvisibleis in the cards for you, at least not below Fourteenth Street.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. Take me out. Let’s go to where the cool people are. I want to see boys. Hot boys.”

“Maybe you could eat something first.”

He was right: Lola had forgotten to eat all day, very off-brand for her. They ordered a basket of mozzarella sticks, and Lola knew without having to ask that they were just for her. Ryan didn’t touch dairy, especially not if it was deep fried.

She ate one, and then another, and then another, the grease smearing across her fingers. She couldn’t stop. She wanted to eat a thousand mozzarella sticks, their salty, breaded crust and hot gooey insides and—

“Oh my god, is that Lola Likes?”

She heard the girls before she saw them.

There were four of them at a nearby table, with tiny sunglasses perched on their heads and slip dresses over their T-shirts and chokers around their necks.

She met their eyes as she chewed. They gaped at her in horror. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and stared back, unblinking.

Let them see me, she thought.The real me.

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