Page 97 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Justin had been here.Wasstill here, somewhere.

At least they hadn’t had sex. Maybe some cuddling. Then, to her credit, she’d made him leave.

Was that him cleaning downstairs?

And where was Aly?

Fuck.Aly.

Lola bolted upright.

She remembered herself sayingThis is my neighbor.And then the confused look on Aly’s face, followed by the horrible, calm way she’d turned and walked out.

Lola flew out of bed, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She looked…terrifying. She was still wearing her nap dress, now wrinkled to shit, and her underwear, which definitely smelled like the pool. Her hair was stiff with chlorine. Sheet marks lined her face. Her chapped lips were stained wine red. She could shower before going downstairs and facing her life.

Sheshouldshower.

Especially if thatwasJustin making so much noise in the kitchen. He preferred her clean, and old habits died hard.

She quickly stripped, and then, under the hot water, as she scrubbed her skin raw, she tried to think about what she actually wanted to happen next.

The problem was that she hadn’t planned for any of this.

She had not expected Justin to show up and beg for her back.

She had not expected to have to introduce him to Aly.

She had not expected Aly to want to be her girlfriend.

Her mind was swirling with what other people wanted from her. But what didshewant? She combed conditioner through her tangled hair and tried to picture her perfect scenario, given all the factors. But she couldn’t.

She hated that his body in bed had been so comforting.

He wanted to get back together. What a plot twist. But did she feel the same way? On some level, she thought, sure, there was a world inwhich she still wanted him. Five years’ worth of feelings didn’t just disappear.

She tried to picture it—she could slip back into a relationship with him easily, go back to the way everything had been, minus her career, of course, though that felt less pressing in this moment. But she could just as easily run over to Aly’s house and apologize, finally tell her that yes, she did want to be Aly’s girlfriend. She didn’t want this to be an either/or situation, though. She didn’t want to choose between them. If she was being honest with herself—and she was really, really trying to be, for once—the problem was that she wanted both of them.

But she had a feeling neither of them would be down for a throuple. And she didn’t actually want that either; she couldn’t imagine juggling two relationships at once.

What she wanted was for there to be two different Lolas, two separate versions of her, one who could date Justin and one who could date Aly. Then no one would have to get hurt.

Barring an alternate universe, she had no idea what an actual solution would look like.

She stayed in the shower a little longer than necessary, letting the mirror fully fog up, until she couldn’t put it off any longer. Reluctantly, she turned the water off.

She dried herself off, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and walked barefoot downstairs.

Justin sat at Giancarlo’s kitchen table with a glass of orange juice and his phone. He looked neater than he had yesterday, back to normal in a wrinkle-free T-shirt.

“Hey,” she said, “did you find everything you needed okay? You want cereal or something?”

He looked up from his phone, frowning.

“Oh god,” she said, assessing the look on his face. “What?”

“Lola, what is this?”

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