Page 15 of Hotter in the Hamptons

That was, in fact, exactly what he wanted to do.

When at last they were both finished, Justin fell asleep with his face pressed into her neck. He’d always been an easy sleeper. She knew he’d pop out of bed in exactly thirty minutes, pull on clean Moncler sweats, and make a protein smoothie while he packed for LA. She loved his rituals, his predictability.

Meanwhile, Lola stared at the ceiling, her Aly fantasy idly continuing. While she knew exactly what Justin would do next, she had no idea what Fantasy Aly would.

Lola had never told anyone how often she thought of women during sex. She was not ashamed of this habit—she just didn’t think it mattered because it didn’t mean she wanted to fuck men any less. And she loved fucking men. She always had, ever since she lost her virginity to Benson Campbell at his family’s Malibu beach house when she was seventeen.

She and Benson didn’t go to the same high school, but their parents had been industry friends, so for as long as Lola could remember, her family had an open invitation to the Campbell “cottage,” the cute way they referred to the ten-million-dollar summer mansion. During those long, hot, adolescent days in Malibu, things between them were platonic and innocent; they would play beach volleyball and tan and go to Malibu Yogurt. But the summer before their senior year, something unnameable changed between Benson and Lola, a sudden spark that hadn’t been there before. She couldn’t ignore how cute he’d become. They spent August exchanging lingering glances. Finally, in September, Benson invited her out to the beach house when no one else would be there, and she eagerly agreed. They were in the hot tub discussing what movie to watch when he kissed her.

They soon fell into bed, and while it wasn’t very romantic, it still felt safe and special, which was what she’d wanted out of a first time. Better still was the discovery that Lola loved having sex—how it made her feel so feminine yet animalistic, like she could really be herself, wanting what she wanted without apologizing for it.

She couldn’t wait to do it again with all the guys she’d meet in college.

That was part of the reason she and Ryan had become so close at Parsons: they were both boy crazy. One of their favorite things to do was exchange phones and take turns on each other’s apps; Lola would swipe through his Grindr, and he’d swipe through her Raya, which she’d finally gotten off the wait list for once her blog took off. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for each other, no boundaries between them. Once, sophomore year, he’d helped her bleach her asshole. They were still sending each other their nudes for approval.

And then came Justin.

Justin was the only boyfriend who’d ever met Lola’s parents, who’d come over Christmas Eve and seen the bungalow she grew up in, with its built-in bookshelves overflowing with hardcover classics, everything cozy with warm light and cooking smells and cashmere throw blankets. He’d stayed with her in her childhood bedroom, the walls still covered in pages ripped from fashion magazines. They’d had sex in that little bed, pretending they were in high school, trying hard to be quiet while her parents watched a movie downstairs. The memory made Lola blush.

No, she thought—her body still pulsing from the orgasm she’d had while Justin was inside her—thinking about women is completely beside the point.

Still pressed against her, Justin started to snore. She untangled herself from him and threw on a pink Lola for Rêver robe, then tiptoed to the kitchen to retrieve a coconut LaCroix from the fridge.

She flopped onto their cream boucle Rove Concepts sofa, cold seltzer in hand, and stretched her legs onto their new cement coffee table. The living room furniture was not necessarily comfortable, but it definitely photographed well, especially since it was styled with a copy ofChanel: The Impossible Collectionand a hand-blown glass vase that she always made sure was full of fresh flowers from the overflowing buckets in the flower district.

She loved their space, with its floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Soho, though if it were up to Lola, it would all be drowned in patterns and colors and textures, tapestries on the wall and Moroccan rugs on the floor and fuzzy throw pillows oneverything, more bohemian kaleidoscope than minimalist restraint.

But partnership was about compromise. The walls remained white, crisp, and clean. In exchange for giving up her ideal interior design,Lola got to live with someone who cared deeply about her. It seemed like a fine trade-off.

The afternoon sunlight was casting a golden glow on Lola’s already tan skin. Soon, after enough days in the summer sun, all the hair on her body (well, the hair on her body that she permitted to stay) would turn white blond, making her feel like a beach goddess.

She checked her phone and realized she hadn’t texted Ryan back yet.

She ignored what he’d said about a trail of bodies. She didn’t want to think about the many straight women who had fallen under Aly’s spell.

The interview was amazing, she texted him.I, like, love her? She was kind of mean to me but in like a refreshing way. I don’t know. Like she was really seeing me. I just have a really good feeling about it.

He sent back a series of hearts and then:Babes are you coming to the Violet Grey event tonight? Would make me look good to get a photo of you there.

She paused, considering it. Ryan had rented out Cervo’s, a dimly lit Portuguese-Spanish restaurant in Dimes Square, which meant the party would be incredibly fashionableandhave great food. She’d been looking forward to it—she’d even asked to borrow an outfit from Collina Strada for the evening, which sat in a garment bag in her office. But despite all that, she was still scared to be seen in public, what with her scandal still trending.

I really want to, but I think I need to lie low until ARC saves my reputation.

Understood, he wrote with another series of hearts.Ok can’t talk, getting face frozen in time.

Everything would go back to normal soon, she knew. All she had to do was hang out and wait until Aly’s piece came out. In the meantime, she was content to think back on their conversation, on the energythat had buzzed between them, and on the way Aly’s hand felt in hers when they shook goodbye.

***

Lola was still lying on the couch when Justin emerged from the bedroom.

“Do you have to pack?” she called to him.

“I did already.” He smiled at her, and then he went to the fridge and started tossing food on the sparkling black marble island. “You hungry, babe?”

Justin had recently gotten into gourmet cooking—or at least into coming home with $500 worth of meat and cheese from Eataly and upgrading all the appliances so that everything was professional grade, complete with Le Creuset pieces in sage. Of all the hobbies Justin had tried out, this was the one she found the sexiest. Lola hated cooking, but shelovedeating.

“Starving,” she said, her mouth already watering. “Tell me it’s steak.” Steak was her favorite food, though she also felt deeply conflicted about animal cruelty. She often said she was a vegetarian in spirit, not in practice.

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