Page 32 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Aly paused a moment, looking up at her with surprise. “Not Giancarlo’s house.”

“You know him?” Lola couldn’t believe it.

“I’ve only known him my whole life.” Aly was shaking her head, as though she shared Lola’s thoughts on their new living situation: annoyance, dread, disbelief.

“No.” Lola’s eyes went wide, taking in the decor, the signs now obvious. This wasn’t a rental cottage; this was a home.

“He’s best friends with my parents,” Aly said. “What are the chances?”

Lola didn’t answer, because she was suddenly worried that if she opened her mouth, the wordfatewould fall out. And she definitely,definitelydidn’t need to talk to Aly about whether this was fated. This moment might have been Lola’s personal hell—sure, her embarrassment alone could recognize that—but there was also a teeny, tiny part of her that felt a strum of intrigue at Aly’s closeness again. It made the idea ofchancesfeel very complicated.

Instead, she said, “I was just bringing a bottle of wine to my new neighbor. Trust me, I was not expecting it to beyou.”

“That was nice of you,” Aly said. “I’m sorry it turned out to be me.”

“Yeah,” Lola said, shrugging, trying to mirror Aly’s no-fucks-given energy. She knew she was probably not very convincing. Onthe contrary, she found she had never given more fucks than she did around Aly Ray Carter. But damn if she was going to let Aly, who so easily brushed off their new circumstances like she wasn’t responsible for Lola’s demise, know that.

“Are you okay to hold this?” Aly asked, and Lola nodded, taking over the task of pressing the towel into her broken skin. When Aly stood back up, her knees cracked; Lola couldn’t help but take note of it, perhaps only because it reminded her that Aly was actually human, not some ethereal being made of unaffected poise and unsolicited opinions. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Don’t move.”

As if she could have. Alone in Aly’s exquisite kitchen, bleeding out, Lola let the embarrassment wash over her. She was never the most graceful person in the world, but she wasn’t usually this disastrous, dropping the goddamn wine bottle, almost passing out at the sight of her own blood.Very smooth, Fine. She recalled the glass of water spilling during their interview and winced. When Aly was around, Lola didn’t know her ass from her elbow, and the worst part was Aly could probably tell. Lola put her face in her hands.

Despite the aggressive air-conditioning, a river of sweat ran between her boobs, marking the flimsy bikini that was just barely holding her in place. She glanced down. Thank god she’d remembered to shave her depression bush before coming here, but still, little bits of light brown stubble were starting to appear around her bikini line. She wondered if Aly would notice, if Aly cared about the length of someone’s pubic hair at all. Lola should really make an appointment to get waxed. Ryan would definitely come with her to that. In the Hamptons, they probably offered a full spa experience. They could make a day of it.

But in the meantime, she would have done anything for something to cover up with. A robe, a towel…a garbage bag.

Aly returned holding some hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and a Band-Aid. “This is going to hurt,” she noted apologetically.

“I’m a big girl,” Lola replied, but when Aly started cleaning her wound, tears pricked her eyes. She appreciated that Aly didn’t notice—or at least didn’t mention if she did.

“Oh shit, I think there’s a little piece of glass still in here.”

“Leave it,” Lola said, trying to pull her foot away. She didn’t want to risk Aly seeing her squirm.

“Hold still,” Aly snapped back, gripping her firmly, and Lola blushed, immediately obeying as a keen awareness ran up her spine.

She loved being told what to do.

With tweezers from the first aid kit, Aly deftly removed the chunk like a skilled surgeon. She held the glass up to the light as though it was a prize. “Got you, you little fucker,” she said in triumph.

Despite herself, Lola laughed. Aly smirked at the sound before returning to her task. When Aly seemed satisfied that the cut was clean, she held the gauze to it and then wrapped the bandage tightly around Lola’s toe. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. The bleeding has already slowed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Lola quipped and then reddened, hit with a sudden and specific longing for the last person who had played doctor for her: Justin. She wondered what he was doing on his break from her. If he was thinking about her at all. If he would think it unseemly if she bled all over his doormat. She shook the thought away.

Meanwhile, Aly balled up the bloody paper towels and the rest of the trash, tossing it into the garbage before washing her hands.

“Are you some sort of ex–Girl Scout?” Lola asked.

“I babysat a lot in high school,” Aly said, drying her hands on a dish rag. “Kids make you learn this stuff fast.”

Lola could not picture Aly with children. She seemed too cool forwiping runny noses and playing pretend. As if she could read Lola’s mind, Aly shrugged matter-of-factly. “I like kids.”

“Me too,” Lola said. “Though I think I need another five years to decide if I want them.”

“That’s funny,” Aly said. “I’ve always really wanted them.”

Lola felt a tender pull in her chest, not unlike the first time she heard Justin say the same. She had not bothered to imagine Aly as a mother, but seeing how nurturing she was, it made sense to her, somehow adding seamlessly to the picture of the cool girl in the long, white T-shirt before her.

“Can I get you some water?” Aly asked. “Or, like, some vodka?”

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