Page 42 of Hotter in the Hamptons

She was completely out of step with the pace of the Hamptons—too dressy for brunch, too casual for the fashion party. She swallowed, trying to psyche herself up to turn on Professional Influencer Mode, or at least to prove that she still belonged to this world. Though who she was still trying to prove it to, she wasn’t sure.

Herself, maybe.

She leaned the bike against the building just as a scruffy BFA photographer she recognized from some fashion week event or other materialized in front of her. “Hey, Lola,” he said, raising his camera.

She posed for him—one leg slightly in front of the other, a hand on her hip, jaw relaxed, easy smile—falling into one of her tried and true angles. As the shutter clicked, she saw Monica Mollsbury, a beauty influencer she used to grab coffee with from time to time. She waved, trying to get Monica’s attention. Their eyes met, and Lola smiled, willing Monica to come talk to her. But Monica only tilted her head to the side, as though considering whether to say hi. Then she turned on her heel and walked in the other direction.

So it’s going to be like that, Lola thought, bracing herself for moreawkwardness.

“Thanks, Lola,” the photographer said and said, nodding at her.

He was cute, she noticed idly, though he wasn’t really doing anything for her. She appreciated his tight T-shirt and his curly mop of hair but otherwise felt nothing. Not a jolt of interest. She sighed, suddenly missing the surety of Justin at her side.

“Honey lavender lemonade?” a server with a tray of drinks offered. She grabbed one, sipping it as she surveyed the scene and wondered who here would actually want to talk to her.

And then Brett Jennings, a guy she always tried to avoid, appeared before her and grabbed her by the arms. “Lola likes East Hampton!” he screeched in her face. “Girl, I haven’t seen you since that messy Chanel party at Soho House. Rough summer, huh?”

Brett’s brown hair was slicked back, and he wore an all-white linen suit. Lola couldn’t really keep track of what he’d been up to recently; sometimes he had a magazine column, other times he worked in tech, but mostly he seemed to just be a hanger-on, following models around and stealing their clout. It was working; he had a million followers and the brand deals to match.

And he was still holding her by the arms. She hated when gay men thought they could get away with grabbing her like this.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Brett said, his smug smile making her want to scream. “You’re no one until you get canceled. Welcome to the big leagues.”

She wondered if he was going to ask to take a selfie with her—that was kind of his thing—but he didn’t. Instead, he kept peering into her face, waiting for her to say something. Panic set in. She did not want to be associated with someone who thought getting canceled was a sign of success.

She needed to get herself out of this conversation, but she didn’tknow how.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

Brett looked over her shoulder and then released her arms with a squeal.

“Aly Ray Carter, live from the Hamptons! Take a selfie with me, doll.”

Lola’s breath caught in her throat. Not Aly. Not here. Not now.

Can I live?It seemed like the answer was no.

Lola forced herself to breathe normally, clearing her airway before she turned around slowly, her arms folded over her chest, trying hard not to look as shook as she felt.

Aly was wearing a white ribbed tank top, no bra. Sunglasses. Beige linen pants. Subtle adjustments to her Brooklyn vibe made her fit effortlessly into the Hamptons, like she was just slightly too cool to be here but participating in it all the same. Lola couldn’t stop her jealousy from flaring. Of course,Alydidn’t look underdressed. No, Aly made everyone else seem overly done up.

Aly grimaced through a selfie with Lola’s new nemesis, who winked as he walked away.

She’d needed a lifeline, sure. There were few things worse than being faced with a judgmental cling-on. But did she really need Aly Ray Carter to save her? She resented it even while she appreciated the timing.

“Hi,” Aly said, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. “I fucking hate that guy.”

“Honestly, same,” Lola said and then tensed as she remembered that she was supposed to hate Aly too. She searched for that swell of anger from yesterday, mentally giving herself a pep talk.You hate her. You do.Maybe it was the overalls making her soft, but she came up empty.

“How’s the foot?”

“Like new,” Lola said, which was a lie. It had been hurting her allday, though she’d been trying her best to ignore it.

“You look nice,” Aly said, taking her sunglasses off. “Dressed down is a good vibe on you.”

Lola bristled. She didn’t want Aly to be sweet to her. It was so much easier when they were yelling at each other.

So she decided to be mean. It was safer.

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