Page 46 of Hotter in the Hamptons

“It was a good assignment,” Aly said unconvincingly.

“Hear that, ladies?” Lola said. “Ruining my life was a good assignment.”

Aly scowled in response.

“Are you going to stay on the influencer beat?” the redhead asked. “I’m sure it’s lucrative, writing something so viral.”

“No.” Aly’s voice was clipped now. “It was a one-off.”

“Lucky me,” Lola said. “So happy that you toe-dipped into my life specifically. I’m your unfortunate muse, I guess. Your one-and-done influencer chum! I feel honored.”

There was a long, awkward silence. The women across the table stared at her. She was taking this too far, she knew.

“I think you and I need to have a conversation,” Aly said to her. “Somewhere…else.”

“Oh really?” Lola said before realizing Aly was serious—and was already standing. Lola’s anger faltered. “Wait, what?”

“You don’treallywant to stay for dinner, right?”

“I mean, I guess not?” She had been looking forward to dinner, actually—steak was on the menu—but she’d lost her appetite the moment Aly had appeared.

She didn’t know what was happening. She had not expected this.

Aly stood up and waited for Lola. And then, to Lola’s complete shock, Aly placed a hand on Lola’s lower back and guided her toward the exit. There was something almost chivalrous about it, and Lola gritted her teeth, as though that would protect her from Aly’s charm.

“Do you want me to email you the one-sheet?” a publicist called to Aly as they walked out into the night.

“Yeah, thanks,” Aly called over her shoulder. And then to Lola, she muttered, “I never read those.”

“So rebellious,” Lola whispered.

Aly smirked.

It was drizzling, and they were quiet as they huddled under the valet’s umbrella, waiting for Aly’s car. Lola was thrilled and terrified at the same time.

Would Aly shame her for her behavior? Collect more info to ruin her further? And where were they going?

There was nothing to do but surrender. Whatever was going to happen next was, apparently, up to Aly.

Chapter 9

The valet pulled up in a vintage, green Bronco.

“Nice,” Lola said, impressed despite herself. “What is that, an eighty-seven?”

Aly shot her a sideways smile, as though she was surprised Lola knew about cars. “Nineteen eighty-eight. My pride and joy.”

It was raining harder now, and Lola held her bag over her head as she climbed into the passenger seat. Aly slid in next to her, one hand on the wheel as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

They didn’t talk in the car. Lola kept accidentally holding her breath.

She eyed Aly’s right hand, which rested lightly on the gear shift. She thought about holding it.

Aly was a good driver, with absolute control over the vehicle, which Lola always found to be a very hot quality in a person. It was a totally smooth ride. She loved being a passenger princess, even under these very weird circumstances.

Lola’s indignation was petering out now that it was just the two of them in the intimate quiet of the car. There was no one to perform her anger for. Aly already knew how she felt. She didn’t need to keep talking—or screaming—about it.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to Murf’s, an Irish pub.

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