Page 50 of The Lovers
Julia barrels into me. My hand reaches out in a reactive embrace. She yanks her giant black Versace shades off, pinning me in place with her eyes. They’re makeup-free and alive with alarm.
“Whoa, who died?” I ask.
“This wedding might,” she replies, her voice electric.
“That’s ominous.”
“The groom and his dudes are passed out at Bachelor Town when they’re supposed to be presentable at a picnic brunch onSkull Rock.” She’s in a hurry, but she’s not tugging out of my grip. “I have to go.” Her eyes drop to my hand. One of my fingers has slipped in between the buttons on her light green button-down, touching the skin on her abdomen. The baby hairs stand on end, and before I move my hand away, I let my finger brush back and forth over her skin.
“You need backup,” I say, releasing her. I shove the hand that was just touching her into my hair, twisting a chunk between my fingers.
“No, I’m fine,” she says, waving me off. “You should enjoy the facilities.” She’s moving away fast. But that wasn’t a question.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, gripping her by the wrist. Her eyes trip to my hand before coming back up to my face.
“Are you sure you want to do that? It’s bound to be a shitshow.”
“All the more reason you shouldn’t tackle it alone.” I’m just as shocked as she is by the words coming out of my mouth. I am supposed to be avoiding her, not trying to find more reasons to be close to her.
She considers me and my proposition for another beat. I consider recanting but can’t make myself say it out loud. Finally, she nods, and I release my grip on her wrist. She launches back out, and I follow her, matching her brisk pace.
“They were supposed to be up by ten, over to the site by eleven, but everyone is passed out or throwing up—” She cuts herself off. We turn the corner into the lobby, which is full of people I assume are family and close friends who have been invited to the rehearsal dinner tonight. “This is why I always insist the bachelor/bachelorette festivities don’t happen on the same weekend as the wedding.” She’s lowered her voice, painted on a fake smile.
“Millie probably thought they would be the exception to yourwarnings,” I reply. She’s shoved her dark sunglasses back over her eyes, but I can feel her confirming eye roll through the lenses.
“Andsheis,” Julia replies. “Despite the shenanigans of last night, the bridal party is on-site, on time, and undoubtedly camera ready.”
We reach her car idling in front of the lobby entrance, flanked by two of the Celestial Sands staff. I climb into the passenger seat, buckling, as she starts the engine. Sitting in the console between the two seats is a rental car packet. I pick it up, examining.
“I drive a Jag,” she says, throwing the car into gear.
The wordJaghits me right in the stomach, making it twist. Julia Kelleyshoulddrive a Jag. She should wear sexy dark sunglasses and simmer with intensity. She should be pissed off and dry-witted, and she should definitely be beside me in the driver’s seat.
I tighten my seat belt.Universe, take the wheel.
She peels out, tires spinning up gravel to smack against the car’s undercarriage.
?It’s a ten-minute drive to reach the location of last night’s bachelor excursions. As we pull onto the lonely desert road, the entrance sign stands overhead. They’ve hung a banner that readsBachelor Town, population: the Final Fourover the sign, blocking the Pioneer Town name from view. As we near the site, I see a faux street of frame buildings set up to look like a ghost town from the Wild West, complete with a saloon, a blacksmith, and a doctor. I am assuming each of these buildings also has different uses that loosely correspond to their historical purpose. To the left of the street are a few large glamping tents similar in style to the ones atthe Glamp-Out—canvas, with a firepit in the center. Parked alongside those is a party bus, the front doors open, the engine off.
As we pull up to the site, I notice the hunched-over form of one of the bachelors, his shiny black hair absorbing the stark sunlight. He’s wearing a pair of assless chaps, his athletic torso completely bare. His head rests on the metal edge of the firepit and his back is already tinted pink from sun exposure.
“Goddammit, I hope his forehead isn’t crispy,” Julia says, shutting off the engine. She unbuckles. “But a crispy groomsman really is the least of my concerns.”
I cut my eyes at her. “Have you met Millie Morgan? Aesthetics are God.”
“Fair,” she replies. “Fuck.” We climb from the car to get a closer look. She gingerly touches the guy’s pink-tinted shoulder. “Cash, you lucid?” He stirs with a groan and then lifts his head to reveal a pink stripe across his forehead, but hopefully with time—and some ice and a little makeup—it won’t show in photos.
“This is manageable,” I say, bending down to peer at the mark. “It’s fine as long as one of the bridesmaids has a matching foundation shade.”
Julia nods. “Right, okay.” Then she shakes him a little more vigorously. “Cash, you gotta get to the showers in the Saloon.” Another groan.
I pull out my phone, opening the GarageBand app to quickly search for a siren sound. I turn the volume way up and put the phone right by his ear. Julia looks perplexed, brows flexing with her unspoken question.
“It’ll work,” I say, clicking the sound. A siren rises, growing in volume like the real thing.
Cash’s head shoots back up from the firepit edge. “What thefuck, no—” he exclaims, smacking his palms against the metal, then up to his ears. Julia grabs him under the arms and yanks him up, putting his double nipple piercings right in my line of sight.
Cash is sooo the kind of guy I would have fucked in a bathroom and ghosted when he invited me to take out the paddleboats in Echo Park.
