Page 51 of The Lovers
“You have to get showered, come on—” She starts pulling him toward the Saloon but he’s still a limp noodle in her hands. I rush forward to help shoulder some of his weight.
“He smells like rancid milk,” I say, nearly gagging.
“They had a boozy shake truck and burgers on-site last night.”
“So it’s his breath.”
“I think it’s oozing from his pores.”
When we reach the porch, a man rushes out, arms extended to take Cash off our hands. He must work here, because he doesn’t look like one of the bachelors. Julia tugs her sunglasses down, cutting him a look that could kill.
“Let me help you out—” he starts, but she interrupts.
“You’ll do more than help me out. The management was aware of their ten-a.m. pickup time. There were strict instructions to make sure they were up—”
“You try wrangling a bunch of drunk frat dudes.”
“I’m about to do just that.” We hand Cash over, the move drawing another sour-milk-and-meat burp into the air. “Get him in the facilities, and make sure he doesn’t slip on suds or something.” The guy seems rightfully terrified of the petite brunette barking orders his way.
“Where are the rest of the guys?” I ask, offering him a smile. His pale eyes widen and shift toward the center tent. The biggest.The canvas door flapping in the wind. He shuffles off with Cash. We slow turn to look at the tent in question.
Julia inhales sharply. “Honest moment?”
“Of course.”
“I’m scared of what I’ll find.”
I flick my eyes over to her. “You mean is thisVery Bad ThingsorThe Hangover?”
“Jesus, hopefully neither.”
“Very Bad Thingsis so much worse.”
“Nineties problematics all over the place.”
“Deranged Cameron Diaz was a vibe, though.”
We approach the tent in unison, and Julia gives one more sharp exhale before gripping the edge of the tent flap and yanking it up. We step inside and let it fall closed behind us.
Men’s bodies litter the ground, halfway shoved into sleeping bags, a couple of them laid out on cots, hugging pillows and drooling over the edges. They all appear to be alive, with no dead sex workers or babies in the mix. It’s more than four guys, which leads me to believe that—much like the bachelorettes—the extended close crew were invited to participate.
“It’s definitely not as bad as it could be,” she says, shoving her sunglasses into the back pocket of her jeans. “But six guys, not counting Cash, is a lot for the two of us to corral.” She looks at me, and then her face drops into a small, grateful smile. “But at least I’m not on my own.”
I quirk my lips into a smirk. “Are you trying to saythank youwithout saying thank you?”
She sticks out her tongue and my eyes immediately drop to the move.
“I’m waiting.” I cock my hip, resting my hand in the crook and tapping my fingers in a rapid, impatient rhythm.
“You’re going to make me say it.”
“I think it’s important that you do.”
She squirms under the expectation for another couple of seconds before taking her lower lip between her teeth, grunting, and mumbling out the two all-important words. I snort into a cackle. We both turn our attention back to the sleeping pile of men.
“Try your siren trick again,” she says, motioning to my ass, where my phone is stored in the back pocket of my jean shorts. I tug it out, walking over to the nearest passed-out guy. He’s blond and tan, buff, and totally the type of guy I would normally find hot. Right now, with the peach fuzz on his upper lip and smelling of booze, I can’t comprehend why.
He’s not the groom, Sean—who I know from Millie’s Instagram. I see he is passed out on the cot near the back of the tent. I press my phone speaker close to this guy’s ear and blare the siren sound.
