“Is Drue all right?” he asked again, a little more urgently.
“She’s fine,” I said. “Are—are you a friend?” It seemed highly unlikely that he was Drue’s friend; unlikely, too, that he was one of Stuart’s buddies.
“A friend,” he repeated. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I work with Mr. Cavanaugh.”
“Ah.” That, at least, made a species of sense. I imagined he was some kind of tech wizard, socially awkward but brilliant.
“I saw what happened—” He gestured down toward the beach. “I was worried. About the bride.”
“Do you know Drue?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, and shook his head. “Not well,” he said. “But still.” He touched his chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Is her fiancé with her?”
“He wasn’t when I left.”
The stranger sighed, looking troubled. “I was going to bring her this.” He reached behind him and showed me a glass of ice water. “But I saw that you thought of it first. You’re her friend from high school, right?”
“Right,” I said, and wondered why a business associate of Mr. Cavanaugh’s knew so much about the boss’s daughter. Then again, he hadn’t mentioned anything that couldn’t be learned from a quick peek at Drue’s Instagram. “Well. I guess I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow!”
He nodded. “Yes. See you there.”
Weird, I thought. I crossed the deck and opened the door on Drue’s side of the hot tub. Maybe he’d seen Drue at work and become infatuated with her. Maybe he was some lovestruck Romeo, come to torture himself as the girl he loved married another man. Or maybe, I told myself as I opened the door out to my own deck, he’s just a normal, decent person who was trying to do something kind.
When I stepped out onto my deck, my heart leapt. There was Nick Andros, sitting on the edge of the round, cushioned daybed with two shot glasses in his hand.
“I thought you could use a drink,” he said, handing me a glass.
“You have no idea.” I sat down beside him on the daybed, clinked my glass against his, and swallowed it down. The whiskey made my eyes water, and lit up my throat and my chest with a welcome glow.
“This place is insane,” he said, tilting his head to look up at the house. “I bet I could move into one of the guest rooms and no one would know I was here.”
“You and a family of four,” I said.
“So what’s going on?” he asked, his face full of concern. “Are you okay? Is she okay?”
I nodded. “I’m fine. Drue, not so much.”
He shook his head. “Weddings bring out the worst in people. Two of my cousins got in a fight because Ellie wanted an adults-only wedding and Anne showed up with her baby. In a tiny little baby tuxedo that she’d obviously bought for the occasion.”
“Oof,” I murmured. I decided not to bring up the fact that Drue hadn’t remembered him. She was upset, and maybe she’d been drinking, and then there’d been that fight. Surely the combination of emotion, alcohol, and a four-hundred-person guest list could explain the confusion.
“Do you think there’s going to be a wedding in the morning?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sure the Lathrop Cavanaughs can find a way to sweep it all under the carpet. WASPs, you know,” I said, hoping, belatedly, he wasn’t one. He must have guessed what I was thinking, because he smiled and shook his head.
“Portuguese Irish Italian,” he said. “Lapsed Catholic. We sweep nothing under the carpet. At every family gathering, you’re guaranteed two things: a big fight and lasagna. Lasagna at Thanksgiving, in case you don’t feel like turkey. Lasagna at Christmas, in case you don’t want turkey or ham.”
“My kind of people,” I said, sighing happily.
“You were nice to go check on Drue.” He put one hand on my shoulder and squeezed, just a brief touch, but I felt it over every bit of my skin. “So. What was all that about?”
“I think the bride’s parents are having some issues around the wedding,” I said, congratulating myself. If they gave out medals for best use of euphemisms, I’d probably qualify.
“Was Stuart in there with Drue?”
“He was not.” I decided not to tell him about the weird guy who’d been lying in wait on the deck. I was being paranoid. He was probably just a nice guy, and the world needed more nice guys, more trust and less suspicion.
Nick pursed his lips, seeming to think, before he gave me a meaningful chin-down, eyebrows lifted, I’ve-got-a-secret look.
“What?” I asked.
He dropped his head. “I shouldn’t say.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, bumping my hip against his side in a playful manner. It felt like nudging a warm stone wall. He was solid. Big and solid. “Now you have to.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Is there really a hot tub back there?”
I smiled, looking at him coyly from underneath my lashes. Unless I was way off, he was angling for an invitation, and, while the prospect of sharing a hot tub with Nick was far from unwelcome, I also wanted to hear the dirt on the groom.
He stood, took my hand, and led me back the way I’d come, through the door in the hedges, which he shut and locked behind us. He hit the button that started the hot tub’s jets, pulled off his shirt, and dropped it onto one of the lounge chairs. The skin of his shoulders looked enticingly smooth. I could see the muscles in his shoulders, the way his waist narrowed into a V. His chest was obscured with a tangle of dark-brown hair, and a trail of hair led down past his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.
A braver girl—Drue, for example—might have shucked off her dress and jumped into the water in her bra and panties. I wasn’t that girl yet. “Be right back,” I said, and hurried inside. I’d packed my trusty black SlimSuit, a garment made of such restrictive material that it took me a good ten minutes to wriggle it on. I’d also brought my Leef swimsuit, the Darcy, so I could get pictures wearing it at the beach. And I’d packed a bikini, one I’d worn only in the privacy of my bedroom. It was navy blue with purple polka dots, a halter top, and retro-style, high-waisted bottoms, making it as modest as a bikini could be. Still, it was, in fact, a bikini, and it did leave a portion of my pale, soft stomach visible to the entire world.
Now or never, I thought, pulling on the bikini, with my white lace-trimmed cover-up on top. I put my hair up in a clip, swiped gloss on my lips, and grabbed my phone. So much to tell you, I texted to Darshi. Huge fight hot guy mysterious stranger more soon. I could see the bubbles indicating that Darshi was writing back, but instead of waiting for her reply I tossed my phone on the bed and padded, barefoot, back to the hot tub before I could lose my nerve.
Nick was in the water, smiling at me through the steam. I saw his shirt and—I swallowed hard—his shorts on the chair next to the hot tub. Was he there naked?
“Boxer shorts,” he called, like he was reading my mind. “C’mon, the water’s fine.”
In one swift and, I prayed, not ungraceful motion, I pulled off the cover-up, threw it over the back of a chair that I’d judged to be close enough to let me grab it from the water, and got myself into the hot tub. The water was deliciously warm, and there was enough booze in my system to have me feeling happy and expansive, at ease in my skin and at peace with the world. Part of me wondered why Nick was trying so hard to charm me. Part of me scolded myself for doubting that he’d be interested in me. The biggest part of all wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and see if his skin felt as warm and as smooth as it looked.“So tell me,” I said.
“What’s that?” he called, cupping one hand behind his ear. I scooched myself closer, locating the grooves of a seat beneath the bubbling water. Nick put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me gently against him, and moved my mouth close to his ear. I could feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, and his beer-scented breath on my cheek. “Stuart was engaged before Drue, right?”
I nodded. “To Corina. From the TV show.”
For a long m
oment, Nick was silent. I could hear the hot tub’s motor, the water splashing on its sides, and the noise drifting up from the beach, the sound of music, along with the smoky scent of the bonfires. “I got here early, so I had some time to kill. I took a stroll down toward Corn Hill, where the public beach is.” He jerked his thumb to the left, indicating what I supposed was the beach in question. “I saw Stuart with a girl.”
“And the girl wasn’t Drue.” Nick shook his head. My heart sank on Drue’s behalf.
“Do you know who it was?”
“I didn’t get a good look. She had very light hair.”
Corina, I thought. “Yikes,” I murmured. Corina and Stuart are friends! I remembered Drue telling me. And besides, if she shows up, it’s a story. People magazine will probably write something. They might use a picture, too. “What were they doing?”
“Just talking, mostly,” said Nick. “But they were close. Like, kissing close.”
I found that I could barely breathe. I was shocked. I felt sorry for Drue. But, along with the shock and the sympathy, I felt a wicked, guilty thrill of satisfaction. There was, it seemed, a part of me that was delighted by the idea that Stuart didn’t love Drue, a part of me that still wanted to see my old friend get hurt. “I don’t get it. If Stuart is still in love with Corina, why didn’t he just marry Corina? The network was going to pay for it. They had a broadcast date and everything.”
“Who knows?” The muscles of Nick’s shoulders rippled as he shrugged. “Maybe Drue had something he wanted. Something Corina didn’t.”
“Oh my God,” I said, and tried to make myself breathe and think calmly. “I should tell her.” I looked at him, waiting for confirmation. “I should tell her, right?”
Nick was quiet again. “Do you think that maybe she knows?”
I felt my mouth drop open. He lifted his hands. “I’m not saying she does. But if she doesn’t, isn’t she going to be inclined to shoot the messenger?”
“I can’t let her marry a guy who’s already cheating on her.” I slumped against the hot tub’s edge. I could imagine the scene: Drue, still teary-eyed, opening her door. Me, wet-haired and wrapped in a towel, saying that her fiancé had been seen canoodling with his ex. Drue telling me that I was lying; that this was payback for that night at the bar, that I was making things up just to hurt her. That I was fat and dumb and ugly and she’d never really liked me, she’d only felt sorry for me; that they’d all just felt sorry for me.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “I mean, you know Drue.” When Nick nodded, I said, “She has everything. She’s beautiful, she’s rich, she’s going to inherit the family business. Why would she marry a guy who wasn’t in love with her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she wanted the right kind of guy. Maybe she had a deadline in her head. Maybe nothing else was working out.” Nick let water fill his cupped hands and splashed it on his face. He scooped another handful and let it trickle over the top of his head, plastering his curls to his cheeks and forehead. I could see his nails, clipped short, and the scattering of hair on his fingers. My breath caught again, and my heartbeat sped up.
“Or maybe she thinks Stuart does love her,” he said. “Maybe he’s been lying to her. Stringing her along.”
“Oh, God,” I said, slumping back into the bubbling water. “What should I do?” I asked. My voice was mournful and small. “Poor Drue.”
Nick stretched one arm behind me, groping for the shorts he’d abandoned on the chair. He pulled a silver flask out of the pocket, unscrewed it, and offered it to me. I took a sip, feeling the whiskey burn a hot trail down my chest. He took a swallow, then tossed the flask back onto the chair and draped his arm around me again, pulling me close.
“I think you just be her friend,” he said. “You support her in whatever she decides to do. And you’re there for her if it falls apart.”
I nodded bleakly.
“Here’s to happily ever after.” He put his arms around my waist, turned me until I faced him, lifted me up, and settled me into his lap, so close that our noses almost touched. I could see that his eyes weren’t brown; they were hazel, flecked with green. Droplets of water gleamed in the stubble on his lip and chin.
“Hey,” he said, very softly.
“Hey,” I whispered back. I felt my breath catch as Nick’s hand cupped the base of my head, and I had a moment to be grateful that the water made me weightless as he pulled me closer. His lips were gentle, tentative at first, barely brushing against mine. He tasted like whiskey and salt. I touched his hair, sinking my hand into his curls, feeling the bones of his head against my palm as the kiss deepened. The bubbling water swirled around us. Steam was rising in the air, shutting out the world, making me feel like we were in our own private grotto, and Nick’s lips were hot, and his tongue was moving in my mouth in lazy strokes. It felt so good that I was dizzy, as Nick maneuvered me toward the center of the hot tub, where the water was deeper. He knelt down, still holding me, and it was the most natural thing in the world for me to wrap my legs around his waist. I could feel his chest, firm and strong against mine, and I could feel something else, substantial and wonderfully solid, nudging against me.
Daphne Berg, my mind whispered, are you really going to hook up with a stranger the night before your best friend’s wedding? You absolute cliché. Meanwhile, Nick’s hands were at the clasp of my bikini top. “Okay?” he whispered.
“Okay.” He unhooked the strap and gave a happy sigh as my breasts tumbled into his hands. I arched my back as he pressed them together, holding them gently, before bending his head, circling one nipple with the tip of his tongue, then covering it with rough, lapping strokes that made me quiver and press myself even more tightly against him. He held me still, his hands pinning me in place as he gave my other nipple the same treatment, first licking, then biting gently. When I sighed, he bit down harder, and I shuddered with a sensation that was right on the edge of pleasure and pain.
I leaned forward to press openmouthed kisses on the salty skin where his neck met his shoulder. He cupped my jaw, raising my lips to his, and we were kissing fiercely, with my bare breasts pressed tight against the skin of his chest, my hands clutching his shoulders.
“Oh,” I sighed, when we finally broke apart. “Oh, wow.” Nick’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, pupils dark in the steamy air. He gave me a crooked smile. “I thought this wedding was going to be boring.”
“Same,” he said. He took my hand and guided it under the water, letting go just as I made contact with his erection, so that what happened next would be my choice. I exhaled, appreciating his thoughtfulness. Then I gripped him, rubbing with the heel of my hand, moving the cloth gently against his skin. Nick settled his free hand against the small of my back before letting it drift down to cup my bottom. I stretched my hand lower, cupping his balls, letting my fingertips graze the crease behind them. Nick groaned against my neck. He worked his hand underneath the elastic waistband of my bathing-suit bottom, and I was too turned on to think about my jiggly belly, or whether he’d be able to see my stretch marks. He pressed his hand between my legs, moving his mouth back to my breasts, pressing the tip of his index finger against my most sensitive spot. I could feel his stubble scrape my skin, and his teeth closing gently around my nipple, and his tongue flicking at it, as he held his hand perfectly still. I rocked against him, hoping to give him a hint. He pulled back to smile at me, and I growled in frustration. That was when his fingers finally started to move.
“Oh, God.” I wriggled, rocking against him as he stroked me, breathing hard, feeling his fingers curving inside of me, with my mouth pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“Daphne,” he breathed in my ear, “you feel so good.”
I pressed my lips to the curve of his ear. “I want you inside me,” I whispered. He pulled back to look at me.
“Are you… is it safe? I don’t have any condoms. I wasn’t expecting to make new friends tonight.”
“The
re’s some in the gift basket by the bed.”
“Thoughtful.” Nick vaulted over the hot tub’s edge, reaching for a towel. Water sheeted down his back and off his shoulders, and in the steam-thick air, I thought he looked like a statue come to life, all silky skin and muscles, his legs lean and muscled, his bottom high and firm. I could see the ridges of his ribs, the articulation of his abs as he crossed the deck and went to the bedroom. When he came back, facing me, I could see his erection bobbing cheerfully in the night air and had a moment’s worth of panic. It had been more than two years since I’d been with a guy, and that had been a forgettable hookup with a colleague of Darshi’s, and Nick’s erection was sizable. He must have seen me looking, because he gave it a few lazy strokes before rolling the condom into place. “Hurry,” I whispered, and he gave the condom one last tug, with a look of intense concentration, like he was getting ready to take a test.
I decided that I wanted to make him smile, that I wanted to make him gasp and sigh, the way he’d made me gasp and sigh.
“Come here,” I said. Nick hopped into the water. I glided over to him, settled myself against him. He touched me, stroking with just the very tip of his finger. “God,” he murmured, “you’re so slippery.”
“Come on,” I said, and took hold of his sheathed erection. He waited, looking up, his eyes on mine. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and lowered myself down, inch by slow inch, until he was all the way inside of me. I’ll bet you make love like a fat girl, Alec Baldwin’s character had once said to Tina Fey’s neurotic, self-conscious character on 30 Rock, and after I’d heard it, whenever I had sex I would hear it echo in my head; the idea that fat girls tried harder in bed, that guys expected exotic tricks or above-average willingness to make up for our extra pounds. I didn’t know tricks. All I had was desire and enthusiasm. But Nick seemed satisfied as he gazed up at me, gripping my breasts with just the right amount of pressure. I waited until I couldn’t possibly hold still for another second. Just when I was getting ready to move, he groaned and grabbed my hips, thrusting, first gently, then harder. I tossed my head to get my wet hair off my face, taking him in more deeply, and as the water churned around us, Nick kissed me, and I forgot to be ashamed, or worry about how things sounded, or how fat girls made love. I could feel the warm water lapping at my back. I could hear the splashes, the tiny clicking noises of wet flesh on lubricated rubber, our breath coming faster and louder, Nick’s soft gasps. His hands slid from my breasts to my hips, but he was letting me set the pace, letting me take my pleasure, letting me use him, and that thought alone, along with the expression on his face as he watched me, was almost enough to push me over the edge.
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