“Huh?” Owen looked mystified. Rhys cracked a half-smile, feeling like he’d landed on another planet.
“Um, they’re on vacation here with Elsie’s mom, who’s dating a soccer star. I think they’re happy that they came together, because most people at the resort are older,” Rhys translated, remembering the group of English kids they used to hang out with at a pub in London that Rhys’s cousin had loved.
“Rhys is British,” Owen announced proudly. Rhys signaled to the bartender for another drink. Whatever Issy was speaking, it wasn’t British.
And it only gets easier to understand with more drinks!
“Oh. And what are you?” Elsie licked her bright pink lips lasciviously at Owen.
“Where are you from, then?” Issy asked at the same time, turning so that she was facing Rhys. She put her hand on his knee. Rhys could feel her acrylic nail tips digging into his skin.
He glanced at Owen for a rescue, but Owen and Elsie had swum over to the other end of the bar.
“We’re actually from New York City,” Rhys said shortly. No way did he want to get into a discussion about his family tree. “How’s your drink?”
“All gone!” Issy shook her head sadly as she stared down at her empty glass. “Barman? Can I ’ave another Sex on the Beach?” She played with the green flamingo-shaped stirrer in her drink, biting onto it with her crooked tooth.
“Sure thing!” The dreadlocked bartender nodded.
“’Ave you ever had it?” Issy asked, holding the stirrer in her mouth as if it were some sort of absurd cigarette.
“I like beer better. So, how long are you on vacation for?” Rhys asked politely. If she lost the accent, the attitude, and the gold hoop earrings that were turning her earlobes green, Issy might be pretty. But still, he couldn’t help comparing her to Avery. She’d looked beautiful last night, her hair falling softly around her athletic shoulders, her Tiffany silver bracelets shining against her slim, tanned wrists, her blue eyes so wide and sparkly. But it was more than that. It was the way she’d seemed so genuinely enthusiastic about her mom’s announcement. Unlike other girls Rhys had known, who were jealous or selfish or only pretended to be happy for other people, Avery genuinely wanted everyone around her to be happy.
“I’m not talking about the drink, mate!” Issy laughed, throwing her head back so her platinum blond hair fanned out in the water behind her. “I mean, ’ave you ever shagged on the beach?”
“No.” Rhys’s ears turned bright red.
“Oh, sorry, don’t be embarrassed!” Issy protested, grabbing Rhys’s hand underwater. Her muddy brown eyes looked almost sad.
“Is Rhys not being nice?” Owen asked as he swam up to the two of them, Elsie clinging to the back of his neck. Rhys wasn’t sure if he should be happy that his friend was sort of rescuing him or livid that Owen had put him in this situation in the first place.
“I thought you American blokes were supposed to be adventurous. This one seems shy,” Issy pouted, as though Rhys wasn’t sitting right next to her. He sighed. At least the bartender, probably taking pity on him, had already refilled his drink.
“He’s not when you get to know him,” Owen said.
“So, where’s the wildest place you’ve shagged?” Issy asked curiously. “I’ll go first. In the McDonald’s bathroom with me mate, Ben. When we got out, our fries wasn’t even cold!” she announced proudly.
“Oi, but then you got an ASBO and couldn’t go back there again for a bleedin’ six months.” Elsie rolled her eyes. “Anti-Social Behavior Order, from the government. She’s got loads,” she added, noting Owen and Rhys’s confused expressions.
“What about you, Rhys?” Issy asked pointedly.
“Um, we don’t have Antisocial… things in the US,” Rhys said.
“I’m not talking about that. I don’t know why Elsie brings it up, she knows I’m right hacked off about it,” Issy sighed in annoyance. “No, where’s the wildest place you’ve shagged?”
“He’s working on it,” Owen jumped in.
Thanks. Rhys shot an annoyed look at Owen.
“Does that mean you’ve never been shagged?” Issy asked in disbelief.
“I… I just went through a breakup.” Rhys looked toward the ocean, almost wishing he were in real England instead of bizarre England with these girls.
“Ohhhh, I can help you! I’d be gentle. I’m very good,” Issy added, as if she were on a job interview.
“She really is good. And she ain’t fussy when it comes to blokes to get it off with. She’s done well worse than you,” Elsie added generously, sucking down the rest of her drink.
Rhys could feel the tips of his ears turn pink. Of course she’d done well worse than him. He was about to say something to this effect when Issy interrupted.
“Oi, all this drinking and now I’ve gotta pee like a racehorse! Rhys dear, watch me drink for me?” Issy was already climbing out of the pool, her tiny swimsuit giving her a wedgie that she didn’t correct. By some unspoken girl code, Elsie was already climbing out of the pool, following her.
Rhys slid off the tiled bench of the bar and swam toward the other side of the pool, not even bothering to check to see if Owen was following behind him. Even though he’d only had a few drinks, his stroke was uneven, and the water felt heavy. He stopped at the other end and held on, looking out onto the blue ocean.
“I did good, huh? They’re all over us!” Owen exclaimed, holding his hand up for a high five as he treaded water beside him. He withdrew his hand when Rhys didn’t slap it. “Is something wrong?”
Where to even begin?
“I’m just not feeling Issy,” Rhys said honestly, gazing out at the ocean. All the way down the beach, he could just make out a couple splashing in the water. At one point, the girl playfully broke into a run, pulling the guy into the water with her. They kissed in the splashing waves like a movie.
“What, are you upset about the virgin thing? She was just teasing. But she seems totally cool about the whole thing. And she’s English, too, so you already have something in common.” Owen pointed out, looking extremely pleased with himself.
“No, it’s not that. I just can’t,” Rhys said, not sure what to say to get Owen to lay off. Owen’s face looked so proud and hopeful, and it was the first time he’d seen a smile on his friend’s face since the engagement shocker last night. Besides, he couldn’t tell him that the real reason he didn’t want to sleep with Issy—or anyone else, for that matter—was that he was possibly in love with his sister.
Rhys reached for a lie instead. “I guess I’m just not over Kelsey,” he said, instantly feeling bad as he watched Owen’s expression fall.
“Okay, man. I get it,” Owen said woodenly. Issy and Elsie had emerged from the bathroom and were waving to them from the other side of the pool.
“I’ll hang out for a little bit longer,” Rhys offered, feeling guilty.
“Thanks,” Owen said, not really listening. As he swam toward Elsie, who was doing a sexy little come-hither dance, the air seemed to escape from his lungs. Earlier he’d been looking forward to a few days of fun, meaningless sex, but suddenly he felt like a giant douche.
Rhys was still hung up on Kelsey, and Owen had thought that he was just as head over heels for her as his buddy had ever been. And yet, a month later, he barely thought of her. He’d thought he loved Kelsey, but clearly it was just lust.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, Owen thought randomly, recalling the quote from a poetry unit back in his Nantucket English class. Rhys had loved Kelsey. Baby had had a string of boyfriends, each of whom she’d loved in her own way. Layla and Riley had been together for years, which meant they had to love each other. Even his mom had found love—not that he was thrilled about her marrying Remington, but still.
Everyone else in his life, for better or for worse, had found someone they clicked with, someone they forged a real, honest connection to, at least once in their life. But apparently, Owen did
n’t even know what love felt like.
As he swam toward Elsie and her teeny-tiny string bikini, he was starting to doubt that he ever would.
besties on the beach
“Oh my God! Jack!”
Baby woke up to squeals emanating from the sitting room. What the hell? She’d been having this weird dream where she’d been in charge of planning Riley and Layla’s wedding, except somehow, she’d ended up marrying both of them. It seemed very weird and Freudian and she was sort of glad to be woken up.
“What are you doing here?!”
Baby hadn’t heard Avery so excited since she’d won the Miss Lobster Queen title back in ninth grade. What the hell was Jack Laurent doing here? Didn’t she have enough lives to ruin in New York? Baby closed her eyes again, hoping it was just some sort of weird dream-within-a-dream.
“Well, I missed you.” Jack’s voice carried through to the other room.
“I can’t believe your dad let you come! This is so perfect!” Avery cried, completely ignoring the fact that Baby and Layla were sleeping in the next room. Or rather, Baby was pretending to sleep. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and padded over to her suitcase, which was bursting with flowy, cottony dresses, cutoff skirts, and bathing suits. She’d never been a good packer, preferring to just throw the contents of a drawer into her suitcase and see what happened. Besides, she could always borrow from Avery. She rifled through her suitcase until she found a string bikini and a skirt she’d made out of a pair of Avery’s discarded Sevens. She pulled on an aquamarine thrift store T-shirt that had a Blue Bunny ice cream logo on the front. She’d cut the back into strips to give it a little bit of punk sex appeal. Avery hated the shirt, which was why she wore it.
She walked across the cool stone floors and opened the door to the sitting room, where Avery was pawing through Jack’s Louis Vuitton duffel trunk. The two girls were totally oblivious to her presence.
“Is this new?” Avery demanded, holding up a strappy lemon-colored dress in front of her frame. Jack was wearing a similar dress in apricot. “I like it.”
“Of course you do. Did you notice you’re wearing the same one?” Baby said, interrupting their fashion show. Was their friendship really just about complimenting each other’s clothes all the time?
“Oh, your sister’s here.” Jack glanced up from her perch on the brown-and-white-striped love seat. “Nice shirt,” she said, not even bothering to hide her sarcasm. Ever since J.P. and Baby had briefly dated, Jack had made it no secret that she hated Baby. Now that she and Avery were friends, Jack wasn’t overtly mean, but the two of them tried to stay out of each other’s way.
“Why are you here?” Baby asked directly.
“I needed a change from New York.” Jack shrugged but didn’t offer any more details. That was the truth, after all. Jack had left J.P.’s quickly after their non-attempt at sex and had gone back to the town house, where her family had already come back from their dinner at Rebecca’s parents’. As soon as she stepped in the door, she knew she had to get out. The twins had been especially loud, hopped up on too much pumpkin pie and Dora the Explorer, and her dad and stepmom had seemed exhausted and harried. Jack saw a future weekend of babysitting flash before her eyes, and she knew she simply couldn’t maintain her sanity with the Wiggles as her weekend sound track. She booked a ticket to the Bahamas, explaining to her dad and J.P. that Avery needed her for emotional support. Her dad had consented, probably because he was far too exhausted dealing with the twins to protest, and J.P. had been nice about it, if a little disappointed. He told her to take plenty of pictures and that he would be there in spirit. It was sweet.
Maybe too sweet?
“Baby just wears that to piss me off.” Avery stuck her tongue out at her sister.
“You guys are so loud,” Baby whined as she walked over to the sliding doors. She flung them open, taking a moment to admire the way the sun reflected on the water. Instantly, she calmed down a little bit. Yeah, Jack Laurent sucked, but at least the scenery was nice.
“So, are you hanging out with Layla today?” Avery called out to Baby.
Baby shrugged. She knew Avery well enough to know that meant that she’d rather Baby not hang around with her and Jack. Not like she’d want to. They’d probably spend the whole day lying on the beach, followed by hours at the spa. Baby was sick of just lying around. She wanted to do something.
Or, um, someone?
Baby wandered back into the sitting room. “Oh, I forgot. There’s a note for you. I think it’s from Remington,” Avery said, her arms elbow-high in Jack’s suitcase as she examined its contents with the precision of a surgeon.
“Weird,” Baby mumbled, wondering why on earth her mom’s boyfriend—make that fiancé—was writing her. She picked up the note from the countertop and saw that it was in fact from Remington, letting her know that he had set everything up for her and Riley to go riding today.
“I guess he made us some riding reservations,” Baby explained. She glanced from a distracted Avery over to Jack, who seemed impatient to get rid of her. Even though she’d planned on avoiding Riley, hanging out with him suddenly seemed like her best option. “I’d better head down that way.” She grabbed a pair of jeans to wear later and headed out the doors and onto the wraparound patio.
“’Bye,” Jack called sweetly. Baby didn’t bother to respond.
“Is this good?” Avery called to Jack, choosing a blue-and-white cabana at one end of the hotel pool. Since Jack had arrived an hour ago, Avery had been dying to delve into a long, girly conversation. Baby was her sister and all, but for some reason Avery hadn’t wanted to talk to her about the Rhys thing. Besides, she wanted some outsider perspective on her mom’s engagement.
“Sure!” Jack sprawled on one of the linen-covered lounge chairs and sighed. “God, this is so much better than New York. It was so boring without you! And the stepbrats were fucking monsters. Remind me to never have children.” Jack shuddered and pushed her D&G sunglasses on top of her auburn hair.
“Don’t tell me, tell J.P.!” Avery giggled. She pulled her container of Bliss suntan lotion out of her See by Chloé watermelon pink beach bag and slowly squeezed some onto her arms.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Jack rolled her eyes. “Can I have some of your sunscreen?” She held out a dainty, manicured hand.
Avery regarded Jack curiously. Even though she and Jack had become good friends in the past month, she’d never really heard Jack talk about anything personal. Instead, they’d talk about sample sales, totally unacceptable behavior by other Constance students, what parties they were going to go to, and what they were going to wear. Thinking about it, Avery didn’t know Jack’s favorite color or if she’d slept with a stuffed animal when she was little or if she ever had braces or any of the totally normal things you were supposed to know about a best friend. It seemed Jack had been born totally beautiful, confident, and sure of herself. Or at least, she wanted everyone to believe that. Avery knew from firsthand experience—when she’d discovered Jack living in the tiny garret above her former town house after her dad cut her and her mom off—that Jack had her own insecurities and hidden secrets.
Avery was about to find the politest way to probe Jack about J.P. when she noticed a group of people on the other side of the pool. Avery could just make out a blond guy and a brown-haired guy, sitting beside two scantily clad girls, drinking and playing in the water. It was Owen.
And Rhys.
She couldn’t see Rhys’s face, since he was turned toward the submerged bar, but she certainly saw one of the girl’s arms draped possessively around his neck. They were at least fifty yards away, but Avery thought she could even hear them laughing. There were empty glasses on the edge of the pool on either side of them. And it was what, 11 a.m.? Had they just been there all morning, drinking and flirting? Were they on a double date?
“What?” Jack asked curiously. Avery was stuffing her towel and sunblock back into her beach tote. She motioned toward the po
ol.
“I know when Owen’s flirting. I don’t want to ruin his game,” Avery lied. She ignored the tears pricking her eyes. “Besides, no one’s here, anyway. I want to go to the beach.”
“Owen?” Jack asked, standing up to follow Avery’s gaze. From across the pool, she suddenly saw what Avery was staring at. She recognized Owen’s shock of blond hair and his white teeth as he threw his head back, laughing at something Rhys Sterling had said. Or maybe it was something one of those skanky girls with them had said. They were hot in that trashy, look-at-me sort of way, and one of the girls was practically rubbing herself against Owen’s tanned torso. Jack suddenly felt like she was going to be sick, and it wasn’t from the early morning flight.
She grabbed her things and went to follow Avery toward the beach, glad that they weren’t sticking around to watch. She suddenly felt extremely stupid and extremely annoyed with herself. What had she been thinking—that she’d arrive in the Bahamas and fall immediately into Owen’s arms?
Avery marched away, her cork Hollywould platforms thwacking down the sandstone stairs. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, hating herself for getting so upset. An uneven black smear of mascara stayed on her hand. Fuck. Why was she wearing mascara to the beach, anyway? To impress Rhys? It was so stupid. It wasn’t like they’d even kissed. And yet for the first time in her life, she felt like she’d let a guy make a total and complete fool out of her.
The white strip of beach below the pool was set up with the same blue-and-white striped cabanas as the hotel. Avery quickly popped into one. She needed to relax and regroup, and hopefully avoid Rhys and his new girlfriend. At least until she was appropriately rested and fabulous.
“Would you ladies like a drink?” A skinny beach waiter in khaki shorts and a white linen shirt poked his head into the cabana, proffering woven straw menus.
Jack waved the menus away. “Mimosas. And muffins. And French toast,” she added. “We’re on vacation, fuck calories,” Jack announced as she pulled off her flowy white Milly sundress and tossed it onto the sand, revealing her black Calvin Klein halter bathing suit.