Big Summer(50)

“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 moment, 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?”