Big Summer(51)

“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.