The Reunion(53)

Her smile lights up the kitchen as she leans forward. “Really . . . you slipped?”

“Unfortunately. Not my finest moment . . . nor was it his. But apparently we bonded, so there you have it. And don’t forget how I passed out on a lady’s butt while giving her a shot. Looks like I have a penchant for fascinating butt stories. I’m sure I have you beat on the embarrassment scale.”

“Okay, that does make me feel better.” She moves her hand through her wet hair, pushing the strands to one side. “I was in Santorini, doing a shoot at this quaint restaurant run by an older couple. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. It overlooked the cliffs and was positively beautiful with the white walls and the blue ocean behind it. Lit only by candles—just so romantic. I dressed up for the occasion, really going for a fancy look in a bright-red silk dress that draped low in the back. I took some stunning photos that are some of my favorites to date.”

“I think I saw those pictures,” I say, glancing up to her surprised face.

“You follow me on Instagram?”

“Yeah.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “Good to keep up on people, you know. Maybe live vicariously through them on occasion.”

“I didn’t know that. I should follow you.”

“Be prepared to be bored. It’s mainly pictures of Marina Island and the hikes I go on. An occasional picture of my food because I heard that’s what you’re supposed to do. I don’t dare use hashtags, though.”

She laughs. “Too scary?”

“Just not clever enough. But I’m Dr. Beau Beau, if you want to follow me.”

“Dr. Beau Beau is your IG name? Oh, that’s great.” She picks up her phone and quickly searches for me. “Found you.” I watch her scroll through my feed. “You’re right, lots of Marina—wait a second.” Her mouth falls open as she looks up at me. “Uh, hello, thirst trap.”

“What?” I ask.

She turns her phone toward me, showing the picture I took on a hiking trail. I’m shirtless, sweaty, and possibly flexing just a little.

“This is totally a thirst-trap picture.”

“What’s a thirst trap? And how would you know?”

“I’m the queen of thirst-trap pictures—well, respectable ones—because my parents do follow me after all. A thirst trap is supposed to entice people sexually . . . you know, a flash of a leg here and there or, in your case, a shirtless picture showing off your endless abs.”

“They’re not endless,” I say, feeling myself blush.

“Well, you have shorts on, so I can’t really see where they end.” She gives me a coy grin, and I swear I can feel the back of my ears heat up. “But either way, this picture is a total thirst trap, and I’m here for it. And this looks way better than Watchful Wanderers’ terrible Instagram.” She rolls her eyes at that comment. “You should post more of them.”

“For whom? My sister? Pretty sure I have five followers. Six if you just followed me.”

“You have two hundred and seventy-four.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “That’s . . . a lot. I don’t even think I know that many people.”

“That’s what happens when you post a thirst trap.”

“All right, all right, enough with the shirtless picture—I want to know what happened in Greece.”

“Oh, right.” She sets her phone down. “So, I took some scenic pictures with a wineglass, you know, the typical IG shots, and then I was preparing a video of me eating some of their most popular dishes. The owner was so horrified that I was going to eat in such a pretty dress that she begged me to wear a bib.”

“A bib?” I say, my eyes widening. “Like . . . a baby’s bib?”

“She had these fancy ones—it wasn’t like a Mickey Mouse ABC bib. So I figured, why not—it would be a good way to show off my silly side—so I put the bib on. I did the entire video with it on, ate some of the most delicious food of my life, and drank the evening away.”

“Sounds like the perfect night.”

“It was, until I took the bib off.”

“Uh-oh, did you stain your dress?” I flip the toast on the griddle.

“I wish,” she scoffs. “I went to take off the bib, and when I was undoing it, I was unaware—thank you, wine—that I’d undone the top of my dress as well, and because the dress was low cut in the back, I was braless . . .”

“Oh shit,” I say, putting down the last slice.

“Oh yes, the owners got more than a thank-you from me. They got an entire show, and the worst part? I was just drunk enough that I didn’t notice until I went to shake the horrified owner’s hand, and she told me that my breasts were pointing straight at her.”

I laugh out loud, my chest rumbling with laughter. “That’s freaking amazing. Did you cover up quickly?”

“You would think, but instead, because of wine—once again—I said in America, we thank each other with a tit to tit.”

“Please . . . please tell me what that is.” I can’t hold back my smile. “And please tell me you did it with the owner.”

“I attempted to. Like the wino that I am, I lifted my naked breast and tried to ‘high five’ it with the owner’s. She was so shocked she shielded her breasts and told me to get out.” She taps her chin. “Hmm, now that I think about it, I’ve gotten into a predicament or two thanks to wine.” She lifts her cast up in the air. “This being one of them.”