The Dirty Book Club(40)

Then, a zap of trepidation. She wriggled free from Dan’s protective grip.

“You’re twisting your rings,” he said, the sky’s last fiery streaks of the day lighting his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Was I?”

Dan nodded. “You’re allowed to have fun,” he said. “No one is going to die if you do.”

M.J. looked out at the hilltop homes that shimmered gold in the setting sun. He knew her so well. Better than she knew herself. She gazed up at him with a rom-com actress’s lovestruck grin. “How did I get so lucky?”

Dan traced the scar above her eyebrow. “Sunscreen.” He smiled. “Now let’s go break some hearts.” He ushered her past humid bodies, sloshing cocktails, and the predatory glances of men—and M.J. allowed herself to be ushered. It was one of the first times they were both heading directly into the fun instead of steering around it, a silent but mutual desire to escape the relentless haunt of car accidents and earthquake victims and enjoy each other instead.

“Look who it is,” Dan said, indicating Britt. She was seated alone at the bar, chin resting on her fist, grinning as if savoring a delicious secret. She turned at the sound of Dan’s voice and greeted them both with a chardonnay-scented hug.

Joy swelled inside M.J.’s chest. Not only was she at a party, she knew one of the guests. Granted, said guest had a wet spot on her tank top, but life was about progress, not perfection, as Dr. Cohn liked to say.

“Where’s your better half?” Dan called above the DJ’s stuttering beats.

“Pressed against this stool,” Britt said, pointing to her ass, which was shrink-wrapped in a pair of white skinny jeans. “Oh, did you mean Paul? He’s stuck on a job.” She cut a look to M.J. urging her to play along.

“He’s working on the Fourth?” Dan asked.

“Yep. Looks like you’ll have to fetch my chardonnay tonight in his stead.” Britt raised her empty wineglass and gave it a This isn’t going to refill itself jiggle.

“I thought membership to the Downtown Beach Club included manservants,” Dan joked.

“Downtown Beach Club?”

M.J. bristled. “The manservants are on backorder until the fall,” she said, with a play-along pinch to Britt’s sinewy bicep. “Would you mind filling in?”

While Dan was busy flagging down the bartender, M.J. quickly explained that she’d been using the Downtown Beach Club as her alibi for the DBC and asked Britt what she’d been telling Paul.

“Nothing. He never asks.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with a cocktail napkin, expunging a mascara booger in one efficient blot. Then she peered past M.J.’s shoulder, threw back her head, and laughed with hearty, borderline psychotic, jubilation. “That is hilarious!”

M.J. drew back her head. Was Britt bipolar?

“Laugh,” Britt insisted from the side of her mouth.

“Huh?”

“Act like I just said something funny.” Britt giggled. “Do it!”

M.J. laughed. She sounded more asthmatic than amused. “What’s happening right now?”

“He’s here,” Britt whisper-smiled.

“Who?” M.J. turned to follow Britt’s gaze, when— “Ouch!” She gripped her stinging thigh. “Why did you just flick me?”

“Because I don’t want him to know I know he’s here.”

“Who?”

Britt lowered her head. Black hair flanked her face while she swiped her lips with gloss. “The Brazilian!” she said. “He just walked in.”

“The Brazilian knows Addie?”

Britt shrugged. “He said he wanted to watch me in my natural habitat, but I have no idea how he found me. He doesn’t know my name, let alone my schedule.” She swiped her bangs and stole a quick peek. “It’s kind of hot, don’cha think?”

Heat prickled the base of M.J.’s neck. A bald voyeur was lurking somewhere behind her. “If by hot you mean potentially dangerous and probably deranged, then yes, it’s extremely hot.”

“What’s hot?” Dan asked, returning with their drinks.

“You,” M.J. said.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Britt added. “Getting M.J. a car for her birthday and hiding the key in a cake is hot.”

“It would be hotter if she actually drove it,” Dan said with a teasing smirk to M.J.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better I love it,” Britt said, “Though an upgrade on that stereo wouldn’t hurt. The bass gets lost when the top is down. Not that I’m complaining,” she said with a quick side-eyed glance at the Brazilian. “Anything is better than what I’m driving.”

“Seriously?” Dan scoffed. “You have a Land Rover and a Prius.”

“That’s the car version of ordering a Big Mac and a Diet Coke,” M.J. said.

Britt threw back her head and laughed uproariously, a reaction so disingenuous that M.J. found herself wishing the Brazilian away.

“The Land Rover is gone. Paul traded it for an electric golf cart to save the quote, unquote, environment,” she rubbed two fingers against her thumb to show what he was really trying to save. “Meanwhile, we look like the Flintstones in that ridiculous thing.”