The Lion's Den(38)

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve just got a rock in my back.”

He moved us over, feeling the wall for any rogue stones, then went in again for the kiss. His stubble was like sandpaper against my already raw chin. He must’ve felt me slightly backing away as I tried to reposition my face, because he stopped again, holding my gaze. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yes!” I laughed. “It’s just your stubble.”

“I’m sorry. I’m like a Chia Pet. I swear I shaved this morning.”

“Let’s just take it a little slower,” I suggested.

I leaned in and kissed him slowly, determined not to let my mind get in the way of this lovely evening with an ideal guy. My phone vibrated in my purse, but I ignored it, enjoying the feel of his lips on mine, more relaxed now that he was letting me lead. Before long our bodies were pressed together, our breathing heavy. I could feel him getting hard against my pelvis, but he kept his hands respectfully above my waist and didn’t push. I wasn’t a sixteen-year-old on a couch. I was twenty-four and turned on. I liked the feeling of being in control, thrilled my mind was finally keeping up with my body.

My phone buzzed again.

“Do you need to get that?” he asked.

“It can wait.”

The buzzing stopped as I moved his hand to my thigh and up my dress.

My phone buzzed again.

The sound of laughter and chattering as a group of partiers tripped down the path. Dylan and I froze, waiting for them to pass.

“Look, it’s a grotto,” one of them called.

“Shit,” Dylan muttered.

Footsteps on the path. We quickly readjusted our clothes and leaned against the stone as casually as possible as the group that had been doing cocaine by the fountains stumbled into the cave.

“Wow, this is so cool,” a scantily clad chick cooed, her voice echoing.

“Dude, I heard this property was listed at seventy-five million,” one of the guys added.

“Is it on the market?” asked another one.

“Properties like this are traded off market, fucktard.” The first guy laughed.

Their eyes lit on us. “Hi, guys!” one of the girls said. “Isn’t this beautiful? What a beautiful night. It’s just magical.”

She grabbed another one of the girls by the hand, and they spun around dangerously close to the water’s edge until one of them lost her balance and crashed into Dylan. He helped her to her feet and she snuggled up to him, rubbing against him like a cat. “Oh, hey, handsome.”

He gave her a perfunctory smile and leaned her against her friend. “We were just headed out. Enjoy.”

“No, don’t go!” she whined behind us.

As we emerged onto the path, my phone began to buzz again. I took it out of my purse. Wendy.

“Hey,” I answered.

She sounded like she was crying. “I’ve been…trying…to call…” Her words slurred together.

Immediately I was worried: Wendy was never a mess. “Are you okay?”

“No. I feel…My drink, I think it…”

“Where are you?”

“A tree,” she managed. “Behind…hookah tent…” Her voice trailed off.

“Wendy?”

But she seemed to have dropped the phone.

The party had thinned out as Dylan and I hurried across the lawn in the direction of the hookah tent. We found Wendy slumped against a tree with her eyes closed, her fairy wings twisted beneath her. I gently slapped her cheeks.

“Wendy!”

“Belle.” She blinked open her eyes for just a moment and then shut them again.

“Somebody must’ve spiked her drink,” I said. “She never gets this drunk.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dylan asked.

“No!” Wendy moaned. “No ambu…Home.”

“If she can talk, we’re probably okay to take her home.” I jostled her to keep her awake. “I’ll just have to stay with her to make sure she doesn’t get any worse.”

Her chest started to heave. Dylan lifted her and positioned her on her knees, and I held her hair back while she vomited purple liquid into the bushes. Sorry, I mouthed to him, patting her back. “That’s good…You’re gonna be okay,” I soothed her.

“Let’s get her home,” he said.

“Not out the front,” I insisted. “She’d be mortified.”

He nodded, thinking. “I saw a gate at the base of the garden, past the gazebo. We can exit there. I’ll have the car meet us.”

“I should find Summer,” I said.

“Eric texted me a while ago. They left.”

Summer always did favor a French exit, especially when there was a man involved. Though I couldn’t help but feel a prickle of irritation. What if Dylan had turned out to be a weirdo? Or had taken off and what had happened to Wendy had happened to me? I disentangled Wendy’s wings and gathered her shoes and purse while Dylan called the car, then easily lifted her limp form. No one gave us so much as a second glance as he carried her around the edge of the garden and into the woods. We found the gate in no time, the Suburban idling right outside.

In the cocoon of the car, the driver handed us one of those puke bags you normally find on airplanes. “Thanks,” I said, impressed.