Page 19 of Hotter in the Hamptons

July gave way to August, the days melting into each other like ice cream dripping off a cone. Life for Lola became a hallucinogenic whirlwind of sunshine, Aly, the beach, oysters, Aly, wine, lobster rolls, Aly, orgasms, Aly, Aly, Aly.

Lola wanted to keep in mind that she’d vowed not to lose herself in Aly, but Aly was making it very hard. Finally, she gave herself a deadline: by the end of the summer, she’d figure her shit out.

But for now…

Every night, they fell asleep together, tangled and spent, and then Lola would dream about Aly until waking up to her face. The world smelled of salt air and pheromones. Her lips were permanently swollen from being bitten and sucked.

The obsession seemed mutual, much to her ongoing surprise. Sometimes she’d catch Aly staring at her while she did the most mundane things like brushing her teeth or putting her hair in a topknot. Often when they kissed, she could feel Aly’s heart pounding. She still couldn’t believe she had this kind of power over someone so cool and confident, who only became more and more devastatingly hot with each passing day.

Once a week, she and Ryan did a girls’ night, staying in to watch TV, do face masks, and gossip. That was their promise to each other, a way to make sure neither got so lost in new love that they couldn’t find each other. But otherwise, Lola was happily camped out on Aly Island.

Sometimes, though, she felt small needles of panic about the life that awaited her back in the city—or rather the life that didn’t. She didn’t want to hide forever. She wanted to make a plan for herself. She knew she needed to. She knew it was the most important thing she was supposed to be doing. It was her life , after all. But then, there Aly would be, kissing her neck and whispering into her ear, and all would be forgotten.

Her clothes started to fit a little more snugly, now that the farthest she walked was to Aly’s house. Their frequent picnics of bread, cheese, and wine on the beach certainly didn’t help. But she also didn’t care about the pockets of extra flesh that were softening her out. The more of her there was, the more Aly had to grab on to. The weight seemed to settle on her boobs and her ass, making her feel like a ripe peach. And Aly certainly didn’t seem to mind.

As with every year, there weren’t any work events in August; it was always as if everyone—the PR people and the influencers and the journalists and the marketers—had all signed a contract agreeing to slow down for four long, sun-drenched weeks. The product launches and collection re-sees would pick back up in September—New York Fashion Week too, followed by London, Milan, and Paris. The whole racket.

Usually, Lola grew bored in those final summer moments, restless in Soho waiting for life to pick back up while Justin was at work, their apartment too big for one person. This was the first year she allowed herself to enjoy the endlessly long days. The lack of obligations or reasons to put borrowed clothes on felt like a kind of liberation. Her only job was Aly.

Meanwhile, the sewing machine sat in the corner of Giancarlo’s living room, unopened and collecting dust. She hadn’t had a moment to even think about unboxing it. She’d even grown sick of seeing it, its looming shape a testament to how she’d ignored her own promise to work on herself. It was taunting her. She knew she should probably just send it back and figure out if she could resell all that vintage she’d acquired too. When she saw it all folded in the corner of her room, she sometimes felt a pang of regret that she still couldn’t bring herself to fully go down that road. But the pang was quickly replaced by the very real pull to devote herself to Aly, get her fix again.

One morning, as she and Aly lay by the pool eating chocolate croissants and drinking iced lattes, Aly said, “Do you have a vision for what this looks like when summer is over?”

“I’m not really sure,” Lola said, which was the truth. It was hard to imagine what would happen after they left this magic place. Or what she wanted to happen. She hadn’t let herself think about it since Aly had gone MIA.

“ I was thinking,” Aly said and trailed a finger along Lola’s forearm, “we could do this, for real. You could be my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend,” Lola repeated, tasting the word on her tongue and all it implied. Did she want to be Aly’s girlfriend? She knew she wanted to be with her in the here and now, but despite her mother’s advice in July, she hadn’t pictured much more of their future.

She tried to imagine what it would involve. Cohabitation, maybe. Monogamy, definitely. Meeting each other’s families. Sharing bills. Dividing chores. Reminding each other of doctor appointments. The seriousness and stability seemed at odds with the experience of actually being together, which still, for all intents and purposes, made Lola feel more than a little insane, like at any moment Aly could change her mind and leave them in the Hamptons. She couldn’t put a finger on why she felt like that. She just couldn’t quite settle, so instead she chose the dizzying effects of their mutual obsession and left it there.

In a way, that was what made Aly so intoxicating, that layer of danger. But it also made it hard to imagine sustaining this. Surely it wouldn’t be good for her blood pressure, long term.

Above them, fluffy, white clouds dotted a sapphire sky. The sun was growing hotter. Next to her, Aly was wearing her favorite black high-cut one-piece, her porcelain skin protected with SPF 50. Despite the surgeon general’s warnings, Lola was slathered in baby oil, her skin turning a golden brown.

“I like you so much,” Lola said, eager to provide reassurance while being careful not to say something she couldn’t take back. “What if we just continue to see what happens?”

“I can work with that,” Aly said. Lola tried hard to detect the hurt in Aly’s voice, but she couldn’t. Instead, Aly leaned over and kissed her. “And I don’t want to pressure you. But you should know that if you turn me down, you’d be missing out. Fall is really my season.”

Lola loved when Aly was cocky. She felt something light up in her, an ember of flirtation quick to stoke. “Oh yeah?”

“I mean, it’s canonically lesbian—beanies, flannels, boots, leather jackets.”

Lola laughed. “Apple picking, pumpkin carving.”

“Hot apple cider with whiskey,” Aly added. “Fireplaces. Hudson Valley Airbnbs. Hiking. Just think about it.”

“I will,” Lola promised. “You’re very convincing.”

Aly was right: summer would end. Sooner than Lola would like to think about. Then she’d have to go back to the city and face her life or what was left of it. Despite the promise of autumn’s sapphic wonders, the truth was that how Aly would actually fit into Lola’s world was unclear.

She wasn’t even sure where she’d be living next month, if Justin was permanently moving out or if she was. She’d need to figure out a new income stream if her influencing career was truly and permanently over too. And she needed a whole new team. There were so many big things to sort through. She didn’t know how she could do that while being Aly’s girlfriend. When Aly was around, all she could think about was hibernating together, getting back in bed and never escaping.

If Lola could freeze time, she would have, forever suspended in their bliss bubble.

But even in her delirious haze of hormones and lust, Lola knew that all bubbles eventually pop.

***

Toward the end of August, on a day so hot it made the air feel like soup, Ryan and Emmett invited Lola and Aly to go to Wolffer Estate Vineyard for a wine tasting.

Getting out of the house sounded good. Lola donned a cozy white nap dress. Aly wore an oversized blue-and-white-striped poplin button-down, just slightly elevated from her usual plain T-shirt.

Emmett drove the four of them in his convertible with the top down. In the backseat, Lola and Aly held hands, the wind whipping their hair around, turning them into blurs of brunette and blond. All four of them wore different variations of very expensive sunglasses: Aly in her Tom Ford aviators; Lola in a round, white Marc Jacobs pair; Emmett and Ryan both wearing thick black Balenciaga frames. The sun beat down on them. The car stereo was blasting Chappell Roan. Lola couldn’t stop grinning.

It was a quick drive down the verdant Route 27, past mansions hiding behind green hedges and the occasional deer along the road, past the tennis club Lola would never go to and Levain Bakery with its long line of people waiting for a three-inch-thick chocolate chip cookie. Then they turned off 27, and suddenly it was like being in Tuscany. The vineyard stretched in all directions, surrounded by grassy fields and tall, skinny cypress trees. The estate itself was a charming, white farmhouse.

“Chic,” Lola said as they pulled up.

“Only the chicest for you,” Emmett replied, extending a hand to help her out of the car.

***

At a small, wood table in the outdoor tasting room, which overlooked endless neat rows of lush grapevines, Lola sipped a rosé and tried hard to taste the alleged notes of brioche.

Their wine was being poured by a young server who looked like he’d walked straight out of a nineties J. Crew catalog, complete with a thick mop of hair, ruddy cheeks, and an athlete’s body.

“I’m getting rose petals,” Ryan said, swirling the pink liquid in his wineglass and smelling it. “And maybe some brine?”

“It pairs well with oysters.” The server nodded before moving them on to a chilled red.

Under the table, Aly’s knee pressed into Lola’s. Around them, middle-aged, white women in straw hats talked loudly with Long Island accents.

The server splashed a thimble’s worth of red into their empty glasses. “This is our classic blend, with an earthiness and minerality that gives it that intense mouthfeel.”

To Lola, wine was wine. But she enjoyed the ceremony of the tasting, the swirling and sipping and guessing at the notes.

“Notes of cedar?” Ryan guessed.

The server was impressed. “You’re a natural,” he said.

Lola raised an eyebrow. “You looked at the menu ahead of time.” She knew him too well.

Ryan laughed, guilty. “Can you blame me for trying to impress this guy?” He nudged Emmett.

Emmett grinned at him. “Babe, you don’t need to know about wine to impress me.”

Lola watched them kiss, her heart full. Next to her, Aly was smiling too.

“You guys are really cute,” the server said, his ruddy cheeks turning redder. “It’s so nice to get a table of gays in here for once.”

Lola’s mouth opened and closed as she considered and then reconsidered asserting that she wasn’t gay.

Instead, she allowed herself to feel what it was like to be included in the category. She knew that there was likely no universe in which someone would see her out of context and read her as anything but straight. But as Aly’s date, with Emmett and Ryan making out across from them, she fit it. She was one of them. She was not the straight girl tagging along with her gay friends. She was…

Well, she still didn’t know what she was. But that was okay. Best not to overthink it.

Meanwhile, the server seamlessly moved on to telling them about a more full-bodied red.

When they’d made their way through every sample of wine on the menu, they continued to linger at the table, tipsy and rambunctious.

Other groups were leaving, presumably to go to their dinner reservations. On her way out, a woman stopped by their table. She had the look of a publicist; she wore a black jumpsuit despite the heat, her brown hair pulled into an aggressively tight ponytail.

“Ryan!” she squeaked.

“Jessica,” Ryan gasped, standing up to hug her. “I am gagged to see you.”

Jessica grinned. “Summer Fridays, huh?”

“Guys, this is my work wife, Jessica,” Ryan said, introducing everyone. Lola was only slightly jealous that Ryan had another wife.

Jessica’s eyes settled on Lola. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “I want you to know that we all think what happened to you in the spring was ridiculous. Everyone has just lost their minds these days. I’m sure it’ll be forgotten by New York Fashion Week. Paris at the latest.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Lola said, her skin feeling warm.

“It’s simply the truth. I know you’ll have the perfect comeback. What brands are you working with?” Jessica asked.

“Lola doesn’t need to worry about all that right now,” Aly chimed in, putting a protective hand over Lola’s. Lola’s stomach sank. She felt suddenly very small.

Lola knew Aly was trying to be protective, but how it felt was…dismissive.

She did need to worry about it right now. Summer was rapidly reaching its conclusion, and she was no closer to making a plan than when it started. The wine in Lola’s stomach roiled, and instead of setting her wineglass down, she took a healthy swig.

It was easy for Aly to say that Lola didn’t need to worry when Aly’s career was on such a clear upward trajectory. Aly had no idea what it felt like to need to start over. Aly had a dream, a clear vision, support to get her there. She was…happy, happy with where it was all going.

A low-grade panic started to froth in Lola’s gut, and she wanted to drown it out. Telling Lola not to worry wasn’t supportive. It was encouraging her worst instincts.

“Oh, wow, you’re ARC.” Jessica eyed Aly, putting two and two together. To Lola, she said, “I see you’ve made peace with the enemy.”

Aly laughed. “I’m hoping that I’m not the enemy anymore.”

“What happens in East Hampton.” Lola shrugged, forcing a smile.

Aly squeezed Lola’s hand under the table and then whispered in her ear, “I would really like it if this didn’t stay in East Hampton.”

“I know,” Lola replied. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Jessica was walking away, waving goodbye. “God, I love that bitch,” Ryan said. “So weird to see work people out here, though. Really reminds you there’s a whole world waiting for us in New York.”

“I think we can pretend there isn’t for a little longer,” Emmett said. “At least I plan to.”

“I will cheers to that,” Ryan said.

“We’re out of wine,” Lola pointed out.

“Should we get another bottle?” Aly asked.

They all agreed that was for the best. The server suggested a prosecco.

***

When the Uber dropped Aly and Lola off—they’d had to call a car instead of driving back because of all the wine—it was a little after 6:00 p.m., the summer sun still hours from setting and the muggy air only getting hotter. Lola climbed out of the car, saying goodbye to Emmett and Ryan, who had set a second destination in the app, claiming they were going to a party. Lola had a feeling, though, they were just going back to Emmett’s to jump in bed.

“I’m starving,” Lola said, as they walked up to the house, feeling wine soaked and fuzzy. “Should I UberEats something? Pasta, maybe?”

“I have steaks in the fridge,” Aly said. “I’ll grill for us.”

“Dream girl,” Lola sighed.

“But first,” Aly said, and then instead of finishing her sentence, she kicked off her shoes and headed straight for Giancarlo’s pool, unbuttoning her shirt and throwing it to the side, then slipped out of her pants, leaving an expensive trail of designer clothes in her wake. She dove into the pool in just her bra and underwear and then bobbed up to the surface. “Come on,” she called to Lola, who was enjoying the show. “It feels great.”

Lola shimmied out of her nap dress. And because she was feeling wild and free and more than a little buzzed from that final bottle of wine (plus the glass she’d chugged in Jessica’s presence probably), she took her bra off too. She cannonballed into the pool in just her underwear.

She found Aly in the cool blue water, and they kissed, enjoying the feeling of their submerged bodies pressed together, nearly naked and wine drunk and sunburned. Skin slid against skin. The earth was tilting around her; she was off-balance, but she couldn’t fall down in the water, not with Aly’s arms around her. Aly’s hands traced the outline of Lola’s body. Lola’s pulse quickened. They could do it in the pool if they wanted. There was no one stopping them.

But Aly pulled away and said, “Lola Fine, do you not know how to dive?”

Lola grinned, treading water. “What gave me away?”

“You almost killed me with that cannonball, for one thing,” Aly replied. “Shall we teach you?”

“You can try,” Lola said, splashing her. “No one has ever been able to help me. I’m a lost cause.”

“We’ve already established my teaching skills,” Aly said with a smirk. Then she dragged Lola out of the pool and made her stand on the edge. She positioned Lola’s body, trying to explain the technique. Lola was only half listening. She knew she didn’t have the right proportions for a graceful dive. No one with huge boobs did.

Aly made her try it anyway. Lola took a breath and then did the world’s largest belly flop. When she pulled herself to the surface, Aly was laughing hysterically.

“I fucking told you,” Lola cried, trying not to laugh for fear of drowning.

“Try again,” Aly said.

She did. And again and again. She wondered if she’d be better at it if she were sober. She doubted it. The physics just didn’t make sense.

Aly brought her portable speaker out and put on a Phoebe Bridgers album. The light was turning gold. From this moment, it didn’t seem possible that summer would in fact ever end.

“Bend your knees a little more before you jump,” Aly instructed.

Lola liked Aly coaching her, even if she knew it was futile. She idly wondered if anyone could see them, naked and jumping in and out of the pool, but the truth was she didn’t really care. Let them see two gorgeous women falling in love, having the time of their lives, splashing around in the perfect turquoise water under the setting Hamptons sun.

Finally, after a dozen or so attempts, something clicked. With her arms above her head, Lola launched herself off the edge of the pool.

She knew this was the one. She could feel it—the way the ground gave way, the way she cut through the air.

The world appeared to flip upside-down as she completed the mid-jump arc down into the water.

And there, walking up to the pool, was a man.

She caught a glimpse of him just as her body sliced down into the pool. She stayed under for a few moments longer than necessary, looking up at his blurry figure through the chlorine, her heart pounding.

She knew who it was, but it couldn’t be real. Perhaps her alcohol-soaked brain was making her see things—or maybe she’d fallen asleep in a lounge chair and was having a nightmare.

When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she burst to the surface.

“Lola?”

It was Justin.

Aly was sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs dangling in the water, her face registering shock. Lola looked at Aly, then back at Justin, then at Aly again.

Drowning would perhaps have been a more pleasant experience than having the two of them come face-to-face like this.

Justin had a suitcase and a backpack. He appeared rumpled, like he’d just gotten off a plane, but gorgeous too; his perfect skin shimmered with sweat in the golden-hour light. Something in Lola ached at the sight of him—and those big, strong arms.

Fuck.

For a moment, looking at each other, it was like nothing had changed—they’d never broken up, he’d never left her. All the love in the world was written on his face.

But then Aly cleared her throat, and Lola was brought back to earth.

She blinked the water out of her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He took his sunglasses off. “Why don’t you have a bathing suit on?”

Anger quickly replaced the ache. “That’s what you want to say to me?”

Aly stood then and approached him stiffly. She stuck her hand out. “Aly,” she said, not smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Justin.”

Before she could stop herself, Lola blurted, “Aly’s my neighbor.”

Aly’s my neighbor? That was really how she wanted to explain the presence of Aly Ray Carter, the life-ruiner she’d been fucking all summer, to Justin, the boy who’d broken her heart?

But what else could she possibly say?

She wished the drunkenness would lift. This would be a hard situation to navigate without the fuzzy feeling coating her brain.

Aly shot a sidelong glance at Lola and tilted her head to the side, her brows lowered. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.

Instead, she shook Justin’s hand—it looked like a firm squeeze too—and then, without another glance at Lola, turned on her heel and walked across the lawn to her house. She left her clothes on the ground. There was nothing notable about her gait as she walked away—not too slow, not too fast. If Lola didn’t know her, it would have read as casual. Aly seemed to be in complete control of herself, seemed to simply be giving two exes space to sort out their shit. But Lola knew better.

“Aly, wait,” Lola called. But Aly didn’t stop walking, and she didn’t look back. She opened the door to her family home and then closed it quietly behind her.

Lola’s heart twisted in her chest. This was bad. This was really bad. A door slam would have been better.

What must Aly think of Justin showing up like this? Of Lola not saying this is the woman I’m seeing ? But how could she say that? How could she come out to Justin of all people?

There was perhaps an alternate universe where Lola ran after Aly and left Justin standing in the yard. Where she told Aly that she had nothing to worry about, that she would make Justin leave, that she even wanted to be her girlfriend and nothing could change that, not even her former great love showing up out of the blue.

But in this universe, Lola let Aly go.

She did not chase after her.

At least for now.

Instead, she told herself she’d triage the Aly situation later and deal with Justin first.

Justin, who didn’t seem to pick up on the complexity of what had just happened.

He didn’t seem to recognize Aly at all. Which was a relief. Lola wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t googled her. He was never petty like that.

Instead, he simply said, “She seems nice.”

“Sure,” Lola said.

She climbed up the ladder out of the pool, her hands over her nipples as she went to retrieve her nap dress from where she’d thrown it on the hydrangeas.

Before she got to it, Justin said, “Lola.”

Something about the way he said her name made whatever was wound so tight inside her come undone. There was a painful sensation in her throat as a sob fought its way out. It was too much. Justin, here, after all this time. Aly, gone back to her own house. Lola didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt totally unmoored.

He could tell. “Come here. Please.”

It was like someone else was controlling her body, making her walk toward him. The muscle memory taking over in a moment, rewiring her circuits.

She stepped into his arms, which he wrapped around her so tightly she could barely breathe.

Her wet breasts pressed into his T-shirt as he held her, burrowing his head into her sopping wet hair. She clung to him.

Justin.

Here in his arms was the safest place in the world. She’d spent five years luxuriating in the feel of him, the smell and the taste of him, the absolute comfort and stability he provided. Half a decade. Those feelings didn’t go away overnight. Or over one summer, even.

“I missed you so much,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

It all came rushing back—all the feelings she’d been hiding from; the way she couldn’t face the ruins of her career or figure out how to move forward; the way she instead did what she always did, hiding herself in romance when what she really needed to do was focus on herself.

She was furious with herself for all of it.

And it was easy to blame Justin.

“You left me,” she said. “How could you abandon me like that?”

“Can we go inside and talk?” They were still holding each other.

Lola nodded into him. “Can I put clothes on?”

He laughed, the warmest, best sound. “Sadly, I think you probably should.”

***

In Giancarlo’s kitchen, her hair dripping onto her dress, Lola poured two glasses of water from the Brita pitcher.

“This house is amazing,” he said, looking around. He ran a finger along the marble island.

“I had a feeling you’d like it,” she replied. She eyed his luggage. “Where did you come from?”

“LAX to JFK,” he said. “And then I Uber’d out here. You can imagine how the driver felt about that.”

“Wow,” she said, surprised that stable, logical Justin would spend money on something so frivolous as an Uber from Queens to the Hamptons.

“How was LA?” she asked, assessing him. His gray T-shirt had pit stains; his hair was a little longer than he usually liked it. Soft stubble shadowed his jaw. For Justin, who typically never had one single wrinkle on his clothes, this was the aesthetic equivalent of a total breakdown. She’d never seen him so unkempt.

“Lonely,” he said, taking the water from her. “Everyone was so worried about me, but no one could say anything to help.”

Lola was annoyed by this. He’d done it to himself. Still, the thought of Justin alone and brooding at his parents’ house also made her chest hurt.

They sat next to each other at the kitchen table. Lola felt competing urges: she wanted to climb into his lap and she also wanted to throw her water in his face.

She wondered, too, what Aly was doing. If she was watching them through the window.

Please don’t ask about Aly , she thought, eyeing Justin. Don’t ask if I’ve missed you.

“Did you sleep with anyone?” she blurted out, immediately chastising herself for asking. She’d just wrenched open the door she was trying to keep closed.

He started to answer, and she stopped him. “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

He nodded. “I quit my job,” he said.

“You what? ”

“I couldn’t focus. I was a wreck. I had to get out before I ruined my reputation.”

“Oh, babe,” she said. He must have really been a disaster to risk his career like that.

“I want to find something with better hours,” he said. “A family practice maybe. Something that would allow me to have more of a life. To spend more time with the people…” He trailed off. “No, with the person I love.”

The present tense of what he’d just said felt very loud. The person I love. So he still loved her. She didn’t know what to say.

Into the silence, he said, “Tell me about you. How was your summer?”

“It was…full of self-discovery,” she said, which of course wasn’t exactly true. She’d discovered that she loved having sex with a woman, but as far as self-discovery went? She had still come up short. Not that she could say any of that. He didn’t deserve to know.

“I saw you haven’t posted at all. That must have been a nice break.”

“It was.” She nodded. “All kinds of breaks for me this summer. And you? How was your summer?”

“It was hard,” he said. He looked pained. “I knew I made a mistake as soon as I walked out the door, but it took these months away from you to really let it sink in.”

“I’m listening,” she said.

“I freaked out,” he said. “I was hurt by what the article said. I took it to mean you didn’t want to be with me, and I lashed out to protect myself.”

“You hurt me so that I wouldn’t hurt you,” she said.

He nodded. “I left before you could leave—my stupid fucking pride.”

This made sense to Lola; in fact, she’d heard it before from the girl she let walk away. She nodded. “You could have just talked to me about it.”

“I don’t know if I could have,” he admitted. “My ego was too bruised.”

“You walked out on something really good,” Lola said. “And I don’t know if we can get it back. It changed me, your leaving. I’m different now.”

Justin frowned, the corners of his beautiful mouth tugging down. He put a warm hand on her arm, and she shivered. His touch shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.

“You didn’t even call,” she said. “Or text. Or email.”

“I know,” he said. He looked at his hands.

“You’ve had months to reach out.”

They were quiet for a few moments. The vintage wall clock ticked; a seagull shrieked outside. Finally, he looked at her. His face was open and imploring.

“Look, Lola. The truth is I don’t care if we ever get married,” he said. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It shouldn’t have ever mattered.”

He was like a bleeding wound, just so raw and vulnerable. She’d never seen him like this. He leaned toward her. “I just want to be with you, and I’ll take whatever I can get. If you want to go back to exactly how things were before, I would do it. I would do it forever . Lola, I love you. You’re the love of my life. I know we can fix it.”

She didn’t even realize that tears were pouring down her face until they hit her bare knees.

She’d waited so long to hear him say these words. She hadn’t thought she ever would. And now here he was, asking for her back.

He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Just like he used to.

Like he’d never left.

“Justin,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat. His hand lingered at her face, and she pressed her cheek into it, catlike.

Then he pulled her onto his lap like she weighed nothing. She curled into him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, holding her tightly. He was crying too. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

He smelled like himself—like sandalwood and amber and sweat.

But she couldn’t bring herself to offer him words of comfort in return. Despite how good it felt to be held by him, she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

This was a world she could slide back into. She could see it all so clearly, how they’d simply go back to Soho and pick up where they’d left off.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be that girl again—the girl out partying at vapid brand events while her partner saved lives at the hospital. The girl who had racks and racks of gifted PR products that didn’t even mean anything. The girl who never had a scathing article written about her, who never met Aly at all.

And what would it mean for Aly?

Or was Aly already gone, spooked by the specter of Lola’s heterosexuality?

Lola nestled deeper into Justin, where she was safe from thoughts of the girl next door.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” he asked. “I know it was shortsighted, but I didn’t really make a plan for what to do once I got here.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Do you mind sleeping in one of the other guest rooms, though?”

He looked pained. “Yeah, that’s fine. I have no expectations,” he said, as though he could hear her confusion.

She hoped this was true as she led him upstairs.

While he was in the bathroom, Lola sat on the bed and checked her phone.

She had a text from Aly.

She held her breath while she opened it.

The worst part is that I’m not surprised.

There were a thousand meanings layered into that one sentence. Fucking writers , she thought, her stomach seizing up with too much wine and not enough food. She wondered briefly if she was about to throw up. It felt possible.

Justin emerged and assessed the look on her face. He still knew her so well. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lola knew this was her chance to tell him about Aly, who she really was and who she’d become to her, but she still couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how he’d react, and beyond that, she wasn’t sure how she’d react to his reaction.

“Nothing,” she said. She placed her phone upside down on the nightstand and tried to put Aly out of her mind.

He tugged his shirt off and then dug around in his backpack for a clean one. “I’m sorry if I stink,” he said.

“You never stink,” she replied. “Don’t worry about a shirt.”

She lay down on top of the blankets, and he lay next to her, her in her damp dress and him in just his sweatpants.

“This isn’t the guest room,” he said.

“I’ll show you where it is,” she said, but neither of them moved.

It wasn’t that she wanted to sleep with him.

But his warm presence in the bed next to her just felt so familiar.

He took her hand and held it between both of his. “Are you going to make me beg for you?”

She considered this, looking at the ceiling. “It’s not about begging,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry. This is just…” He trailed off. “Terrifying.”

“For me too,” she said.

“Can I hold you?”

She considered it. Aly would definitely freak out if she saw them cuddling in bed. But Lola needed to be held. She and Justin had a history. And an ending that was somewhat unresolved. This could be part of the work of resolving it.

She nodded. He curled around her.

She felt his hot breath on her neck. She had the sense that she could disappear into him, that if he just held on tightly enough, she would go up in a puff of smoke. It didn’t sound so bad.

Justin seemed to want everything to go back to how it was, which, for Lola, would mean a return to influencing—if that was even possible, given how it had all fallen apart. Still, it stood in stark contrast to what Aly wanted her to do, which seemed to be give up influencing entirely and do something with more purpose, or at least do something with a purpose that Aly believed in. Either way, they both wanted something from her, wanted her to be someone who she wasn’t sure she was.

And how could she possibly know who she was with both of them pulling at her like this?

“I can feel your heart pounding,” Justin said.

“This is just a lot,” Lola whispered. “You, in this bed.”

“I’ll go to the other guest room,” he said, untangling himself from her. “I’m assuming it’s down the hall?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Second door on the left.”

“Okay, Lola,” he said. She didn’t move to watch him go. Instead, she lay there, holding her breath until she heard the bedroom door open and close, followed by his footsteps down the hall.

She exhaled, relieved that he was gone even though she missed his warmth.

She tried to concentrate on her breathing instead of her spiral. Inhales and exhales. Inhales and exhales. Gradually, her heart rate slowed.

She fell asleep like that.