Page 3 of Hotter in the Hamptons
There was only one other time in her life Lola had felt anything close to the kind of electricity she felt while talking to Aly, and it was when she and Justin reconnected five years ago.
She’d recognized him immediately across the crowded Chelsea gallery that was hosting her friend Min’s newest collection of paintings, a series of abstract portraits in soft hues of blue and purple. Min and Lola had gone to high school together, so it wasn’t surprising that there was someone else from Harvard Westlake there; what was surprising was that it was Justin in particular.
It was like seeing a local celebrity.
He’d been the star hot guy of their high school, which was a feat, given almost everyone—with the exception of a few like Lola—was the offspring of the rich and the famous. But even in that crowd, Justin stood out, with his entertainment lawyer parents and Brentwood mansion. He wasn’t just gorgeous; he was a varsity athlete, took AP everything, and was genuinely nice, beloved by everyone. Plus, he always had an equally hot girlfriend. Everyone knew he was destined for greatness.
Justin and Lola had not been friends in high school, but given their shared propensity for being on good terms with everyone, they weren’t not friends either. The popular crowd just wasn’t really Lola’s scene. She grew up in a bungalow in Laurel Canyon, the only child of her costume designer mother, Jeanette, and her cinematographer father, Roger. While Justin went to parties, Lola was going to set with her parents, where Jeanette taught her how to sew and mend, how to tell if something was real or fake, and what made something look expensive or cheap. Roger taught her how to make anything look beautiful, how lighting was everything.
She became obsessed with aesthetics, with people whose jobs were curating the way things looked. While her friends went on group trips to Cabo with their maids, Lola was home, honing her sense of style and studying the history of the looks she loved best. It was the one thing she and her parents fought about. They wanted her to spend more time being a real teenager; she ached to grow up and have a career. But even when they fought, she was glad she was theirs. She could see how unhappy her friends and their parents were, despite their mansions and their chef’s kitchens and their pools. She wouldn’t have traded what she had for the world. Ironic, given the fact that her life now more closely resembled that of her rich high school friends than that of her parents.
She knew it had broken their hearts when she moved to New York to study fashion, but they also supported her unconditionally, and they visited as often as they could. It was important for her to leave LA, to leave them. Otherwise, she’d never have become her own person.
It took two years after she graduated to run into Justin at Min’s opening, and she saw him before he saw her, which gave her a few minutes to observe him unencumbered. His trousers were perfectly tailored; his white T-shirt and gold chain necklace told Lola he was trying to look hip for the art party. But he was a little too clean-cut to get away with anything resembling edginess. Lola liked that—she was sick of all the scruffy downtown guys with their ratty jeans and sneakers and stoned monologues about Infinite Jest. Justin was classy. He looked exactly like the person he was supposed to become.
She downed a glass of champagne before approaching him. His eyes widened as she walked up, looking her up and down so quickly she almost missed it, but it had definitely happened—Justin had checked her out. He was grinning by the time she was in front of him, which meant he liked what he saw.
“Hello, Justin Wilson,” she said, grinning back.
To her surprise, his eyes grew large as he exclaimed, “I have no idea who you are, but I’d like to.”
They both erupted into laughter, struck by the brazen way she’d assumed he would recognize her and how frank he had been about the fact that he didn’t.
“I’m Lola Fine,” she said. “We went to high school together. You’re two years older than me.”
It took him a minute, but it seemed like he remembered. “Lola.” He snapped his fingers. “Well, goddamn. You look different.”
She knew she did. She’d always been cute but had only figured out how to be gorgeous in adulthood; after years studying actors and models, she’d finally learned how to dress for her own long, curvy body, how to play up her makeup so that her cheekbones glowed and her doe eyes looked bigger. It was like having a superpower, being able to make herself look exceptional. And Justin was clearly hypnotized.
“Tell me everything you’ve done since high school,” he said.
“I studied fashion at Parsons,” she told him. “And now I’m a fashion blogger.”
“You know, that’s kind of perfect,” he replied. “You always had the best style. And isn’t your mom a costume designer?”
She nodded. She couldn’t believe he remembered that. She was touched by it, even if she didn’t agree. Her style in high school had been as bad as everyone else’s, complete with low-rise jeans and going-out tops. “Okay, your turn,” she said. “What has become of the one and only Justin Wilson?”
“Well, I’m in medical school at NYU.”
“Of course you are.” She beamed. She had this odd sense of already being proud of him.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“The LES,” she said. “But it’s getting pretty loud over there these days. You?”
“Murray Hill, but it’s getting kind of basic.” He flashed that perfect smile. “Where would you want to live? Wait, should we say our dream neighborhood on three?”
She nodded. He counted. “One, two, three…”
“Soho,” they said together, erupting into laughter.
People looked at them then, laughing so close together in a corner, and Lola loved the attention—from him and everyone else. They were having the kind of meet-cute she’d always dreamed of.
“I like living in Manhattan, but it’s not forever,” he said. “I’ve always known I wanted to end up in LA, be close to my family, start a family of my own. But this is fun for now.”
Perhaps it should have given Lola more pause, that he didn’t want to be here forever and she did. She had already fallen in love with the city. But all she could think about was how badly she wanted him.
“So you want kids?” she asked, surprised by the openness.
“I want, like, so many kids.” He grinned. “I think I was put on earth to be someone’s father.”
Lola had never really considered motherhood one way or another, hoping to at some point feel more strongly about it, and it had been attractive that Justin was so resolute.
“What about you, though?” he asked. “Should we just skip to the part where we tell each other all our hopes and dreams?”
This question had given her—as the girls on Love Island would say—fanny flutters. No New York guys had ever talked to her like this; but then again, Justin was not from New York.
“I’ve been obsessed with fashion my whole life,” she admitted to him. “Being here, making a living in the industry, it really feels like I’ve accomplished something.”
He seemed impressed with her, which felt like a miracle. If only she could go back in time and tell her teenage self that one day she’d be impressive to Justin Fucking Wilson.
The more they talked, the more the rest of the world melted away.
Their first kiss was in the cab back to his apartment, his tongue in her mouth the exact mix of gentle and firm that made her melt. Lola’s only concern was that she was pretty sure she was ruining her underwear. That was how attracted she was to him, how wet she already was. Like her skin was on fire. It was all Lola could do to keep from ripping his clothes off in the lobby of his building. They had sex all night and again in the morning—and then again almost every day for the next five years.
Lola and Justin. Justin and Lola. Even their names sounded good together. She loved him completely. She was by his side when he graduated medical school and began his first residency. He clinked his glass to hers every time she made a new brand deal, pushed her to explore new opportunities.
He was still the man of her dreams after all these years. A hot doctor who spent his free time doing volunteer work. He wasn’t just good in bed—he was a good person.
Though sometimes, if she let herself, she felt a creeping worry that they were on borrowed time. He meant what he’d said about New York not being forever, hard as she’d tried to put it out of her head. Thinking back on it now, she felt annoyed that Aly had asked her about her future with Justin when she was putting so much energy into not thinking about it.
Besides, she was turning thirty, not forty-five. For city girls, thirty was the new twenty. In New York, she was still a baby. She had her whole life ahead of her. Why did she need to think about forever at this point? Her life had only just begun.
She and Justin would cross that bridge when they came to it. It wasn’t like there was anyone else she wanted to be with. Nothing had ever come close to the sparks she’d felt with him that first night.
That was, of course, until this morning with Aly. But it was probably just nerves, she told herself. It was easy to confuse being nervous around someone with being attracted to them.
Anxiety felt an awful lot like lust.
***