Chapter Seventeen
The L Word
Ebony
I glance at my phone, where the divatantes—minus Hillary, of course—are still double-checking their calendars for Hailey’s bridal show next weekend.
Relief floods through me at the thought that we’ll finally be in the same space and able to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with her.
Temporary relief. Because then, on the screen, Tatiana pulls her hair into a giant, messy bun atop her head and asks, “Can we please get back to Lincoln Bridges saying he’d love to spend time with you? ”
And just like that, I start freaking out again.
The texts.
I let out a full-chested sigh. “Yeah, so, then he says, Let ’s make a day of it …
” I shrug, fresh panic surging through my veins.
“We’re supposed to be sourcing replacement crystals for the grand ballroom chandelier.
Like, sir, why do I need hiking boots and a swimsuit?
I’m just along for the ride, not to scale a mountain or dive into the deep end. ”
That’s what I say out loud.
Inwardly, though, I’m still thinking about how close I came to my first post-divorce sexual encounter—right in an alley.
Now, hours alone with Linc? It feels almost guaranteed that the sex is going to happen, which…
Yes, please! But also, what if I don’t live up to the hype Linc’s built in his head over the years?
Or worse, what if I do ? What if it makes me want more?
Shit .
“Shoot, you could scale him and let him dive into your deep end…” Whit sucks her teeth, clearly still teasing me about the hiking boots and swimsuit.
Exactly.
I roll my eyes, but Priscilla, Tatiana, and Chanel are outright cackling, as if a two-hour road-trip with a man who freely gifts waterfall orgasms on a whim and sexts with those magic fingers isn’t cause to panic.
Lord, that man’s definitely got magic fingers—
PING!
I nearly drop the phone when a text notification drops from the top of my screen because, of course , Linc’s already asking for my coffee order. Perfect. Just perfect. Meanwhile, half my makeup is laid out on the counter and my tote looks like it was packed by an angry two-year-old with a vendetta.
With any luck, the coffee shop will be busy and give me an extra few minutes. There’s always a line on Saturdays, right?
Ugh , why am I so nervous? I’m a grown-ass woman. If I choose to partake in consensual, mind-blowing sex with a gorgeous, giving man, then that’s what I’m damn well going to do, because I deserve good things.
Pause. Peace. Power.
Our plan is simple: drop off the chandelier and crystals for repair, take a quick hike on the Lake Lanier Trail, maybe, finally , let him lay me down in a sunny field of flowers, then swim at Veterans Memorial Park pool (no way I’m touching that haunted lake).
Afterward, we pick up the chandelier, have a quickie in the backseat, and head home. Done.
Shouldn’t be a big deal.
Shouldn’t…
Again, I look at my half-empty tote, frazzled.
Snapping my fingers in front of the camera to focus their attention, I blurt out, “Linc just texted, and he’s on his way.
Quick, what else do I need?” But as the words leave my mouth, an intrusive thought nags at me—what if we’re rushing this and I’m playing into Cornelia’s hands?
What if this road trip is me handing over the strings, just like the puppet she thinks I am?
“Snacks!” Chanel and Tatiana say at the same time, cutting into my downward spiral, then they start cracking up.
Focus.
“Got you!” I say, pushing all thoughts of Cornelia to the back of my mind and trying to perk up. “Watermelon Sour Patch Kids and Boom Chicka Pop. Check and check!”
“I’ve got a short list,” Priscilla says, because whose ultimate safety-first girl doesn’t?
All she thinks about are worst-case scenarios, so naturally, her suggestions include a printed map (in case the GPS goes out), an upbeat playlist full of songs we both love (music is universal), sharing my locations with them (you never know), SPF 50+ sunscreen (the Veterans Memorial Park pool is outdoors), and, finally, condoms. Because, apparently, now we’re all fixated on what happened with Linc in that alley after the mixer.
“You know, just in case,” she adds, a giddy smile stretched across her face.
The divatantes are living for my hot-girl summer day trip.
All of us.
I glance at the industrial-sized box of condoms on my bed, the one I bought the day before my first meeting with Leslie, wondering how last night might’ve gone if I’d had one with me. If he said he didn’t care either.
My entire body shivers at the memory of Linc on his knees, his tight grip on my hips, his slick tongue sucking and stroking—
“Ebs?” Whit snaps her fingers, jolting me out of the highlights reel.
“Yup, check!” I’m alert.
But leave it to Whitney to cut straight to the chase. “Yes, all of that, but also, what y’all did on the side of that building… chiiiile , that tells me you need to pack the essentials.”
“Aside from condoms?” I ask.
She flashes me a be serious look through the screen before she vaguely says, “The Four Ls,” like somehow that’s clearer. Like this is child’s play, and I should know these things. Then she huffs out a sigh—you know, humoring me because we’re friends. Noblesse oblige.
“Lipstick,” she starts, lifting a finger, like she’s about to tick them off, but she’s generously leaving room for the class to chime in.
“Red Dahlia locked and loaded. Check!”
Immediately catching on, Chanel adds, “An LBD?”
“Yes!” Whit blusters with pride, lifting another triumphant finger. Then she pauses, her long fringe of eyelashes fluttering as she deepens her stare, subliminally willing us to say the last two Ls.
Tatiana, only half listening, doesn’t even bother looking up from her romance book while Chanel looks at Priscilla and me, seemingly content with her contribution.
“Louboutins?” Priscilla’s expression twists hopefully.
The disappointment on Whit’s face is palpable.
“While a great addition, they’re not essential…” She sighs and glares at us. “However, please tell me, what is a ‘road trip rendezvous’ without lingerie and lube ?”
A collective groan falls over the four of us—mine, disrespectfully, louder than the rest.
“ Ugh , come on, Whit. I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Her perfectly micro-bladed and arched eyebrows scale her forehead. “Diva, you are a Southern debutante reinventing yourself post-divorce, daring to find love again—”
Love?
“Uh, okay, relax,” I interrupt, since clearly there’s been some confusion about what’s happening here. “No one said anything about love. Strong…like? Yes. Lust, absolutely.” There are some L-words for you.
Even though it feels completely wrong—crystal hunting and condoms don’t really pass the vibe check—I make a dramatic display of grabbing the bulk box and eyeing my divas as I shove it into my bag.
They’re hemming and hawing about love and “that’s how you prepare for a day trip, diva,” but I need them to focus.
“Lust,” I repeat, my voice booming with indignation.
The gesture lands about as hard as a feather. My divas don’t even hesitate to put me into my place.
“ Baybee …” Chanel laughs, leaning into the camera. “I’m pretty sure lusting over the same man since you were sixteen, decade detour or not—and spare us the denial—qualifies as something much deeper.”
“Again, strong like . I just enjoy being with him.” And kissing him, and his magic fingers and tongue…
Jesus, help me.
They all hum their agreement, cosigning this damn ambush before Whit primps and postures, clearly preparing to deliver today’s sermon.
“And if what y’all share isn’t love…honey, I don’t want to know what is. So, to finish my sentence …” She pauses, reloading her rant. “I was going to say that you’re daring to find love again.”
Again, that woman and her puppet strings veer into the forefront of my mind, taunting me. Walk into my trap…
My heart kicks into overdrive.
But also, would we say I’m finding love? Is this love? How could it be?
I’m barely dipping my toes back in the dating waters.
Trying to reclaim my identity, bringing the old me back to the forefront, rediscovering the person I want to be—yes.
And Cornelia is as diabolical as an antagonist gets.
So are the Ellswood elite, the blogs, and all the bougie people who want a say in my life, though.
Why does a road trip have to mean something so significant?
Can’t Linc and I just enjoy each other’s company?
And maybe take advantage of my condom surplus without it turning into a quest for true love?
Ugh. Enough with the L-words.
“Um, okay.” I meet their stares, going for clearheaded and sound of mind, even though, right now, I feel anything but. “So, first off, Whit , how do you go from hiking boots to happily ever after? I’m just curious…”
She glares at me through the screen.
“No, thanks. You, diva, can keep your two cents to yourself, because I’m not collecting change at the moment,” I snap, then smile.
“And second, this goes for the rest of you—this is a road trip , okay? If all goes well, there’ll be amazing, pull over now because I can’t drive another mile backseat sex.
I’m not about to make it out to be more than it is. ”
They go quiet, but make no mistake, their silence isn’t agreement.
Of course, with all the judgment they’re not saying aloud, we end the call a moment later, and lipstick is the only thing I’m sure about packing.
I manage to finish my makeup and throw on a cute lavender sundress and espadrilles.
Along with my hiking boots and swimsuit, I add a change of clothes and a blow-dryer to my tote bag.
But when Linc’s horn beeps outside, I panic.
At the last moment, I yank a cute black minidress off the hanger, then toss in lube and a sexy little black lace negligée.
You know, just in case.