3. Willa
Chapter three
Willa
T hat evening, after dinner and drinks, Maggie and I stroll into the lobby of the resort, with my arm looped with hers.
“I had fun today, Mags. Thanks for participating in the unofficial take your bestie to work day.”
“I had fun too. It’s good to have you back in town. How long will you stay? Your parents must be thrilled.”
“They are," I sigh. "Although Mum is annoyed that I’m not staying with them. But if I stayed at my parents' house, my mum would be all up in my business.”
Maggie remarks, “More than she already is, you mean?”
"Exactly," I nod with a laugh. “My parents’ anniversary party is next week, so I’ll stay for at least a week, maybe longer. It will all depends on how irritating my brothers are and how pushy my mum is about my dating life.”
Being the only daughter with four older brothers gets tiresome quickly.
They often forget that I’m twenty-seven, not seven.
Only one of my four brothers is married.
The other three are single and have shown zero interest in settling down or having children.
So, as unfair as it is, the familial pressure for me to marry and start spitting out kids is fierce.
Unfortunately, my mum doesn't understand how difficult it is to date in Hollywood.
She's convinced I could snap my fingers and have a string of eligible bachelors lining up to be my next boyfriend.
When I finally decide to begin dating again, I want to find love, not waste my time dating men who are either uncomfortable with my level of fame or who only want to date me for clout.
"Yes, let's talk about your dating life."
"Let's don't, Mags."
"But you met a very hot guy this morning," she starts. "Like, GQ cover model hot."
"Maggie," I grumble. "I didn't meet a hot guy. I tripped and fell near a hot guy. Very important distinction. Besides, I don't want to meet a man, nor do I want to talk about this anymore."
Throwing up her hands, she grouses, “Ugh, fine. I'll drop the topic, but at some point, we'll circle back around to it." She pauses. "I know you've been working on yourself, but it wouldn't hurt to be open to dating again, Willa."
"It's not that I'm not open to dating. I'm just…" I stop as I contemplate how to explain it. "I'm nervous and a little scared. I'm finally getting my shit together. Opening myself up to someone new could bring a lot of my issues back to the surface."
"In the words of some philosopher, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." She twists her mouth to one side. "Or was that Kanye West?"
"You're so wise, Mags, so wise," I tease with a hint of a smile. "Friedrich Nietzsche said it a few years before Kanye."
"Whatever. Unlike you, my dad isn't a philosophy professor." Maggie waves her hand through the air. "Want to hit the hotel bar for one more drink before we call it a night?”
“I’m down for another drink. Let’s take them out to the water’s edge.” Most locals in my hometown leave me alone, but since I'm staying at a resort full of tourists, it would only take one person recognizing me and making a fuss to ruin our peaceful evening.
The adults-only resort has several bars to choose from—an outdoor tiki bar, a sports bar, a cocktail lounge, and a swim-up pool bar.
We head to the closest one, the sports bar, and amble up to the bar to wait for the bartender to take our order.
My eyes bounce up to the television mounted on the wall and my lips curl into a sneer.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I gripe under my breath.
What are the odds? The one person I’d like to avoid for the rest of my life is on the television screen.
To me, Baron Warner is my worthless ex-boyfriend, but to the rest of the world, he’s the starting shortstop for the Los Angeles Dolphins professional baseball team. Before I dated him, I never followed baseball, and after we broke up, I haven’t followed it a day since.
Our split is mired in painful memories, so even seeing Baron's pixelated photo flash across the TV sports program is enough to dredge up the negative feelings I work to suppress.
A feat that is made more difficult because of what tomorrow is.
Those memories have haunted me every second of every day for the past two years.
I'm torn between wanting to move on and never wanting to forget.
I wonder if I ever even cross Baron's mind.
Probably not, the jerk.
“No freaking way! Screw him.” I turn when I hear Maggie’s outraged exclamation as she flips off the television.
I chuckle. “You read my mind. ”
“Call me Petty Crocker, but why can’t Baron get injured and retire and move back to Indiana or Iowa or whatever corn-fed state he’s from?
I swear, I see his ugly mug on the sports channels all the freaking time during baseball season,” Maggie grumbles, reminding me why she’ll always be my best friend.
"From your lips to God's ears." I don't usually wish harm to others, but I make an exception for Baron.
"Why don't you head down to the beach. I'll meet you there once our drinks come."
Nodding gratefully, I exit the bar, eager to escape. Once I step outside, I slide off my socks and tennis shoes and traipse through the sand to a nice spot on the secluded beach.
A few minutes later, Maggie appears with a bottle of wine and two plastic cups.
Looks like we’re having more than one drink.
Taking a steadying breath, I reach for Maggie’s hand, giving it a squeeze, as I shoot her a shaky smile. Seeing Baron. Remembering what tomorrow is. It’s all catching up with me.
Tomorrow marks two years. The anniversary of the worst day of my life.
For the umpteenth millionth time, I wonder what my life would look like if I could rewind time and alter the past. Like that Taylor Swift lyric says, if one thing had been different, would everything be different today? Or was it simply an inevitability, my fate?
My eyes glitter with tears. I’ve shed my bodyweight in tears over the past two years, and I refuse to cry anymore.
At least, not tonight.
Nudging my shoulder, Maggie chastises me softly, “Stop. You’re not doing that. Your life is good, or good-ish, as you said earlier. You can't change the past, babe. Focus on the future. Remember, we're manifesting good things, like meeting hot guys in coffee shops."
She's not being dismissive or callous. Earlier, I made her promise that we wouldn’t spend my time in Saltside moping and depressed, so Maggie is simply keeping her word.
Swallowing back my tears, my lips turn up at the corners as I mutter, "How many times do I have to tell you that I did not meet a hot guy at the coffee shop this morning?"
“I beg to differ," she replies playfully. "How about we chug our drinks and play truth or dare?”
“We aren’t twelve, Maggie.” I counter, reminded of the countless rounds of truth or dare Maggie and I have played together over the years. “But you’re on.” I pour a small amount of wine into each of our glasses before raising my glass to my lips. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”
This was a mistake.
Lukewarm white wine is never great, but it's downright disgusting when chugged. However, growing up with older brothers meant that I was raised in a competitive household, so I keep swallowing the liquid until my cup runs dry. Slamming my cup into the sand, I holler in victory when I see that Maggie isn’t even halfway finished.
When she shoves down an exaggerated gag, I burst out laughing.
“Truth or dare, Maggie?”
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Maggie grimaces. “Dare.”
“I dare you to bring a date to my parents’ anniversary party.”
“Done,” she sasses with an innate confidence I wish I possessed. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth. "
With a salacious grin, Maggie asks, "Which of your exes was the best in bed?"
"OMG, Maggie!" I gasp with a laugh. I don't even know why I'm surprised by Maggie's nosiness. I shouldn't be after being friends with her for fifteen years. I hesitate before answering, "I'm going to go with…Ben."
While most people think of Ben Sutton as my latest ex-boyfriend, the truth is that we were never really dating.
He was my co-star in a movie and the studio pushed us into fake dating to get more publicity for our film.
Because of the nondisclosure agreements, I can't tell Maggie the truth behind our relationship.
While Ben and I kissed for the cameras a few times, we never had sex. But I lie to my best friend because I don't want to admit to Maggie that I haven't had sex in over two years. The truth is that I can't even remember what good sex feels like.
"Boo!" Maggie hisses. The loyal friend that she is, she dislikes all of my exes. "But at least, you didn't say Baron."
Our game continues as we switch back and forth asking questions, giving dares, and reminiscing about our shared pasts.
"Truth or dare?” Maggie asks over the rim of her cup as she finishes the last of her wine.
I lift the bottle to top off our cups only to find it empty.
I scoff. “Dare. Obviously.”
“Please, Radford. Don’t act like you didn’t choose truth the first seventeen rounds we played,” my best friend teases me, as we lie on the sand, luxuriating on the moonlit beach, blitzed out on booze.
She’s got me there. But now that I have more alcohol than I do blood in my body, I’m feeling braver. “Shut up and give me my dare, Mags.”
“Go skinny-dipping.”
My eyebrows shoot to meet my hairline as I sit up hastily. “In there?” I point dumbly toward the ocean.
Maggie nods with an ornery grin.
I’m not a prude. I don’t care if anyone sees my naked body, but I have enjoyed staying out of the press these past few months. I’d hate for that streak to end because someone gets photos of me skinny-dipping.
I can already see the headlines in the tabloids.
The Naked Truth: Starlet Caught Skinny-Dipping
Sun’s (Not) Out, Buns Out!
America's Sweetheart's Nude Night Swim Caught on Camera
But a dare is a dare.