10. Nick
Nick
The salt air hits me as I paddle back toward shore.
It’s not hot yet. Mission Bay is quiet this early in the morning, just the sound of the water lapping against my board and the occasional cry of a seagull.
Paddleboarding is my thing—my way of clearing my head.
I can work through the mess of thoughts that seem to pile up faster than I can sort them out.
And right now, my head is a disaster.
Last night with Ava … I don’t even know what to call it. A mistake? A revelation? Both? All I know is that it’s messing with me. I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s unsettling. I feel like I need an exorcism. I don’t want to get involved with anyone. Certainly not Jessie’s little sister.
I drag my board onto the sand and grab my towel, wiping the saltwater from my face.
There are a few people out walking, and farther down the beach I can see a few colorful umbrellas being set up.
People are staking their claim on their little section of beach before the afternoon brings everyone out.
I run the towel over my hair, pull my shirt from my bag, and pull it on. My phone buzzes in my bag. I dig it out, frowning when I see an unknown number. I don’t usually answer calls I don’t recognize, but something makes me pick up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Nick?” The voice on the other end is soft, almost hesitant.
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Mia. Mia Parker. Your mom gave me your number.”
Of course my mom made sure I couldn’t wiggle out of the dinner she was pushing me into. I should’ve known.
“Mia. How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says. “Your mom said you were planning to take me out for dinner tonight.”
I hesitate, glancing out at the water. The last thing I want to do is go on some awkward blind date, but I can’t exactly say no. My mom would never let me hear the end of it.
“I see. I have a few meetings. Why don’t we meet at Morton’s? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“I love meat,” she coos.
I want to groan at her poor attempt to talk dirty. “I’ll text you the address. Does seven work for you?”
“Anything works for me. I’m very, very open to try anything.”
Another hint at what she thinks this dinner is going to be.
“I’ll text you. See you tonight.”
I hang up, shoving my phone back into my bag. This is going to be a disaster. I can already tell I don’t like her. My mom called her a nice girl. Either Mia is a really good actress and has snowed my mother, or my mom doesn’t care that Mia has plans to seduce me.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, pick up my board, and make my way to the parking lot. I toss the board into the bed of my truck and climb in. I don’t have any meetings today, but Mia doesn’t need to know that.
I pull through the gate protecting my home from annoying solicitors and unwanted visitors. The house in La Jolla is right on the beach. It’s my sanctuary. I leave the paddleboard in the truck bed and head inside.
After a shower, I make myself a quick breakfast and sit on the patio watching the ocean. Not surprising, my mother texts. I’m not happy with her. I tell her I’m busy and go back to my beach watching.
That evening, I take an Uber, expecting to have a drink and ready to use it as my excuse to make an escape. If I don’t drive, I won’t be expected to take her back to her hotel. She’ll get in her Uber, and I will get in mine. If things go well, I’ll be home by ten.
The restaurant is overpriced, pretentious, and filled with people who look like they’ve never had a bad day in their lives.
I give my name to the hostess and am quickly shown to my table.
Mia is already there and sipping a drink.
Her blonde hair is perfectly styled, her designer dress probably costing more than most people’s rent.
This woman screams pampered princess.
“Nick!” she says, standing up and air-kissing me on both cheeks. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“You too,” I say, forcing a smile as I sit down.
The conversation starts off predictably enough. Mia talks about her parents’ hotel chain, her recent trip to the south of France, and her “friends” who are apparently all celebrities. She name-drops Leo DiCaprio like they’re besties, and I have to bite back a laugh.
“So, he was like, ‘Mia, darling, you simply must come to Cannes with me next year.’ And I was like, ‘Babe, I’d love to, but you know how it is—I’m just so busy.
’ But honestly? I think he’s totally into me.
Like, he kept sending me these little texts after the trip.
You know what I mean?” Mia swirls her martini, giving me a look that screams aren’t I fascinating?
“Sounds … thrilling,” I say, my voice flat. I take a sip of my whiskey, wishing it were stronger.
“Right?” she continues, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm.
“And then there was this one time in Saint-Tropez—oh my God, you’d die.
So, Gigi Hadid and I were at this yacht party—her cousin’s, I think?
Or maybe it was her stepbrother’s? Anyway, we were just chatting by the pool, and she literally said to me?—”
The waiter arrives, breaking her long-running speech. I am grateful and hope the waiter will pull up a chair and sit down.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, looking between us with a practiced smile.
Mia glances at me, her perfectly penciled brows arching expectantly. I haven’t even looked at the menu, but I don’t care. “Steak. Rare,” I say, handing the menu back without hesitation. “And another whiskey.”
“I’ll have the lobster tail,” Mia chirps, snapping her menu shut with a flourish. “And another martini. Dirty. Very dirty.” She winks at the waiter as if they are in on some inside joke.
The waiter nods and retreats, leaving me to endure more of Mia’s monologue.
She launches back into her story about Gigi Hadid, but I zone out, my mind drifting back to Ava.
She’s who I really want to be with. Instead of taking her to dinner like I’d planned, we ended up eating subpar pizza in her living room.
Not exactly impressive.
“… and then we all ended up on this private island. Can you imagine?” Mia is saying, her voice rising with excitement.
“Sounds unreal,” I mutter, though I’m not sure which story she is even on anymore.
The food arrives, and I focus on my steak, cutting into it with more force than necessary.
Mia’s voice is like a persistent mosquito, buzzing in my ear.
I tune her out, letting her words blur into background noise.
She doesn’t seem to notice or care that I’m not engaged.
She is too busy regaling me with tales of her glamorous life, punctuating every sentence with a self-satisfied laugh or a coy smile.
By the time dessert arrives—a chocolate soufflé for her, none for me—I am counting down the minutes until I can make my escape. Mia is now talking about some yacht auction in Monaco. I can’t tell if she is bragging or trying to impress me. Either way, it isn’t working.
“So, what do you think?” she asks suddenly, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
“About what?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“About coming to Saint-Tropez with me next month.”
“Uh, I’ll have to check my schedule. I’m pretty busy. I have conferences and meetings.”
She pouts. “I hope you can find some time. I love it there. I know you would as well.”
I’m ready to bail. I have a stabbing sensation hitting right behind the eyes. I want to go home.
But Mia isn’t done.
“So,” she says, leaning forward and batting her eyelashes, “I heard about this amazing club downtown. Fluxx, I think it’s called? Or maybe Omnia. We should go dancing after this.”
I shake my head and finish off my drink. “I don’t do the club thing.”
She pouts, her lower lip jutting out in a way that’s probably supposed to be cute but just comes off as annoying. “Come on, Nick. It’ll be fun! You can’t just take me to dinner and leave me hanging.”
“Mia, I’m not really in the mood for?—”
“Please?” she interrupts, her voice whiny now. “Just one drink. I promise.”
I don’t know why I cave. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of arguing. Maybe it’s because I’m hoping it’ll shut her up. If I don’t give her the full date experience, my mother is going to browbeat me into another one. This way, I can say I gave it a shot and it didn’t work.
I regret my decision the second we walk into the club.
The music is deafening, the bass thumping in my chest as we push through the crowd. She demands to be seated in the VIP section. It’s humiliating. I barely get a drink in my hand before she’s demanding we dance.
Mia grabs my hand, dragging me onto the dance floor. I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of nightmare.
She’s had a couple of drinks by now, and it shows.
She’s all over me, her hands roaming my chest as she grinds against me in a way that’s way too aggressive for my taste.
I try to keep my distance, but she’s relentless, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers something I can’t hear over the music.
I pull back slightly, holding her at arm’s length. “Mia, I think we should sit down,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the pounding bass. She pouts again, but this time there’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes.
“You’re no fun,” she shouts back, swaying unsteadily on her heels.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before,” I mutter, guiding her off the dance floor and back toward the VIP section. She collapses into the plush seat with a dramatic sigh, leaning her head back and closing her eyes like she’s in some kind of tragic movie scene.
The waitress appears almost instantly. Mia orders another martini without opening her eyes. I decline another drink, opting for water instead. My headache is getting worse, and all I can think about is how badly I want to be anywhere but here.
For the next hour, I’m forced to fend off her advances. She’s all over me, and I’ve never been more turned off.
“I’m done,” I say finally. “Let’s go.”
She pouts again, but I don’t give her a chance to argue. I practically drag her out of the club, my patience wearing thinner by the second.
I want to put her in an Uber, but she’s drunk and in a city she doesn’t know. She obnoxious as hell, but I’m not that big of a dick. I hail a cab and go with her to her hotel. I’m the perfect gentlemen and walk her to the door, trying to be polite even though I’m ready to bolt.
“You’re not coming in?” she asks, her voice dripping with disappointment.
“No. Can’t. I’ll see you around, Mia.”
She starts to pout again, but I don’t stick around to hear it. I turn and walk away, my head pounding and my patience completely shot.
Never again. My mother will just have to disown me.