Chapter 23 #2
Once Livvie settles down, she wipes away tears and turns her attention to me with a wicked smile. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I can feel my cheeks turn redder than the bathroom tile.
“How was your stay in the Laguna Boys Cerezita Rum suite? Brought to you by Laguna Boys Cerezita Rum, of course.”
“Oh, five stars,” I squeak.
“Really.” She drags out the word with relish. “Damn, Nate.”
Kyla pinches her ankle, Nate shakes his head, and I bury my face in his shoulder.
He slips his arm around me in a very boyfriend-y way.
It affects me as much as every other way we’ve touched in the last twenty-four hours, setting off a supercut of mental images of a different sort: us falling asleep on the couch together, going on double dates with faceless L.A.
friends, picking out a Christmas tree. Things that will never happen.
“What happened when you saw Logan?” Kyla asks. “Nate started to tell us before we rudely steered things off-track.”
“He blew us off,” Nate says. “In his usual way. Said he had to dance.”
“Something about exploding…” I struggle to recall. And then Logan’s cryptic statement springs to mind. “He also said it was his last hurrah. Does anyone know what he’s talking about?”
“Maybe this is the end of his trip,” Nate ventures. “I wonder if he’s going to Seapoint early. Or back to Austin, then flying in for the party?”
Livvie shakes her head. “No. He told Max he’s going to Nashville to see Breanne.”
Nate groans, but my ears perk up. Breanne.
I sit back and angle my phone so Nate can’t see me pulling up her Instagram profile, swiping through the grid until I find what I’m looking for.
Yes. Breanne is one of the most popular Beach House alumni, and like I thought, she has a brand partnership with All & Every Activewear.
Everyone else is speculating about the purpose of his visit and how annoying the fan reaction is going to be.
I look up and nod occasionally, but the wheels in my head are turning.
CycleLove has strict standards for instructor endorsement deals—no cheap sunglasses or flat-tummy tea.
I’ve never been high-profile enough to garner a big one, but things are different now, and a fitness apparel deal is the dream.
All & Every’s clothes are cute, decent quality, and reasonably priced, and another income stream would help me pay off my debt faster and establish my brand independent of CycleLove.
Tracy’s recent ideas aren’t sitting right with me, and I need to make some moves of my own.
All & Every follows me, since I wear their stuff a lot and tag them in my posts, and they liked my last couple pictures. But they’ve never reached out. Maybe what I need is an introduction from Breanne, something that feels organic.
A dent appears between Kyla’s eyebrows. “I hate to speculate, because I don’t want to get your hopes up based on a guess,” she says slowly. “But what if by ‘last hurrah,’ he meant that after this trip, he’s planning on settling down a bit? And, you know…taking over the camp? With you?”
“So this cross-country tour has been him getting all the partying out of his system so he can tell his parents he’s ready to buckle down and work?” Nate rubs his jaw. “If that’s his plan, I wish he would tell me.”
“He has seemed kind of lost for a while now,” Livvie says. “And the last time I saw him in L.A., he told me he knew he needed to get serious about something. That he didn’t want to just be the guy from the Beach House forever. He just didn’t know what to get serious about.”
Nate sighs. “If that’s what he’s doing, it’s pretty inconsiderate. I’m meeting with his parents in less than two weeks. I need to present something to them. He can’t just swoop in that day and say ‘ta-da, I’m here, hand over the keys!’?”
Livvie tosses a grape into her mouth. “I mean, maybe he can. They’re his parents.”
She may be right, but I know that’s not how Nate wants to do it. He’s taking this seriously. Taking himself seriously. He needs a straight answer from Logan, and I need to meet Breanne before my fifteen minutes of notoriety are over.
We look at each other, and I can already see Kansas in our rearview mirror.
Nate’s the one who says it. “One more try?”
Tim’s car looks like a full-on swamp creature, so we stop for a quick drive-thru wash on our way to the interstate.
“Okay, this is an important decision.” Nate studies the sign outside his window. “Super, or Super-Duper?”
I crane my neck. “What does Super-Duper get you? As long as Tim’s car ends up clean, I’m good.”
Nate slides his credit card out of his wallet. “I can’t really tell, but the Super-Duper is six minutes and the Super is four. It’s time to follow through on option C, so how long do you think we’ll need?”
I make a hairball-in-throat noise. Option C: talking about it. “Wow. Okay. My usual preferred venue for debriefing after a hookup is the dry cleaner, but I know you’re a traditionalist, so we’ll stick with the car wash. Classic.”
“The dry cleaner? That makes no sense. There’s no place to sit. The ambiance is all wrong.”
“We should see if splurging on the Ultimate wash gets us free counseling. Maybe somebody pops out from behind those bushes and talks us through it. Who are, like, the celebrity relationship experts? Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson?”
“You,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s supposed to be you.”
I cross my arms.
He rubs his mouth, hiding a smile. “I want to give it my full attention, which I won’t be able to do on the road. And I don’t want to wait until Nashville.”
“Why are you so chill about this?”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“You greeted me this morning with a perfectly garnished beverage and a bathroom fingerbang,” I counter.
He actually blushes, and my chest warms. “I’m not chill,” he grumbles reluctantly. “I just want to do this the right way for once.” He shakes his head. “Let’s do Super-Duper.”
He pulls into an empty bay, and a metal arm whirrs as it extends toward the car from its spot against the wall.
“It was good,” he starts. “Right?”
My mouth curves. “Yes. I meant it when I told Livvie I had a five-star experience.”
The arm circles the car, coating it in suds, covering the windows. For the next five and a half minutes, nothing exists except us in here, and I think Nate was right about this being the ideal spot for this conversation.
“So does that mean you want to…” He trails off and turns toward me. I mimic him. He continues, “Fuck it, I’m going to be completely honest. It was the best night ever. You—we—I like being with you, and I don’t want to stop.”
His voice is unsteady, and the hand he’s resting on his leg is balled into a fist. He’s nervous.
But he’s not shutting down, or cracking jokes.
He’s telling me the truth, and that alone makes me feel as light and bubbly as the rainbow fluff peppering the car.
“Great.” I clear my throat. “Yes. Let’s not stop. ”
“And after Bailey’s party…”
“It ends,” I say. “If things were different, it wouldn’t have to. But we’re going to be living on opposite coasts. We can be mature about it, right? I’m just grateful we get this time together.”
A rumble sounds as a high-pressure stream of water clears away the soap, rivulets dripping down the windows as sunlight appears in the gaps.
Nate looks outside, his eyes going distant.
“I’m smart enough, I guess, to know that for me this is a bad idea, because it’s going to hurt in the end. But that’s not enough to stop me.”
His sad smile crushes me, but it’s not enough to stop me either. The sign in front of us that indicates when to stop and go lights up with a green arrow. “Proceed,” a robotic voice instructs. But the sign must be broken, because the red X is still there, telling us to stop at the same time.