17
17
I’m woken up early the next morning by a phone call from Kimi checking in to make sure everything’s good with the house. I leave the girls sleeping in my bed and head out quietly to the kitchen, where the fridge is stocked full of our favorite foods, including bottles of sparkling water and orange juice so I can complete my miracle hangover cure.
I mix the water with OJ and head outside to catch some early-morning rays. My foot skids on one of Tripp’s discarded shoes as I go, so I guess the guys are sleeping off a hangover in one of the other rooms. They got back so late last night none of us heard them come in.
It’s perfect outside, the sky clear and the sounds of the valley so different from the city noise of LA. I relax into a sun lounger and watch the pool water rippling in front of me, calm and serene, soothing my headache away.
“You’re awake already?” a voice calls out thirty minutes later. I’m in the middle of taking a selfie, feeling much fresher and more rejuvenated, and glance up, startled, to find Jessie in her running clothes.
“Yeah, Kimi called at the crack of dawn as usual,” I explain, glancing down at her sneakers and tights. “Jess, you’re looking way too alive after last night.”
Jessie shrugs. “I heeded your warning. No cocktails from Maya if I wanna be able to feel my feet when I go to bed.”
I groan in response, wishing I’d taken my own advice. “Are you going for a run?” I ask.
She nods. “That’s the plan. Care to join me?”
When I hang my head to look at her pointedly, she laughs and spins around. “All right, see you later.”
“Be safe,” I call, returning my attention to my phone. A new message pops up from Win, and my cheeks flush with the memory of last night’s dream.
Win: Champagne for breakfast?
I smile. The empty personalized champagne bottle is still lying on the patio from last night. Before I have time to process what I’m doing, I attach the selfie I just took and send my reply.
Me: I think we drank it all already. . . feeling it this morning
There’s a few seconds’ pause before his reply pops up.
Win: I saw the TikTok
Win: Soaking up the sun? Wish I was there
Me: You couldn’t get tickets? ;)
Win: Not famous enough :(
I chuckle to myself because I know for a fact if Win wanted to be at Coachella, he’d have VIP tickets rolling in from every direction in a heartbeat.
Me: Sucks to be you
Win: Sure does
Win: Enjoy X
“What are you grinning at, early bird?” Maya flicks my hair as she walks up. “That’s a dirty little smile if I ever did see one.”
“You’re observant this morning,” I say with absolutely no intention of answering her question. “Val still asleep?”
“No, she’s in the kitchen chugging sparkling water and OJ and complaining she needs feeding. Girl snores like a fucking train when she’s drunk—I’m not surprised you woke up early.”
I laugh with her as Val shouts something indecipherable through the wide-open doors.
“Are we ordering breakfast?” I ask.
“Well, I’m sure as fuck not cooking it.” Maya grabs my arm, pulling me out of my seat.
By the time Tripp’s awake and with us in the kitchen, we’ve had enough breakfast delivered to feed all of Coachella, not just our little group. We tip the driver well and lay out everything on the huge kitchen island: a colorful spread of berries, waffles, pancakes, avocado toast, caramel coffee, croissants, yogurt, melon, oatmeal, bacon, eggs—practically every breakfast food imaginable.
“Holy shit, this is what dreams are made of,” Maya groans, biting into a pastry and rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “So fresh.”
“You should wake John up,” I say to Tripp, reaching for a slice of watermelon. “He’ll be pissed if he misses out on this.”
“You don’t wanna wake him up with breakfast in bed?” Maya winks at me.
Tripp pauses midbite of his breakfast burrito. “John isn’t here.”
The watermelon slice I just bit into is suddenly flavorless. “Then where is he?” I ask, my words tight with frustration. He didn’t arrive last night? Is he fucking kidding me?
“Here we go again,” Maya says, spinning around on her seat when the front door opens and footsteps sound through the entrance hall.
“Hey,” Jessie says as she rounds the corner, red in the face and a little out of breath from running.
“Hey, Jess,” Val says with a smile. “We ordered breakfast—come dig in.”
“Oh.” Jessie’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It draws my attention to her face as she kicks her running shoes off and pops her AirPods back into their case. “Thanks. I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Everything okay, Jess?” I ask as she heads toward her room, her steps a little too fast. When she doesn’t answer, I get up out of my seat. Something’s off—I can feel it.
“You good?” Maya asks, reaching out for my arm. She’s realized something’s up, too, and this is her way of letting me know I’ve got her support if I need it.
“Yeah, I’ll just go check on her,” I say, squeezing her hand and following Jess down the hallway.
Inside her room, Jessie’s stripping out of her running clothes and wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel, ready to shower. I step inside and close the door behind me, getting her attention.
“Jess, did something happen?”
“What do you mean?” She laughs nervously, the little crease in the center of her forehead letting me know she’s bluffing.
I stare at her intently.
“What?” Her voice is too high-pitched, defensive. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower and I’ll join you for breakfast, okay?” She doesn’t meet my eye as she moves quickly over to the attached bathroom.
“You’re acting weird, Jess,” I say in a singsong voice, still staring hard.
“You’re the one watching me step into the shower, weirdo,” she says, singsong, back, grabbing the door handle and pushing it closed until only her face is visible through the crack. “I’m fine, okay? You can go eat breakfast.”
“Did something happen on your run?” I persist, visions of creepy guys and harassing paparazzi flashing through my thoughts. I know she wasn’t followed by security, but maybe we should change that. I don’t want my friends getting hurt when they’re just trying to live their lives.
“Nothing happened,” she says, swallowing hard.
I scrutinize her for a little longer before eventually rolling my eyes away and backing out of the room. False alarm maybe, but it’s difficult to tell with Jess being so headstrong. “You don’t have to hide things from me,” I say as I leave, just in case she’s not telling the truth. “You know that.”
“Princess,” she says wearily, “I know.”
Back in the kitchen I finish eating and let my thoughts glide back to John. He still hasn’t texted me, which is infuriating, to say the least, especially when things were going so well. It takes serious effort to keep my thoughts from running in a very negative direction, and by the time Jessie returns to the kitchen and digs in, I’ve realized if I don’t address the issue now, his silence will bug me all damn day.
I pull out my phone and shoot John a text.
Me: What’s up?
I don’t expect a reply. Honestly, I don’t even expect him to show up at Coachella. But then I overhear Tripp telling Maya how drunk John got last night, and my eyes shoot up to meet his.
“He was at the party you went to?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Tripp says, and Jessie shifts in her seat beside me, glancing between us to figure out what’s going on. “He told you that, right? Anyway, I don’t know what happened to him. Last I saw, he was standing up on the table yelling some drunken shit into the room, and then I couldn’t find him anywhere.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go filing a missing person report,” Maya says dryly, and I follow her gaze through the front window to see an Uber driver pull up to the gates of the house.
John jumps out of the car and jogs quickly toward the front door.
Tripp laughs as he watches him, shaking his head. “Bro thinks he’s gonna get in before we all wake up.” He takes another bite out of his breakfast burrito. “Wild.”
I sit tall in my seat, reeling off an inner mantra so I won’t take this too far. Don’t overreact. I don’t need to confront him; I just need to know where he was. A simple question, totally calm, nothing heavy. Don’t overreact.
“Shit,” John says, jolting back when he steps in and notices us all staring at him. “Didn’t know you’d all be up already.” He looks sheepish as fuck and dog-tired. The dark circles under his eyes are obvious. “You ordered breakfast? Sweet.”
I grind my jaw in disbelief as he saunters up to the island and helps himself to the syrupy waffles. He lands an arm around my shoulders and squeezes tight, murmuring, “Morning,” into my ear as if everything’s totally fine and he didn’t ghost me last night. The smell of stale booze seeps out of his skin.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” I say, not bothering to lower my voice.
Tripp makes a low noise, chuckling at our energy until Val tells him to cut it out.
“Sorry, Mom.” John laughs, too, turning it into a dumb joke as he pulls a face.
I feel my cheeks heat and look to the girls for support.
“Where the fuck were you, John?” Maya’s quick to stop his laughter with her bitter tone. “So much for following us here yesterday.”
“Chill, Maya,” he says lightheartedly. “I heard about the party and figured you’d all be there too. I started drinking before I arrived and got a little carried away. Sorry.” He shrugs.
Everyone goes quiet. Their eyes turn away in that universal gesture of not wanting to get involved if things get heavy. Still, I know this isn’t the time or place to make a scene—sometimes John takes it too far with the drinking—but my feeling are still hurt. Irrational or not, he didn’t prioritize me or this trip, and with a single text last night he would have known we didn’t actually go to the party.
“You could’ve called,” I say simply, meeting his eye again. He looks down. “It’s basic communication, John.”
“Yeah, I know.” He scratches his neck as he settles into a seat. And then, like an afterthought, he adds quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“Sooo,” Maya says, standing up and lifting the mood, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to get all dressed up and enjoy this fuckin’ festival.”
“Me too,” I say eagerly, wanting nothing more than to be excited again, or at least pretend to be. Fake it until you make it, as they say. I know we need to have a serious conversation about the shitty communication skills, but now isn’t the time. I’m at Coachella, something I’ve dreamed about for years; my outfits are incredible, my girls are here, and I can’t wait for the chance to show them off—the outfits and my girls.
“Me three,” Val agrees. “Jessie?”
I look over at Jessie to find her clearly still distracted by something as she watches John carefully. “The festival, Jess. Ready to get dressed up?” I prompt.
“Mm-hmm.” She nods and her smile returns. “I’m a little nervous about fitting in and all but I’m excited!”
I rush to her side. “Baby, you fit in everywhere you go, look at you.” I twirl a piece of her long brown hair around my fingers. “You have nothing to be nervous about. You’re beautiful and about to have the time of your life.” I reach up and stroke her high cheekbones.
I can relate to how she feels. Even now that everyone around me is constantly telling me how great I am, I still feel like an imposter sometimes. Like all of this could disappear in a second.
“I can’t wait to show off those boots you got me,” she says.
I think of the bespoke leather cowboy boots we ordered during an online shopping splurge a couple of weeks ago. Mine are decorated with pink Swarovski crystals, Jessie’s matching but in blue. We’re wearing supershort bodycon suits, Stetsons, and custom accessories to match—no expenses spared in the glitter-and-crystals department. Just the thought of strutting around the festival with my girls, all of us looking that hot, makes excitement buzz in my belly again. I’m out of my seat and heading to our rooms faster than the others can keep up.
We spend over an hour getting ready, all of us weaving in and out of each other’s rooms and eventually gathering in front of Maya’s huge bathroom mirror to finish up our makeup. We look amazing, and with our music blasting loud through the surround-sound system in the house, it finally feels like we’re at Coachella and ready to party.
“Fuuuuck, P.,” John says as he enters my room while I’m adjusting my Stetson in the mirror. We lock eyes as he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Look at you.”
“Like it?” I ask with a grin.
“I love it.” He kisses my neck, and I melt into his arms. “Let’s get in bed for a minute before you head out.”
I wriggle out of his grip and turn to face him. “What do you mean before I head out? Aren’t you coming with us?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, a nervous reaction, and steps over to where he dumped his bag earlier, shuffling around inside it for his charger. “I’ll be there later.”
“Why not now?” I watch him as he crosses the room to plug his phone in at the side of the bed. “Please tell me you’re not going to spend the whole day sleeping off last night’s hangover and pretending like I’m not even here?”
“I’m not pretending like you’re not here,” he says. “It’s Coachella, Princess. You’re here with Maya and Val. I’m here to make sure you’re safe—”
“Obviously you’re here to party. Otherwise, where were you last night?” I rest my hands on my hips. “Seriously, John. I thought you were going to go with me. I thought we were doing this together.”
“Listen,” he says, stepping forward to close the distance between us. “You go out and have fun, okay? While you’re out at the festival I know you have security and enough people around nothing bad can happen. I’ll only get in the way of you doing your thing for the photographers. I don’t want people to focus on us, just on you.” He leans in and kisses my forehead affectionately.
I feel my anger melt with each kiss he gives me, my forehead again, then both cheeks, nose, chin. I can’t help but laugh, even though I’m still so disappointed.
“I still wish you’d want to spend time with me here. It kind of makes me feel bad that you’d rather just sleep.”
He lifts my chin up, eyes intent on mine. “I’m going to hang out with you, Princess. I just gotta restore my energy so I’m ready to have some real fun later. This place really gets going at night anyway.”
I sigh and look out the window, hoping tonight will be better.
“Princess?” Val pops her head around the door, smiling when she meets my eye. “We’re ready to head out. Are you guys coming?”
“Yeah,” I say, breaking away from John, but not before giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m coming. John’s gonna catch up on sleep.”
Val eyes him carefully but she doesn’t scold him like her expression tells me she wants to. “Meet you outside, okay? I’m gonna go grab Jessie.”
“Sure.” I check the mirror, doing a 360 to make sure everything looks right, enjoying the way John drinks me in, before saying good-bye and heading out to the car.
Outside, the midday sun heats my skin, its warmth only adding to my excitement. I say hi to the driver, and while I wait for the others to join us, I bask against the side door, pulling out my phone to check if anyone’s tried to reach me.
And then my heart double-thuds.
The top notification on my home screen is from Win—not a message, but a thumbs-up reaction to the selfie I sent him earlier. I got the notification just three minutes ago.
I open the message and realize he’s removed the reaction. “What the . . . ?” I mutter under my breath. I guess he did it by mistake. But there are enough messages between the selfie and the end of the screen that he would’ve had to scroll up to look at it—it wouldn’t have just been a mistaken tap while he was swiping out of our texts.
Which means he was looking at the photo again.
The photo I sent him over two hours ago.
I try to ignore the way it makes me feel, but it’s nearly impossible.
“Woo-hoo, Coachella Dream Team! Let’s get this boot-scootin’, hoedown-showdown cowgirl party on the road!” Maya yells, cracking up at her own corny announcement, as she bursts through the front doors of the house wearing her own Stetson and boots, making me jump and distracting me from my thoughts.
But only for a second.
Because my mind goes back to the idea of Win getting hung up on a simple selfie of me, enough so to make him scroll back and stare at it a whole two hours afterward. I have to admit to myself that it kind of does things to me. The contrast to John’s behavior and lack of time spent considering me is hard not to compare. Deep down, illicit, unspeakable sensations thud low in my body and heat me all the way up. Win’s time is important. He’s got shit to do and people to see 24-7. And yet one little photo from me, one awkward, accidental reaction, and suddenly, the game’s changed.
I wonder why he deleted it.
I wonder if he even knows I saw.
I wonder if maybe, for whatever reason, he might’ve meant for me to see.