AVA

After Ethan pulls away in the Rolls, I walk back through the Fairmont Hotel lobby, lighter than air. Everything inside me feels like it’s filled with bubbles, like I’m a shaken soda pop, ready to explode.

I must be on fire, because I feel people looking at me. Their heads swivel around as I walk past them, trying not to grin too obviously. But how can I help it? That was amazing. And who does that? Just takes the afternoon off and sails around San Francisco Bay with a billionaire? An actual billionaire?

Apparently, I do that. Me. Little old me.

When I get back up to our room, suddenly I’m half exhausted. My arms and legs feel like they’re made out of loosely coiled rubber bands. I guess as the adrenaline drains out of me, I start to feel just how exhausted I really am.

Bea stops in the middle of the living room of our suite when I open the door, turning to squint at me suspiciously. She’s wearing a pair of fuchsia boy shorts and a strapless bra, still shiny from a shower. Her hair sticks out in triangular patches as she jerks her chin at me in greeting.

“I was looking for you, Ava,” she snaps. “I mean, I looked everywhere. Where did you go? I thought we were going to meet up in the entrepreneurial panel?”

“Yeah,” I stammer, suddenly unable to put a sentence together. “I mean, yeah… I was gonna, but—”

She tips her head to the side, looking me up and down.

“Did you go to the pool? Don’t tell me you went to the pool without me?”

I glance down at my outfit, self-consciously twisting a bit of my coverup in my fingertips.

“Actually… no. I didn’t go to the pool.”

Trying to avoid her eye line, I cross the room diagonally and head for my bedroom, but Bea is right behind me, swinging in through the doorway like a bloodhound, hot on my trail.

“What do you mean, you didn’t go to the pool? You’re wearing a bathing suit, Ava. A frickin’ bathing suit!”

I turn around to face her, putting my hands up to show that I am surrendering immediately.

“I really didn’t go to the pool, Bea,” I smile, feeling a blush creep back into my cheeks again. “I promise. I absolutely promise.”

She chews on her lower lip for just a second, scowling. Then she flops dramatically into an armchair, draping her bare legs over the side.

“All right, spill,” she commands me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shrug innocently, keenly aware of the fatigue in my shoulders. That big, fluffy, down comforter is just feet away from me. I could be asleep in seconds, assuming Bea would let me.

“You know, I’m super tired,” I murmur, edging toward the bed. “Can we talk about this later, please?”

“Oh hell no!” she barks, pointing at me. “You’re up to something, Ava. I’m not leaving until you tell me exactly what’s going on!”

“Well…” I begin, trying to figure out the fastest way to tell her, and the least amount of information I need to give her before she’ll surrender and leave me alone to get some sleep.

“Start at the part where you decided that you were going to skip the conference, Miss Thing!” she exclaims helpfully. “What were you thinking? We paid good money to be here!”

“Okay, yeah, we totally did,” I cringe, remembering how long it took us to scrape together the cash for this. The website claimed we would have unparalleled access to the best Bay Area employers, plus educational panels and resume help that was supposed to put us into some kind of immediately employable pool. When I think of how many resumes I’ve given out… that number would be zero… I see that I’m not really making the most of the situation.

“So?” she prods.

“So…” I echo shyly, silently commanding myself to just tell her already. “You remember Ethan, of course—”

“Oh no you didn’t!”

I pull a face, watching her shocked reaction to see if she’s going to cheer me on or find something to beat me with. Her eyes are so wide, I see the ring of white around her dark, inky irises.

“He’s just, you know… he’s a friend. Remember? We practically grew up together.”

“You didn’t just grow up together, Ava. He was your first crush, wasn’t he? Your ideal man candy? Please tell me you didn’t just burn your V-card right there, playing hooky this afternoon. Please! Tell me you did not!”

“I didn’t,” I protest. “I swear to God, I didn’t. But the idea did occur to me…”

I can’t finish the thought. Images race through my mind, setting my skin on fire with what I’m sure is a bright, obvious blush. My insides twang, reminiscent of the orgasm I just had on the boat. I feel ready to come all over again, suddenly awake and alive everywhere.

“Whooo, girl,” Bea says softly. “What is happening to you? You still got it bad for him?”

“Jeez, I don’t know,” I shrug, pretending to be unsure even while my body seems to have already made up its mind. “I mean, would that be so bad? Ethan is totally a player. This is our last summer before real life, real jobs, real responsibilities… I mean if I was going to have a perfect summer fling, not something serious but something fun, wouldn’t he be it?”

“There is no such thing as a perfect summer fling, Ava,” she scowls wisely, even though I know her information is totally coming from YouTube serials and trashy romance novels. “He’ll break your heart. He will. He’s a known womanizer.”

“I’m not offering my heart, Bea,” I snap. “I’m just offering up my, you know, lady bits. For a little fun in the sun. Like today…”

She leans forward, keenly interested. “Yeah, so if you weren’t at the pool, where were you?”

“He took me out on his boat. His yacht,” I confess, my words coming out in a conspiratorial rush. I see her lips pop open in surprise, with a little noise like a bubble bursting.

“He what? You guys just… just like that? Just went on a yacht ride?”

“Can you believe it? Doesn’t that sound totally outrageous?”

“Oh, girl,” she sighs, fanning herself dramatically. “Well, maybe I need to rethink my position on this. I mean, if you’re going to go all Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, maybe a summer fling isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“And you’re sure, absolutely sure, that you can keep it light? No strings? No heartache?”

I wave my hand in the air dismissively and roll my eyes. “Shoot. If anybody’s going to be breaking anybody’s heart, I’m gonna break his. This is strictly for research and educational purposes. That’s it.”

Bea stands up, walking to the French doors that lead out onto our private patio, shifting her weight from hip to hip, sort of looking in silhouette like some French director’s idea of a thoughtful, college-age woman.

Now that she’s not looking at me, my fatigue returns. I crawl up onto the bed, sliding along it diagonally until my muscles just begin to sink into the luxurious down.

“Your phone,” she tells me. “It’s ringing. Here it is.”

I feel my bag land on the mattress next to me and fumble in it blindly until my fingers find the cool plastic case.

“Thanks,” I mumble as she leaves, apparently satisfied by my obvious display of fatigue.

I’ve got three missed texts from my brother. My eyes don’t quite focus right for a few seconds, but just before I fall asleep, the words sort of piece themselves together.

Ethan is at the conference.

Stay away from him.

Stay away.