AUNT AUDREY: Yes he will be in the Maldives for the next three weeks! After that he’s got the gala and then it’s Maui till Labor Day! House is all yours.
AUNT AUDREY: Please relax and make yourself at home – you deserve it after everything you’ve been through!!
She wasn’t kidding.
I wasn’t big on pitying myself, but this last week had seriously put me through the wringer, starting with the electrical fire that tore through my Sag Harbor apartment in under thirty minutes.
Thankfully, I was at the café when it happened. Not so thankfully, the fire devoured almost all the clothes, books and other belongings I’d acquired over the course of my twenty-eight years – something I’d be way more torn up about if my mind weren’t so completely focused on this particular week of work.
It was basically my coming out week for the new and improved Stanton Family Market. Evie and I had poured every last penny of our savings into buying the dead company from Dad, and as a seasonal business in its very first year, I had a lot to prove in just a few months’ time. So the last thing I needed to stress about was where to lay my head at night.
I needed a place that I could get quick, cheap and close to work.
Hence the summerhouse arrangement.
“Alright.” Evie gave one loud clap of her hands. “Let’s stop drooling over this place and start unpacking. We can’t lose focus – we do have a mission tonight.”
I nodded dutifully.
That we did, because on top of a surprise fire this week, I also had nearly a lifetime of insomnia working against me. I hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for two months now, and while I was generally happy to run on fumes, tomorrow was a different story. Tomorrow, I had to be functional and easy on the eyes since I had Hamptons frickin’ Magazine coming to do a feature on the café.
According to Evie, I needed to let them photograph my “pretty lil’ face” in order to personalize our brand. And while I was normally averse to picture taking, I’d do pretty much anything for this venture, so tonight, I needed my beauty rest.
And since college, there were only two surefire ways to get my restless body a full and healthy night of sleep.
“Dancing and fucking!” Evie declared the moment we finished unpacking the last of my things. “I’m making you do both tonight. You ready, girl?”
I snorted as I rolled my empty luggage into the massive walk-in.
“Uh, no, because that’s not necessary. It only needs to be one or the other, and I choose dancing.”
“Why?” Evie whined. “Wouldn’t you rather play it safe and do both?”
“No, because with dancing, I only have to rely on myself. The other option is never a guarantee,” I pointed out. “In case you forgot, I only fall asleep after like… crazy, mind-blowing, lost-two-pounds-in-the-process type sex, and that’s not always easy to find.”
“Aly. It’s East Hampton in July. This town is currently a hot bed of A-list actors and pro athletes – you’re basically drowning in sexy, physically fit dick right now,” Evie said. “Also, if there’s anything good about my butthead fiancé at this time, it’s that he works in PR. So it’s legit his job to hunt down the places where all the yummy famous people go.”
“Alright.” I laughed as she started digging like a squirrel through her Madewell tote full of dresses for me to borrow. “Well then, if I spot Brad Pitt or George Clooney tonight, I’ll totally go for the one-night stand. But otherwise, we’re just dancing. Alright?”
“Brad Pitt or George – what the fuck? Those guys haven’t been hot since two thousand nine,” Evie said with exasperation, tossing a bunch of slinky numbers onto my bed. “And I can guarantee you neither of them have a six-pack anymore, let alone an eight-pack.”
“An eight-pack? Does anyone have those outside of Marvel comics?” I asked distractedly, undoing my topknot and shaking out my hair in the mirror. It was just past my shoulders now – long for my standards, and back to blonde for the first time in ages. Three months into this new look, and I still wasn’t used to it yet. But it was finally me – the real me – so thus far, I was loving it.
“Yeah, the eight-pack is definitely a rarity,” Evie conceded, tossing me a little black dress to try on. “Like a four-leaf clover. But that’s exactly why if you find one, you have to fuck it.”
“I have to fuck the eight-pack?” I snorted as Evie narrowed her eyes at me.
“You have to fuck the guy who owns it,” she clarified. “Because he’s clearly physically fit enough to f
uck you like a champ. I’m talking pin-you-up-against-the-wall sex, or bang-you-while-you’re-on-top sex.”
“I’m sorry – what was that second one?” I grunted as I struggled to wiggle into her skintight dress.
“You know. When you’re straddling him but he’s holding your hips and like, slamming up into you? It takes a shit load of core strength to go at it like that for awhile, which is why the eight-pack is essential,” she insisted as I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious, Aly. You know you want that Superman sex. Especially since you lost your good vibrator to the fire.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“I know, it’s a tragedy,” Evie lamented. “But that just means you deserve a good lay tonight. Get some good dancing in, have dirty, wild sex with some stud, then pass out on this five thousand dollar mattress here. No way in hell you don’t get at least six hours of sleep after all that.”