I narrowed my eyes on my reflection in the mirror—twisting the bottom knot on the pink button-down shirt.
“I look like I’m about to host a playdate, don’t I? It’s a little too suburban mom chic.”
Drew ran the tip of his finger up the side of my rib cage, grazing the small single-needle tattoo of the moon—a tattoo I got when I was seventeen. A tattoo that my mom lost her mind over.
“No one’s mom looks like this,” Drew whispered into my ear.
“That’s sexist. And ageist. My mom looked like this, but even younger.”
I stepped out of his hold and peeled the shirt off my body, tossing it onto the chaotic pile of clothes on the bed. Drew pulled me by the clasp of my bra and spun me around so I was facing him. He tilted his head at me.
“Woman, what is happening here?”
“Oh. This is me getting dressed,” I explained. “It’s always a production. Get used to it.”
“You were never this way on tour.”
“That’s because Summer sent me on tour with only five dresses, which I rotated. There was no room for decision making.”
He stared at me with a dropped-jaw smile.
“You’re nervous.”
“I don’t do nervous,” I said, elbowing his gut. He had never seen me nervous, because I was my best self on tour. I was Confident Maggie Vine—the way God had intended me to be. My chest was pattering now as I looked at the time on my phone, realizing we were going to be late.
Drew crossed his arms and scoffed at me. “You’re afraid to introduce me to your crew, aren’t you?”
“No.”
Yes.
He tugged me toward him by the loop of my jeans and bent down to my ear. “Maggie Vine, I give good friend,” he assured me, his faded Southern accent and the heat of his mouth against me sending sparks to my skin. Goddamnit, why did he have to make everything sexy? His lips went to my neck, and his fingers moved downward, unbuttoning my jeans.
“I just put those on.”
“I have faith that you can do it again.”
His cool thumb brushed past my hip bone, playfully tracing my underwear line. My breathing quickened as his hand slid lower.
“Summer will hate you, but don’t take it personally,” I said, swallowing hard as he pressed gently on my clit through the lace thong. I closed my eyes and steadied myself.
“I’ll try not to take someone’s personal distaste toward me personally.”
I felt his touch leave my body and opened my eyes to find his hands on my waist, pushing me onto the bed. He tugged the booties off my feet and my jeans to the floor. He bit the inside of my thigh, then his finger hooked inside my underwear, and his tongue was inside me, his hand clenched on my ass, my fingers wrapped around his waxy hair, my body writhing, my chest pounding.
“We’re…we’re going to be…super late,” I moaned, as my breathing quickened.
He glanced up from my legs, his lips wet, and his eyes hardened.
“I don’t fucking care,” he growled.
“Then put your tongue back where it belongs,” I bit back.
“You’re a real piece of work, Vine.”
We were provocatively brash with each other when our clothes came off. This had never been my thing. I was a romantic when it came to sex—when it came to everything. I thought the fever dream was a man kissing my naked breast as I read him poetry by candlelight. But with Drew, his large hands on my wrists and his crass, “Shut your mouth so I can fuck you like it’s the last time my cock will ever meet your pussy!” got me wet faster than “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
* * *
I ADJUSTED THE BRA UNDER my V-neck as Drew and I walked into the Biergarten, a cute outdoor spot hidden under the Highline, with Ping-Pong tables and a couple different bars stretched through the space. I froze, amused to see Summer laughing hysterically at Garrett. They stood on opposite ends of a Ping-Pong table, as Garrett fished a ball out of the beer in his hand.
“You are horrible at this game,” he told her, playfully throwing the wet ball at her face.
Summer ducked, letting the ball hit a hipster behind her. She stared ahead at Garrett, wide-eyed, not taking responsibility. I exhaled a chuckle, watching Garrett and Summer make silly faces at each other. Summer told me that they had “gone out a few times” while I was on tour—but I didn’t know they were this comfortable around each other. Summer adopted the role of Smarter Older Sister to most people in her life, even those who were older than her, like Garrett. Garrett needed someone to lovingly give him a hard time, because he was a gorgeous, tall, privileged, white male. She didn’t fall for any of his bullshit, and after he became less scared of her, he really appreciated her candor.
I watched as Garrett’s girlfriend, a stunning tall creature with wavy blond hair, rubbed his shoulders. Apparently, they started dating after I left for tour, and all the information I received from Summer was that Blaire was “very hot and very temporary.”
I felt Drew grip on to my hand, and I pulled him closer as we approached the table.
Summer threw her paddle down as her eyes met mine. “There she is!” she yelled.
Summer opened her arms, letting me hug her as tightly as I wanted, and reciprocating—which for Summer, in public, was not a small deal.
“You missed me,” I said. “Look at this hug! Someone record this! See how her arms are gripping me tight? She fucking missed me!”
Summer pulled back and glared at me. “What can I say? My clothes and I have been very lonely without your needy presence.”
Summer looked over my head, sizing Drew up with a nod. He smiled nicely at her.
“Summer, Drew.”
“The photographer.”
“The best friend.”
“One of them.” Summer grinned, nodding to Garrett, who was approaching behind me. I inhaled his familiar scent—musk and vanilla—a combination that I wished wouldn’t make my heart beat a little faster. But oh boy, it did.
I swallowed hard and turned, meeting Garrett’s beaming smile. He was Casual Garrett, a sight I loved to see. And he was tanner than usual, making his blue eyes appear even brighter, and his smile even more ridiculously perfect. He took me in his arms and lifted me up in a tight hug. It felt odd that Garrett was doing this in public, while the people we were having sex with watched directly below my head. Drew shifted in place with pursed lips, trying his best to act cool, despite being visibly uncool with another man’s arms around my waist. Garrett set me down and beamed at me with a sly grin. He glanced over my shoulder, eyes scanning Drew.
“Hey, man,” Garrett said, not coldly, but not warmly, either. Like it was a chore. He stuck his hand out and Drew shook it. “Garrett.”
“Drew.”
“I’m Blaire!” the super-hot woman said, squeezing her body between Garrett and myself. “You must be Maggie.”
“That I am.” I smiled into her doe eyes.
“Babe, I’m gonna go get us some pretzels. They look so good,” Blaire cooed.
It didn’t upset me that she owned that body and could enjoy carbs. It didn’t. Because that would make me petty as fuck. And I wasn’t. I was a feminist! Feminist with an asterisk, apparently.