The Sweetest Summer

Chapter Fifty-Two - Afterparty

To say the next day was rough, would be a massive understatement. Somewhere around eleven A.M., we collectively peeled ourselves from the expensive hotel sheets, and piled into the charter plane. We sipped on bloody Mary's and coffees in hopes of being resurrected.

"Can someone please turn down the sun...it's too bright." Rox whined, her black oval sunglasses taking up half of her beautiful face.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that." Collins grunted, her head lying in Leisha's lap as she stroked her long blonde hair. The two of them had shared a bedroom last night, and a plane seat this morning - looking suspiciously like a couple. Not that I didn't support them. I did. Collins deserved a good girl and through my years of knowing Leisha, she was as good as they got.

"How was Mister Blue Eyes?" Fi blew on her latte looking annoyingly chipper this morning. She had a weird genetic defect that kept her from being hungover, like ever. I'd seen that girl drink like a fish, and still make it to five A.M. hot yoga. Maybe it was her British blood.

"Meh, he was mediocre at best." Chantel replied, her short blonde hair covered by a black hoodie that simply read 'fuck' in French. Subtlety had never been her thing. "Definitely not as good as whoever the hell Avery was all over last night..."

"I was hardly all over him." I lied, shoving my cat eye sunglasses more snugly against my face. If I was being honest, thinking about that kiss still made my stomach flip and my thighs press together in need. Not that it mattered. It's not like I'd ever see him again.

"I can't believe you didn't know who he was!" Fi giggled, and my eyes swung over to hers.

"Fi..." Collins warned and my gaze shifted to where she was glaring daggers into Fi's profile.

"What?! She's going to find out eventually..."

"Find out what?"

"Let her find out on her own. Let it develop naturally..." Leisha ran her hand through Collins' hair again, ignoring me.

"Can you guys just tell me what the fuck is going on?! Was that dude like some sort of serial killer or something?"

Rox laughed before holding her head. "Ouch. No, babe he's not a serial killer, unless you count that tour bus bedroom of his..." 

So he was a musician...

"Enough, Rox." Collins warned and I glared at her.

"Why's it some big mystery? You guys seemed perfectly okay with me kissing him last night."

"And I'm still okay with it. I just don't want to influence you either way. You've had a rough go recently with you know who, and I just want you to be happy. On your own terms." I rolled my eyes, but felt oddly thankful that they weren't meddling. I was a big girl, and as such I could make my own decisions. I licked my lips again, tasting Mister Musician on my lips. God I wanted to kiss him again.

My brain stuttered, begging to remember how I knew that smile, that voice, the way he had so casually called me Malibu. I knew him, I was sure of it. I just couldn't figure out how.

My phone pinged inside of my purse, somehow getting reception at ten thousand feet, in no man's land between Nevada and California. I rummaged around to find it and the text message from an unknown L.A. based number.

This may be my favorite ink yet...

I clicked on the photo below which was of a blonde man, smirking shirtless with my phone number written across his collarbone. Shit. My cheeks burned and Collins sat up immediately.