Page 22 of The End of Summer

Wordlessly, he raises my hand in his and drops it up over his head, suspended in mid-air. Then, he does that famous move fromDirty Dancingwhere he slides his one hand down the inside of my arm, which tickles me as he nears my armpit. I tug my hand back instinctively, laughing, and my finger gets caught on the elastic of his face mask. I pull so hard that before I realize it, the cheap elastic has snapped, and the black mask of Zorro snaps off, floating for a split second like a puff of black smoke before falling to the floor.

It’s Brady Hawthorne.

I stop dancing.It can’t be.

He winces, touching the side of his eye line where the mask snapped. A red welt is forming. He rubs it and looks up at me, crossly, before his face swiftly changes. His gaze sweeps over my barely there T-shirt and mermaid panty, then down my fishnet-clad legs to my sky-high platforms. He looks back up again and settles on my blood-red hair.

It registers.

He knows it’s me.

Zorro – er, Brady – takes three steps backwards before turning hastily and high tailing it out of there, leaving in his wake the groans and miserable sighs of Team Trashelorette. His bodyguard follows him out the door, with Arrow hot on their tails, shaking her head. Meanwhile, I force myself out of my deer-in-the-headlights moment and wobble back to the office to grab more shots, which I set down on the table and the girls gratefully devour. Right on time, the caterers enter the space, a pair of men from Añejo in Hyannis who are swiftly setting up a fajita station, as I excuse myself from the building and teeter outside into the parking lot.

“You don’t just fucking leave!” Arrow yells. “That’s not how it works!”

“Yo,” the big bodyguard guy says, pulling off his hat to reveal a head of bright orange hair. “Don’t come at my man like that.” He takes a lumbering step towards Arrow. It’s not threatening exactly, but I would be scared if it were me. “He’snew.”

Arrow shoots a sharp look at me, while Brady fumbles into a pair of sweatpants, leaving an oil streak along the passenger side of the blue Hyundai Elantra that is unmistakably his. “What, Summer?” she asks, annoyed. “What do you want?”

“Summer?” Brady asks.

“What do youwant?” Arrow asks again, more firmly this time.

I shake my head and adjust my snake mask so it doesn’t stick to my eyes. “Um, nothing.”

“Get back in there,” she seethes at me.

I go.

But not before hearing Brady say to his bodyguard, “Bro, I could have sworn she was my neighbor.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

BRADY

Big Mike talks the boss chick down and collects my money. It’s alot. I can’t count it at that exact moment because I’m shook – a combination of adrenaline and nerves andfuckI am like 99% sure that the redhead in the fishnets was definitely Gretchen. How the hell am I ever going to look her in the face again?

But,no.It wasn’t her. That was some girl named Summer. With the same color hair, and the same exact fishnet-clad apple-bottom booty.

Big Mike drives me home in my car. I’m so grateful that we carpooled over to that wretched place.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know, dude. That was… something.”

“You did a good job, though. Those girls wereaboutyou.”

“I felt like an idiot. Also, like a cheap piece of meat. And thongs are so uncomfortable. I don’t know how women do it.”

“There’s a thought you should never share in mixed company.” Big Mike guffaws.

I breathe deeply, trying to relax. “So, is that what it’s likeevery time?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Basically. That was a smaller party than usual, though.”

“It felt like an out-of-body experience.”

“I’m sure. I mean, for real? It was a little weird for me, too. I’m trying to reconcile the fact that I’ve seen your bare ass now. And not, like, locker room ass. Stripper thong-ass. It’s a whole new level of friendship for us.”

---