Page 48 of Love to Prove You Wrong

Thank goodness Suzie cut in. “It’s complicated. Anyway, this day isn’t about Addy or Justin Miller, right? How about a small clue as to where we’re headed?”

Ashley took the bait and I threw Suzie a grateful smile for directing the conversation somewhere else.

I peered at Ashley, feeling not so fond of her. Who did she think she was, wanting me to set her up with Justin? She didn’t even know him – apart from how ridiculously high his score on the hotness meter was.

I didn’t want to act all jealous and I knew Justin wasn’t mine. I just couldn’t help myself.

I spent the rest of the ride trying to take part in the conversation, but it was hard to focus on anything when I knew that others had their arrows pointed at Justin.

Forty-five minutes later, the limo pulled into the parking lot of a fancy-looking building. A big sign readCloverleaf Spa & Wellness.

We got out of the limo and Ashley took the lead. She walked to the entrance with confident strides, as opposed to Layla who was trying to hide the fact that she had a giant penis-looking toy strapped around her body.

We all stepped through the sliding doors, entering a haven of tranquility. A small fountain surrounded by all kinds of jungle plants stood in the center of the lobby. Soft ambient music consisting of nature sounds drifted out of the speakers and sunlight poured in through the giant glass roof.

Ashley spun on her heel and clapped her hands. “We’re going to get manicures, pedicures, and a makeover,” she said with a squeal. “We want to look all pretty for the… rougher activity I have planned later today.”

The group fell silent at the mention of a rougher activity. I couldn’t blame them for feeling anxious about what that meant, but then again, how bad could it be? Even swimming would be considered an activity rougher than getting manicures.

A lady dressed in white welcomed us to the spa, handing us all a glass of cucumber water. “If you would follow me,” she said, leading us to a changing room decked out with plush sofas and personalized slippers.

“Before the manicures, we’ve got a mud bath prepared for you,” the lady said. “You will have to take off that thing, though,” she said, glancing at the red penis guitar.

“Not a problem.” Layla ripped the toy off as if it was on fire and tossed it on one of the sofas. “There, all set.”

The lady smiled at us. “Great, please head to treatment room B as soon as you’re ready.”

After she left, Jess pointed to the personalized slippers. “I’m not putting those on my feet,” she said, armes crossed in front of her chest like a sulky child. The only thing that was missing was her stamping her feet in protest.

“Why not?” Brianna asked.

She scoffed. “Seriously? There could be bacteria on them. It’s unsanitary.”

“They’re unused,” Ashley said, stripping down and slipping her feet into her slippers before putting on her robe.

Jess let out a high-pitched laugh. “Yeah, that’s what they want you to believe.”

“For god’s sake, Jess, just put them on. They’re wrapped in plastic and there’s a label that sayssingle-person use onlyon them. Believe me, they are new.”

“So you say, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure, is there?”

Ashley sighed. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure and that’s enough for me. Let’s just go and enjoy our mud bath, okay?”

“You know how Jess’s anxiety flares up when something like this happens,” Layla said, trying to calm down the bickering girls. “Maybe she can stay in the lobby while we slide into those mud baths.”

Ashley put a hand on her hip. “This place is the most hygienic one in the state. That’s why I booked it. If Jess wants to be a party pooper, fine, but don’t say I didn’t try to cater to her needs.”

Jess let out a puff of air and rolled her eyes. “Fine, you’re right. I’ll give it a shot.”

The eight of us walked out of the changing room, all looking perfectly normal. Jess was wearing socks in her slippers, her fingers tightly clasped around a family-sized bottle of hand sanitizer.

A brightly smiling girl in a white-and-green uniform led us to a big space. Marble tubs filled to the brim with volcanic mud were placed in the center of the room, separated from each other by a wooden end table where a glass of champagne was awaiting each of us.

“The mud bath is about 100 degrees, so you’ll be nice and comfortable,” the girl said.

After she told us what to expect from this treatment, I took off my robe, sat myself on the edge, and flung myself in, feet first. Instead of sinking into the mud, as I had thought would happen, I lay on top of it and was suddenly very aware of how exposed I was. It wasn’t like the others didn’t know what a naked woman’s body looked like, but I’d rather not have them spot my nether regions. Luckily, the mud-bath attendant came to my rescue, wrapping the thick mud around my body with swift precision.

Once I was settled in the mud, I took a bite of the strawberry that floated around in my champagne and closed my eyes. I could get used to this. Would it be difficult to install one of these at home? Or at work? Now that would be amazing.

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