Page 21 of Fun at Parties
“Seriously, though, I’m happy for you. It sounds great.”
He picks up the floss again and flicks the lid open and closed. “It’s not a big deal. But I know as the token slacker in our group of friends, the bar is pretty low for me.”
As a whole, the group is successful: Bailey the doctor, Sam the engineer. Giana sells her blue-and-white abstract paintings for five grand a pop to rich ladies furnishing their beach houses. And Logan and I have found our own kinds of achievement. Nate chose a more low-key path, but there’s nothing wrong with that.
“I’ve never thought of you as a slacker,” I say.
He tosses the floss into his bag and shakes his head. “Regardless. I have a…deadline. To submit the proposal. It’s before Bailey’s party, so it can’t wait. I’ve done most of the work, but I can’t finalize it without Logan.”
This is a different Nate than the one I know. More determined. The old Nate didn’t have big goals. If he did, he kept them buried deep inside, and certainly didn’t try to achieve them. His worn-in Vans and apathetic façade made it easy for people to assume his life plan was to go with the flow.
But a Nate who wants things? It’s enough to make my head spin. How did he become this person? How can he still read me so well when I don’t know him at all anymore?
He needs to track down Logan. I haven’t yet followed through on my promise to wow Tracy with my road trip social media content. She wants juicy and single andnota snooze, and no place gives those things like Vegas.
It’s an easy decision. “I’ll come with you.”
He shoots me a skeptical look. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding yourself in nature?”
Yes. But it’s not working yet, and my blister still hurts, so I might as well take a quick detour to make the most of this fleeting moment of fame.
“I didn’t want to follow a strict itinerary anyway,” I say. “Once we find him, I’ll get back on track. There are parts of Utah I’ve always wanted to see, and going to Vegas will put them on the route.” I think.
“So we’ll drive?”
I check Google Maps. “Seven hours. That’s doable. We can figure out how to find him on the way.”
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 7
Nate is pulling the carout of the driveway when I remember that the plant Bailey gave me is still in the house. I run back inside for it, and then we’re on our way, talking logistics as we head down Lake Tahoe Boulevard.
“According to Instagram, Logan stayed at the Cosmopolitan on his last Vegas trip,” I say.
“Should we just book rooms there, then?”
“Sure,” I say, but I only reserve one for him. With my mountain of debt, I can’t justify an expense like that, so I get myself a room at the older, budget-friendly hotel across the street. When we get to the Cosmopolitan, I’ll pretend I’m staying on a different floor. It’s no secret that I make pretty good money, and I’d rather not explain to anyone—especially not him—that my finances are such a mess. That my CycleLove salary isn’t enough.
Thankfully, it’s early enough to get most of my money back on the Airbnb I rented for later this week in Twin Falls. It was cheap, airy, and close to the Snake River Canyon, where I planned to take a boat tour and walk the rim of the gorge to see the water slicing through the ancientvolcanic rock. One force of nature exerting its will against another.
This detour is pretty much the opposite of that. Once we find Logan, I’ll research rentals in Utah, where you can’t walk without tripping over another national park.
“We really should talk,” Nate ventures, soon after we pass the casinos at the state line. It’s obvious from his wary tone and the tap-tap-tap of his thumb on the steering wheel that he doesn’t mean a discussion about Western water shortages or the most recent Cyrus family relationship drama.
My chest tightens. “I know.” But trapped in a car with four hundred fifty miles ahead of us feels like a high-pressure setting for such a tough conversation. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”
His eyes widen but stay glued to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whenever you’re ready, that’s fine.”
As we head deeper into Nevada, the green in the landscape disappears and the scenery turns dusty and sun-beaten, with scrubby bushes and wind-sculpted hills in the distance. I focus on social media reconnaissance while Nate drives.
With my “Get Shit DONE” playlist (mostly Beyoncé and Shania Twain) urging me on, I create a burner account. That way, none of the relationship conspiracy theorists who’ve been posting about Logan and me will notice when I mass-follow everyone in his social circles. First, I add everyone fromBeach HouseSeason 6. Then everyone fromBeach House: Ski Tripand all the people he’s tagged in photos over the last year.
After studying my new feed, I identify three candidatesfor further monitoring, all of whom regularly socialize with Logan and posted from their home airports this morning.
“I’m like a damn detective,” I crow. “This is exhilarating. I feel like I could run through a wall right now. No wonder people enjoy Internet stalking so much.”
“Easy, Spy Kid,” Nate says.
