Page 76 of Fun at Parties
“I remember.” I’ve never heard this story before, but I can picture it in my head.
“Being a camper was great, and I liked working as a counselor when we got older. But after what happened with my dad, First Cove became my favorite place in the world. Your family took me in and gave me a place I always wanted to be even when life sucked, and that was priceless.
“We could’ve lost touch after you moved to Austin. That happens to a lot of people. But between playingMaddenonline way too often and hanging out when we can, I’m glad we’ve been able to stay closer than most.”
“Even when I didThe Beach House?” I ask.
“Even then,” he says. “It’s always been reassuring toknow that no matter what changes, I have one friend who’s not there for a particular reason, other than the fact that he always has been. Seapoint and First Cove gave us that.”
“Are you sure that’s enough?” I rip off the soggy half of the napkin in my hand and stuff it into the empty soda cup currently serving as our trash receptacle. The question is more me than Logan, but I can’t resist.
He pauses. The truck in front of us changes lanes. “I just think we all go through phases where we’re busy or we withdraw or we make bad life decisions for a while. When you have a long history with a friend, you’re more likely to stick it out until the phase is over.”
“Hmm.” If I’ve been in a phase—a combination of busyness and withdrawalandbad life decisions—it’s sure been a long one. The question is whether Bailey is willing to stick it out, or if I’ve already been demoted from best friend to old friend.
Nate keeps one hand on the wheel and gesticulates with the other. “I just think you and I know First Cove better than anyone. Definitely better than anyonecorporate.If we move back to Seapoint and run it together, we can give kids what we had. Using our own vision this time. Don’t you want something that’syours?”
Yes,I think. Myself, for one.
Fortunately, that thought is quickly replaced with a different one: that even though it’s dark, even though Nate is just a silhouette, he’s so attractive right now. Hot, yes, but also passionate. I love his enthusiasm for First Cove. I wish I could see it in action once he’s running theplace. If only First Cove were located in Santa Monica instead of Seapoint, so he could go back to L.A. with me and fulfill his dream there.
No, go backhomewith me. Because that’s what L.A. is, and I can’t let myself forget it.
Chapter 25
Nashville, Tennessee—869 miles to Seapoint
After we arrive at ourTarget-chic rental, I straddle Nate on the couch, attempting to obliterate my stress. He takes me to bed for gentle, tender sex that soothes it away instead. We get a blissful night of sleep, waking up late the next morning, and I spend the afternoon at a nearby gym. Given that we have no idea where Logan will be tonight, we decide to grab dinner and wait for our surveillance to bear fruit.
Nate picks a cozy restaurant a mile from the neon-lit, guitar-plucking nerve center of Nashville nightlife. It’s all brick and weathered wood, with blue velvet chairs and vintage overhead fixtures bathing the interior in dim golden light. The tables are close together, and when he moves to pull my chair out at the same time I grab it myself, the woman next to us murmurs, “First date,” to her companion.
Her assumption is both completely accurate and totally wrong. We have eaten a hundred meals together, buteverything feels different now. There’s something fizzy in the air between us, and I guess she feels it too.
By the time we finish our meal, we’re nursing our second drinks, unsure where to go next. As we wait for the check, Nate glances at his phone, and his eyes widen. “I think we have something.”
He angles the device toward me. On the screen is a photo of a blurry figure that could be Logan—a fifty percent likelihood, I’d say—wearing a cowboy hat and a pile of glow stick necklaces. Okay, a seventy-five percent likelihood. The figure is standing on what looks like a dance floor, in front of a green neon sign that readsGettin’ Rowdyin cursive letters.
“Where’d you find this?” I ask.
“Reddit. Someone who claims to be at a club in Nashville that’s hosting a Glitter and Good Times Party.”
If glitter and good times are involved, our odds jump to ninety-five percent.
“ ‘Logan and Breanne are here,’ ” Nate reads. “ ‘Looks like they’re having fun dancing but no PDA other than one playful ass-smack. The vibes are honestly kinda platonic.’ Good to know. My most pressing concerns were the quantity of ass-smacks and the vibes. Would’ve been nice to get the name of the club too, though.”
“They didn’t say?” I ask.
Nate shakes his head. We Google a half-dozen variations ofnashville club glitter night green signwith no luck.
“Is it creepy if I message the person who posted this and ask?” I ponder.
“No less creepy than chasing someone twenty-threehundred miles to ask them a question.” Nate raises his arm, flagging down our waitress. “Excuse me,” he says. “Do you recognize this place?”
She’s probably early twenties, wearing interestingly shaped black pants, with a bob the color of pink champagne. Far too cool to go to this club, whatever it is, but I get what Nate’s thinking. She looks like she might know.
“This is here in Nashville?” she says. “It doesn’t look like Play or Tribe. There’s a new club on Printers Alley, I think? I can’t remember the name.”
This time, our search yields a result. There is indeed a new club on Printers Alley, and its website includes several photos of the green neon sign mounted to the brick wall next to the dance floor. “Go, go, go,” I say as Nate quickly pays the bill. We race for the door and burst onto the street.
