Page 78 of Dirty Like Us

Consider me dead toyou.

Jesus. What a fuckingasshole.

Amanda turned to me and smiled, her short blonde hair dancing in the breeze. She looked like a Canadian beer commercial with her white teeth, tight jeans and short bomber jacket, her plaid shirt tied above hernavel.

I smiledback.

Our bags were whisked away as a guide from the resort gave us a quick tour of the grounds, which pretty much consisted of a maze-like cedar-planked boardwalk winding through the ancient trees. It was suspended over the rocky, uneven ground, and far below, a stream that meandered through the rainforest, feeding the hot springs on the rim of the cove. We were already late, so once we’d stopped off at our cabin and changed into our dinner clothes, we headed straight up to the lodge. The tiny amber lights that had been strung along the boardwalk had begun to sparkle in the dusk; I had no idea if the lights were always there or if they’d been hung for the wedding, but it wasbeautiful.

Along with the scents of cool, damp cedar, fresh spruce needles and moss, the bird calls and chirps among the trees, the water crashing on the rocks below… the whole scene was pretty breathtaking. So breathtaking, I was pretty sure Amanda hadn’t yet noticed that I hadn’t said a word to her since the plane hitair.

Or maybe that was wishfulthinking.

The scents of cooking—lemon, dill, something buttery and something else kind of sweet, like fresh baking—wafted out from the back of the lodge, and the scent of a wood-burning fire, smoky and inviting, clung in the slightly misty air off the water. I took a few slow, deep breaths, just trying to soak it all in, collect my thoughts the way I might before a particularly unsavory businessmeeting.

But this unease had nothing to do withbusiness.

As we approached the lodge, I could make out the thump of bass and the unmistakable, bittersweet rhythm of The Black Keys’ “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Which was really fucking unfortunate, since a Black Keys song had once imprinted on me in a way that I’d never be able to separate hearing this band from the memory of dancing with Jessa Mayes on a shitty summer night in thedark.

But really… was there anything left on Earth that didn’t somehow remind me ofher?

Amanda caught my hand and leaned in, resting her head on my shoulder. I could hardly blame her. It was the perfect setting for romance, never mind that it was a wedding. Katie and her girls had done well planning this thing, and if my goal was to get my date in the mood to spend the next couple of days screwing in front of a fire, missionaccomplished.

Except that I was suddenly wondering why the fuck I’d brought Amanda to this thing atall.

Maybe because it would’ve seemed weird if I didn’t bring her? Maybe because, when she heard that Jesse Mayes—lead guitarist of Dirty, the band I’d managed since they and I were little more than kids, and one of my best friends—was getting married, she just assumed she’d be coming withme.

Or maybe because, when she’d assumed she was coming, I let her go ahead and assume, because deep down I’d wanted to send a big fatFuck youto Jesse’s sister by showing up with the pretty blonde at myside.

Yeah, that sounded aboutright.

Not that I was proud ofit.

As we stepped from the boardwalk onto the wraparound deck of the lodge, I took another fortifying breath. One of the catering staff opened a door for us, and as we stepped inside, I sawthem.

Jesse andKatie.

In the middle of the room, dancing slow and kind of making out, laughing as they pawed at each other like no one else in the lodge, or the universe, existed. Pretty much their usualmode.

Everything was as it should be,then.

A few other people were dancing; most were talking, drinking and snacking on hors d’oeuvres. Besides the lodge staff, the catering team bustling in and out, and Jude’s security guys, there were about forty or so guests, all VIPs—close family, members of the wedding party and their dates—here for the rehearsal in preparation for the wedding tomorrow, which would be attended by another sixty or so guests. All of whom Iknew.

But as we started across the room, despite all the familiar faces, I had eyes for only one person; one person who clearly wasn’there.

I didn’t see her. Anywhere. And Jessa Mayes was pretty fucking hard tomiss.

I didn’t see Jude either, so I couldn’t even ask him where the fuck she was. Saw Roni in the corner, flirting with one of his security guys, though, so at least their plane hadlanded.

“You wanna dance?” Amanda asked, just as the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses” startedplaying.

Christ. What was with all the soul-sucking lovesongs?

Right.Wedding.

“After I introduce you around,” I told her, steering her past the dance floor. The more people she knew, I figured, the more likely she might have a good time—despite the fact that she was here withme.

I took her over to greet the other members of Dirty—also pretty hard to miss. Zane, our lead singer, with his white-blond mohawk, demonic beard twisted into a braid, eyebrow piercings and ice-sharp blue eyes with just that little bit of crazy in them—wearing jeans and a black leather vest, because that was semiformal wear for Zane. And Dylan, our drummer, his six-and-a-half-foot frame making him the tallest dude in the room; add to that his unruly, flaming auburn hair and athletic build, poured into leather pants and a cashmere sweater, and even if I hadn’t seen them, all I’d have to do was follow the battingeyelashes.

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