Page 2 of The Wicked

“C’mon, slowpoke.” Paulo grabbed my hand and pulled me into Casa de Salsa. “We’re late.”

Only by five minutes because Darla had gotten stuck behind a semi for miles. Overtaking wasn’t her thing. But the others were already waiting at a table in the corner—Brooke and Luca, Romi, Aaron, and Addy. I’d gone to school with all of them, although I was the youngest by a year.

Brooke crushed me in a hug, and Addy followed suit. Romi acted a little more reserved—I still got a hug, but she always felt so delicate. As if she might break if I squeezed too hard. Aaron kissed me on the cheek, polite as always, and Luca gave me a brotherly pat on the shoulder. I almost cried. They acted more like family than my own family—my new friends were sometimes pushy, occasionally overwhelming, always supportive. But they could vanish in an instant. I wouldn’t let myself grow too used to their company.

“The beginner class starts in half an hour,” Addy announced. “I’ve ordered mojitos for everyone.”

Darla raised a hand.

“Everyone except Darla. You get a nojito.”

“You’re sure it doesn’t contain alcohol?”

Addy ran a finger down the menu. “It’s club soda, sugar, lime juice, and mint. Plus the server’s gonna bring a whole bunch of tapas dishes after the class.”

This time, Romi held up a hand, but Addy answered before she could speak.

“Yes, there are plenty of vegan options.”

Casa de Salsa was a cavernous riot of colour and noise in the midst of an identity crisis. According to the website, the bar’s owner was a former salsa champion, but the band on stage was playing samba music, and the walls were painted with sugar skulls. A banner above the bar readLet your feet take you to a new place, which could have been Cuba or Brazil or Mexico or even Spain, seeing as our server was wearing a ruffled flamenco skirt. And the table itself was shaped like Venezuela. Brooke, Romi, and Addy were sitting on an orange velvet banquette near Caracas while the rest of us got repurposed beer kegs to perch on.

“How was California?” Blue asked Romi.

“Freezing. They wanted me to walk out of the ocean in a bikini, and by the end of the shoot, I was shivering under one of those foil blankets they give to marathon runners while I googled the symptoms of hypothermia.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And did you have hypothermia?” Blue rolled her eyes. “Is your brain still frozen?”

“Probably.”

“Probably your brain’s still frozen? Or probably you had hypothermia?”

“Both. I asked the creative director if there was anyone with medical training on set, and he told me to stop being so melodramatic. Cue more rumours about me being difficult to work with.”

Romi Mendez was a bona fide supermodel. She’d always been slender, but when she hit thirteen, she’d suddenly shot up several inches and begun turning heads. Now, she flew all over the world to walk on runways and star in ad campaigns. She’d stayed away from Baldwin’s Shore for years, and I assumed she’d flown the coop for good, that she’d decided she was too good for the tiny town and become a New York gal. But last year, she’d hooked up with Aaron—who’d graduated law school and returned to Oregon a year and a half ago—and moved into his apartment. And I realised that apart from the fantastic outfits she wore now, she hadn’t changed much at all.

“There are pictures already,” Paulo told her. “Your left boob’s TikTok account went viral today.” He checked his phone. “Eighty-seven thousand views, sixteen thousand likes, and it’s still climbing.”

Romi buried her head in her hands. “If I ever consider putting on swimwear again, somebody handcuff me to a radiator.”

Aaron gave her a side hug. “You mean in a professional capacity, right? What about vacations? I mean, I still want to stare at your boobs.”

A low growl rumbled in Luca’s throat. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Shit. Sorry, buddy. But, you know…”

“Why does your left boob have a TikTok account?” Blue asked.

“A fan started it.”

“What about the right boob?”

“I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I mean, I’ve measured them a hundred times, and they’re basically the same size and shape.” She puffed out her chest. “Am I missing something?”

No, but the man at the next table was. His mouth. He was staring so hard, he poured his drink down his chin.

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