No Strings Attached (10 page)

Mandy Starr—yeah, talk about made-up names—was crass, but she was also cagey. He'd already told her too much, especially the part about being a roadie with Jimi Jones. He wished he hadn't disclosed that. She was digging for backstory like a dog pawing for a bone, and if she came up with even a partial truth, his cover was shot. Very uncool.

Something else was happening to Joss, something heady and amazing. He'd found a spot, a cove on a beach in Wellfleet. Afternoons, or those predawn hours after work, he'd started going there, just him and the old acoustic, the cheapest of his collection. On that sandy beach, he didn't have to push, to
struggle. Music came to him. And stayed! Tunes composed themselves in his head there, while he was pretending to listen to someone's sob story at the bar, while he was making small talk with some babe, even while he was asleep. He put them all down in his iPhone and at his first opportunity tried them out on guitar. Damn! This was his first real creative streak. What a rush!

“Hell yeah, I'm taking the summer off,” Brian Holloway was telling Katie. “I deserve it.” Late afternoon, with camp officially over for the day, Katie joined Brian by the pool, a habit she'd fallen into, and he welcomed. She usually found him stretched out on a chaise lounge—the very same one he'd occupied when Katie'd first laid eyes on him and looking every bit as luscious—coolly sipping a margarita.

She hadn't had to prod much to get Brian to open up about himself. Upon graduation, he would go into the family business, starting as a junior executive in his dad's fund-management business. “So this is my break, The Summer of Brian,” he said now, without irony. “Probably the last summer of my life I'll be able to do exactly what I want, with no obligations.”

From her own padded lounge chair, Katie leaned over to run her fingers through his thick inky curls. “I don't believe
you,” she said in her flirtiest tone. “I bet your whole life you've done exactly as you wanted.”

Brian grinned. “Busted. So I'm being lazy for a few months. I still think I deserve it.”

Katie, though sweaty and tired from her long day—getting her group ready for a Camp Olympics, she'd been on the run all day from swim practice to tennis to track—playfully licked his earlobe. “Wanna know what I deserve?”

Brian looked at her hopefully.

“Dinner.”

He laughed. “Are you kidding?” He checked his Tourneau watch, which Katie had calculated was worth at least $4,000. “It's not even six. Give me a break, I only got up a few hours ago. But I'll order you a drink—”

Katie shook her head. The idea of a frothy fruity alcoholic mix was so not what she craved right now. A steak was more like it.

Brian said soothingly, “You look tired. Come snuggle with me, I'll make room here, and you can sip my drink. I'll get the waiter to bring us some chips.”

“I don't think so,” Katie demurred. “I'm kinda sweaty.”

Brian winked. “Oooh, I like that in a girl.”

Katie rolled her eyes, knowing she looked adorable. “Really, Brian. I was out in the sun all day with the campers and didn't get a chance to shower. And I am ravenous.”

He bolted straight up. “Ravenous, huh? Well, when you put it that way …”

“Not kidding. Really starving.”

“Okay, how 'bout this, then? Come up to my suite and take a shower. Then, we'll go out to eat. Dinner for you, breakfast for me. How's that?”

Brian was so amazing, between that jet-black hair, startling blue eyes, soft lush pillow lips, it was hard for Katie to keep her eyes off him. He knew how to treat a girl too. He had an agenda? What guy didn't? Katie could deal.

She had her own agenda (sort of). Without Lily, the plan wasn't exactly formulated. She kept hoping an idea would come to her. In the meantime, parading around the Cape with Brian Holloway was most excellent. By now, he knew she worked as a counselor at the Luxor, but he totally bought she was doing it to fulfill this “social consciousness” thing for her mother's “organization.”

Later, after she'd indeed showered, riffled through Brian's drawers, and wrapped herself in one of his shirts and boxer shorts, he did treat her to a huge steak and crispy French fries. Via room service.

“We can't go out,” he'd argued, putting some Norah Jones on the in-room stereo, “unless you want to wear my clothes. Which you look delectable in, by the way.”

Well, duh. Coyly, Katie put her hands on her tiny waist and replied, “I thought I'd be showering and changing at my place, then we'd go out.”

Brian, of course, had other thoughts, other intentions—only some of which Katie was willing to give in to. Not that he wasn't an incredible kisser. Brian kissed with his eyes closed, his long lashes tickling her cheek. Wrapping her in his arms, he always started slowly, with tiny pecks, then gently opened her lips—at which point their tongues took over. They seemed to know how to slow dance all by themselves. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like she could do
that
all night.

It also felt too soon. It was still early in the summer, and Katie couldn't risk things moving too quickly. Besides, Nate might still be in the game—not that Brian knew it—and there were times, she had to admit, when her thoughts wandered to swapping saliva with him. Would he taste salty?

Tonight, she was having a mental threesome. Joss bothered her. She was still annoyed about last Saturday night. So what if she'd left the house in the middle of another of Ali's messes and Mandy's melodramas? Not her issue. Yet Joss had shot her this accusing look, like she was leaving the scene of a crime. Who was he to judge her (if that's what he was doing), anyway? He was hardly without secrets of his own. Maybe the others were clueless—Harper certainly was—but Katie knew
what was going on between Joss and Mandy. If only she could remember how she knew him from before the share house.

Mandy was jazzed. After three frustrating weeks,
finally
something was about to go her way. That her good fortune was coming courtesy of the slobo next door was an unexpected twist. But she was used to adjusting.

Mandy could barely stand to look at her—let alone her repulsive rodent—but Alefiya Sunjabi was about to become Mandy's bestest friend. At least until Porky Pig delivered a well-connected client capable of jump-starting her career.

Wednesday, Ali's day off, Mandy called in sick to Duck Creek Catering and invited her NBF to hang out with her. “I'm going to Craigville Beach, the meatpacking district. If you know what I mean.”

Alefiya did not.

Mandy winked conspiratorially. “An all-you-can-eat buffet of grade-A prime, guys with packages you would not believe. A girl could get lucky.”

Well,
she
could get lucky—if she wanted. In her uplifting white-and-gold-studded bikini, Mandy was a guy magnet. Whereas Ali, she guessed, would be lucky not to be mistaken for a beached whale. It was win-win.

“Sounds like good times,” Ali had said agreeably.

Mandy's description of Craigville Beach may have been crude, but it was accurate. She'd heard locals call it “Muscle Beach,” one of the few on the Cape not designated “family friendly.” For the buff and the beautiful, the predators and their willing prey, it was packed with hard bodies wearing smooth tans and skimpy swimwear. It was scope-out, hook-up city. Where better, Mandy thought, for the new “girlfriends” to get all confidential?

Along with her lip gloss, Mandy packed several bottles of water, a Ziploc bag of celery stalks, the latest issue of
Us
magazine, sunscreen, and an umbrella for herself—she burned easily.

Ali lugged a big picnic basket filled with messy mayonnaise-y salads, tuna sandwiches, and iced tea. Obviously, she hadn't gotten the memo that Mandy didn't do carbs. Ali had also toted some ginormous, scratchy-looking blanket, as if they were going to share. Yeah, right.

Mandy snagged a strategic spot for them, midway between two groups of guys, tricked out with beer cooler, MP3 players, wandering eyes, and appreciative smiles. As she shimmied out of her cover-up, she watched Ali peel off her elastic-band shorts and T-shirt, hoping the plump girl hadn't committed a fashion fiasco by wearing a two-piece. Even one of those old-lady types with a skirt would be better.

Surprisingly, Ali wore a black V-neck maillot, as flattering to her figure as a girl her size could get. “Not what you expected, huh?” Ali said, reading Mandy's mind. “Better, or worse?”

“I … uh…,” she stuttered. “You look … good.”

“For someone my size, right? That's what you were thinking?”

“No way!” Mandy lied.

“Forget it. I don't have body issues the way a lot of girls do. I'm lucky.”

Looking to change the subject swiftly, Mandy nodded toward a toned and taut twosome on the next blanket over, one in a slinky Speedo, the other in tantalizing trunks. “Speaking of bodies, check it out.”

Ali licked her lips. “I wouldn't kick either one out of bed.”

Mandy was, what, scandalized? Even knowing Ali brought home every stray on the Cape, Mandy didn't believe she actually slept with any of them. A girl of her heritage and heft was more likely to be a guy's friend, not his squeeze.

Ali laughed, going all mind reader on her again. She laughed. “I'm Hindu, and big—so people assume I'm sheltered, a virgin. But”—she put her finger to her cheek—“I'm guessing people make wrong assumptions about you, too?”

No way was Mandy going there—especially not with Buddha. There were limits to this newfound friendship.

“It's okay.” Ali shrugged, rubbing sunscreen onto her ample arms. “We're all guilty of stereotyping, even me.”

A perfect segue to gossiping about their housemates, and Mandy was just about to, only “Beep, beep!” Her “guy-dar” went off. The incoming hottie was mouthwateringly broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, and tousled-haired. She shifted position to pose languidly for optimum cleavage effect.

He was still several feet away when he waved. “Yo, Alefiya! Howzit hangin'?”

Mandy nearly fell out of her top. He … knew …
her
?

“Jeremy!” Ali jumped up and ran to hug him.

Jeremy. Mandy did a mental Google. Wasn't he the one who'd worked at Cove Landscaping for several years, knew all the celebs? She leaped to her feet.

Ali made the intros. Mandy purred, “A pleasure to meet you, Jeremy Davis. Ali has told us so much about you. Come join us. We'll make it worth your while.”

A slow, if surprised, smile played across Jeremy's lips. “You guys are friends?”

Mandy laughed. “As of today, we are!” Then she added, “Seriously, we've got eats and drinks, way too much for the two of us.”

Jeremy unscrewed a bottle of iced tea and settled on Ali's blanket, which now seemed inviting to Mandy, and she squeezed in. She politely allowed them a few minutes of
flower-speak, or whatever lawn-yawn stuff they were yapping about. Finally, she interrupted. “It must be so exciting in your job, getting to meet celebrities and important people.”

Jeremy gave Ali a sideways glance and shrugged. “Uh, sure. I mean, they're really just like everyone else. Once you get to know them.”

Animated now, Mandy leaned closer to Jeremy. “That's what I always say! I know I'd hit it off with them. I mean, take me, for example. …” She paused, lightly resting her hand on his muscled forearm. “You could probably tell I'm a model. But I have so much more to offer. Only, breaking into acting is so hard! It's all about connections, who you know. That's how everyone gets started.”

After that, it hadn't taken much time for Jeremy to agree to introduce Mandy to some guys he hung out with, friends of friends, sons of the quasifamous and connected.

That was all she'd wanted. Her “bonding” with Ali? Over it. She sure didn't need what came next. Ali, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down like a blubbery seal. “We should have a party! For the Fourth of July—you bring your friends, I'll invite some other people from Cove, and we'll mix it up. Saturday night at our place—you can introduce Mandy to everyone at the same time.”

“But the Fourth was over a week ago,” Mandy noted.

Ali shrugged. “It's always the right time to celebrate independence, no? Fourth, fourteenth, twenty-fourth—what's the difference?”

“Works for me.” Jeremy was enthusiastic. “Give me the address, we'll bring some fireworks.”

“Three-four-five Cranberry Lane,” Ali told him. “Come around ten.”

With a peck on the cheek for Ali and a nod to Mandy, Jeremy got up to rejoin his friends.

When he was out of earshot, Mandy said, “You really think a party's such a good idea? It isn't really necessary, I could just—”

Ali waved her away. “As long as we don't tell Mitch. The poor guy is so uptight. What he doesn't know won't stress him.” She started rambling about baking Brie, making tostados, and stocking the fridge with beer, when Mandy tuned out. What would she wear?

Mandy got up and stretched. “I'm going for a swim.”

“In the ocean? For real?” Ali looked doubtful.

“No, not for real. In the movie,” she deadpanned, turned, and ran toward the surf. The foamy water swirled around her ankles and, like always, made her feel safe. She rushed in and began strong, swift strokes that carried her out into the ocean. Mandy flashed back on the pool at the Dorchester Boys and
Girls Club, where she'd learned to swim. The one silver lining in her otherwise crappy childhood: The exercise had peeled layers of fat off her.

Creeping worry. The knowing that something's wrong—or about to be … only you don't know what it is. It had plagued Mitch all his life. He'd learned to cope by swatting it away, peeling it off, beating it into submission until he could figure out what it was and deal with it. Right now, as he took his post-jog shower, he tried to scrub it away like dirt before it got under his skin and infected him.