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Authors: Karen McCullah Lutz

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BOOK: The Bachelorette Party
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After they were done, Zadie rolled off him and sank back against the pillows on the couch. Three times. Never in her life had she been fucked three times in a row. In the midst of the second round, he’d told her he loved her. She didn’t take it to heart, she merely appreciated the sentiment in the spirit in which it was intended.
Trevor laid his head back on the arm of the couch, trying to catch his breath. “Holy shit.”
Indeed. Any doubts Zadie had had about her desirability had been erased in one fell screw. Months of therapy had brought her nowhere. Thirty minutes with Trevor had delivered her to new levels of self-esteem, previously unknown. She was a hot piece of ass.
“Remember that time at the Coke machine?”
Zadie came out of her afterglow to pay attention to what he was saying. Was he talking about the day she’d been fantasizing about putting her lips on the back of his neck?
“I turned around and you were
right
behind me,” he said. “I almost kissed you then. But I chickened out.”
Trevor had almost kissed her? In school?
“It probably would’ve freaked you out, huh? I’m glad I waited until tonight.”
“I’m glad you did, too,” she answered. Zadie tried to imagine Trevor kissing her at the Coke. machine and having Nancy breeze around the corner catching them. Only bad things would have followed such a scenario. Jealousy. Accusations. Unemployment. “We can never, ever do anything at school. You know that, right? I’d get fired if anyone found out about this.”
“I know. It’s cool.” He looked over at her and smiled, then rolled on top of her to kiss her again. Was it possible he was going for round four? Zadie wasn’t sure she had it in her. Or rather, that she was up for having it in her
again.
She kissed him back, then scooted toward the back of the couch, so that they were side by side again, facing each other. “I think you wore me out.”
He grinned. Proud. “So, did you like it?”
In truth, she liked it more in theory than in practice. The actual fucking was fine. Good in fact, although rapid. But his foreplay skills were a bit lacking. She hadn’t had an orgasm. Not that she’d expected one, thinking back to her first nineteen-year-old lover in college, who’d let an entire three-second time span elapse in between the moment he kissed her and stuck his penis in her. But Zadie wasn’t here for the technicalities of the sport. It was the contact that she’d wanted. Trevor’s naked skin on hers. The thought of it had been one of the only things that had gotten her through the last few months and the reality of it didn’t disappoint.
Although the cozy aftertalk was a bit awkward. She’d never fantasized about
this
part of the evening. In her head, he’d always vanished immediately afterward, leaving her ample time to watch
The Daily Show.
She ran her hand over his perfectly sculpted, paddled-many-waves shoulder. “Yes, I liked it.” A shoulder like this should be bronzed, she thought. Or carved in marble. When she’d gone to Italy for a semester abroad during senior year, she’d been struck by all the statues in the Vatican of Antonius, Emperor Hadrian’s beautiful boyfriend. Apparently, Hadrian had had him declared a
god and hired artists to make several Antonius statues, capturing his extreme hotness, and placed them all over the empire. Zadie wished she could have a similar statue made of Trevor so she could put it in her living room to remind her of this night. As well as a copy to place in Jack’s front yard with a snippy note.
“I thought you did. You seemed pretty into it.” He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, looking relieved. “You made a lot more noise than the other girls I’ve been with.”
Zadie blushed. She’d probably woken half the hotel.
He looked at his watch. “I should probably get out of here. My parents get pissed if I’m out past three.”
The mention of Trevor’s parents immediately quashed any further libidinous urges Zadie had. She took one last pass at his pecs with her index finger and watched as he sat up and pulled on his pants. Once safely buttoned and zipped, he looked back at her, leaning over to kiss her again.
“I seriously think this is the best night I ever had.” He gazed into her eyes with such warmth that it almost brought her to tears. She couldn’t even answer. She just kissed him and ran her hands up and down his lats. He was a gift from above. Sent here to cure her. Dr. Reed would be so proud. And Dorian—Dorian would crap herself when she told her.
He stood up and pulled his T-shirt on. “So, can I, like, call you or something?”
“Sure.” Zadie got tense even thinking about it. It was out of the question.
He grinned. “So, are you gonna give me your number?”
“We’ll talk on Tuesday. But not in school. I’ll figure something out.”
She pulled her jeans back on and buttoned the top few buttons of her blouse. He watched her.
“I wish I could tell Jared how hot you are naked, but don’t worry. I won’t.”
Now Zadie was completely panicked. Jared Blair was the son of one of the school board members. If Trevor and Jared got
stoned and Trevor happened to let it slip out that he’d happened to let his penis slip into her, she would be out of a job. And not too bloody likely to get any recommendations. “
Zadie Roberts?
Oh, yes. The senior-fucker
.”
“Trevor, I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that you don’t tell anyone. I’ll be homeless. You can’t call me if I’m living in a refrigerator box under the freeway.”
“I get it. Don’t freak out.”
She slipped her sandals back on and grabbed her purse as they both walked toward the door. He cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her one last time before they opened the door. The sweetest kiss imaginable.
“Sorry,” he said, “I just had to do that one last time.”
If Zadie hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of losing her job, she would’ve swooned. Instead, she cupped his ass with her hands while he hugged her. If she was going down, she was going down fulfilled.
When Trevor got in the elevator, Zadie gestured down the hallway.
“I should check on my cousin. Make sure she’s not choking on vomit or anything like that.”
“Okay. See you at school.” He gave her a grin that said he’d be picturing her naked all through class.
As the doors shut, Zadie turned and headed toward Helen’s room. Frowning as she got closer. Why was there noise?
She put her head to the door and heard the unmistakable moans of two people having sex. A woman’s voice saying, “Oh, God! Oh, God!” and then a man’s voice saying, “God
damn
! You are the perfect woman.” The accent was Southern. The man was Jimbo. She was sure of it. Her fears were confirmed when he said, “We sure don’t find’em like you down in Atlanta.”
Motherfucker!
Somewhere in the thirty or forty minutes she’d spent with Trevor, Jimbo had found his way to Helen’s room and commenced screwing her. Helen must’ve given him her room key at Deep. Fuck! What was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could bang on the door and save the day. They were already knee-deep in fornication. The deed was done.
Fuck!
Grey was going to kill her. It was all her fault. She should’ve
stayed in Helen’s room and kept guard. She
knew
Helen was drunk. She
knew
Helen was a secret slut. And yet she’d just left her alone, albeit passed out in a locked hotel room, to welcome gentlemen callers at her whim.
Fuck!
She stood there for a couple more seconds, trying to figure out what to do. When Jimbo said, “Let’s flip you over and try it from the other side,” she had to walk away.
She’d failed. Grey had asked her to make sure Helen had fun, and oh, yes, it appeared that Helen was having fun, but certainly not in the way Grey had envisioned. Poor Grey was home picturing Helen maybe having a mimosa with a piece of decadent cheesecake. Not redneck cock up her ass.
She had the valet call a cab and paced the driveway of the hotel until it got there. She hadn’t even given Jane her room key back. She knew if she saw anyone else from the bachelorette party that she’d tell them, and she figured the fewer people that knew the better. She still hadn’t figured out what she was going to tell Grey. She’d been balking about telling him about Cancún. Which seemed like a trip to the nunnery compared to this.
When her cab pulled up, she got in and gave the Armenian driver directions. He turned around and looked at her. “You okay?”
She used the opportunity of his concern and his ability to speak English to fish for an answer to her dilemma. “If your best friend was getting married in two days and you just caught his fiancee having sex with someone else, would you tell him?”
“Of course I would tell him,” the driver said. “You can’t let him marry some slut.”
“What if the slut was your cousin?”
The driver sucked in some air and let it back out in a sigh. “That’s a tough one. Who’s your loyalty to?”
“My best friend.”
“The groom, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should tell him.”
“But won’t he hate me for being the bearer of bad news? And won’t he hate me for letting her get drunk and give some guy her room key?”
The driver turned around and looked at her. “You are a bad friend.”
Zadie sighed. Yes, she was.
Fuck.
When Zadie woke up, she had a headache that rivaled the pain of childbirth. Or so she imagined. Her body was so dehydrated she felt as if her throat were made out of singed parchment paper. There was no possible way she could ever get out of bed again. She was here for life. She would have to teach school by speakerphone.
Thankfully, it was Sunday, and she wouldn’t have to move. And then she remembered.
Tonight was the rehearsal dinner. She was supposed to meet Grey at noon to help him pick up the groomsmen’s gifts. Grey. At noon. Shit.
She tried to roll over and sit up, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Not only was she hungover, but there was an ache in her nether regions that she could only attribute to vigorous boning by an oversized penis. Where were the feminine hygiene products for
that
particular affliction?
When she made it to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror, only to be confronted by a creature with a clammy, pale, guilty reflection. After being chastised by the cab driver for the fifteenminute ride home, she’d paced her living room for an hour, trying to figure out what to tell Grey. It was an accident. It’s just a misunderstanding. A fluke, if you will. Oh, Helen never told you about Cancún? Funny story.
By the time she’d passed out in her bed, she still hadn’t come up with an explanation that would spare Grey’s feelings while letting him know the truth. There’s no easy way to tell someone that the girl they’re about to marry just had sex with another guy. She thought back to her own particular moment of searing pain when she realized that Jack wasn’t showing up at their wedding. No one sugarcoated it for her. How could they? They simply told her, “He’s not here.” Maybe that’s what she should do for Grey. But the thought of Grey going through the agony that she’d gone through was too much for her to bear. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. There was simply no way she could tell him.
But what if Helen made a habit of this? What if she didn’t repent and go back to being Little Miss Sweetness and Light? The Helen that Grey knew could be gone. By telling him, Zadie could be saving him from a fate far worse than a few months of heartache.
What shamed her the most was that she was having sex with Trevor when Helen let Jimbo in. Figuratively. Zadie should have been standing watch instead of giving in to her carnal perversions. Grey could be getting happily married this weekend. Sure, there was the Cancún lie, but that paled in comparison to the Jimbo “let me flip you over” scandal.
After she showered and threw on a T-shirt and jeans, she dumped six Emergen-C packets into a glass of water and chugged it. She even took the liberty of cutting a lemon in half and rubbing each half in an armpit, because she’d read in
Cosmo
that it would help get rid of a hangover. Whether it worked or not, it could only help kill the smell of tequila that was wafting out of her. She tried to calculate the number of margaritas she’d had and lost count somewhere around twelve. And then there was the champagne.
By the time she’d cabbed to her car at Barneys and got to Grey’s house, it was twelve-thirty. Grey hated tardiness. She knew she was in for an earful.
“Where’ve you been?” He looked tense. “We’ve got a shitload
of stuff to do today.” He slid his wallet into the pocket of his cargo pants and grabbed his car keys.
“Let’s go,” she said, happy to have the diversion of chores to keep her from having to explain her condition. Not that he noticed. Thankfully, people getting married tend to be a bit selfabsorbed.
“I need to pick up the groomsmen’s gifts first, then we need to get some film and some sunscreen,” he said. The sunscreen was for Turtle Island in Fiji. Helen fell in love with it during
Blue Lagoon
. She’d been dreaming about it ever since. Grey had made Zadie look at the Web site close to a hundred times and Zadie had to admit—it looked pretty damn good. Private beaches where you could be alone all day—naked, sipping champagne, eating lobster, making love. It was the type of place she could never have convinced Jack to go to because it didn’t have a casino. God forbid he vacation anywhere he couldn’t lose a thousand dollars in five minutes.
Once they were in the car, Zadie felt a wave of nausea. Being in the passenger seat always did that to her, even more so when she was hungover.
“So how was the bachelorette party? Helen said it was great.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she said you guys went all over town. Shopping, yoga, tea.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly what we did.”
“She also said you guys went to the Hustler store and got me some surprises for the honeymoon.”
Zadie sincerely hoped that Helen wasn’t referring to the blue strap-on.
Grey looked at her and grinned. “I would’ve loved to have heard the conversation where you convinced her to do
that
. It must’ve been after the champagne.”
“She told you about the champagne?” Zadie frowned. How much did he know? Clearly not
all
there was to know, but Zadie wasn’t sure how to respond—did he know about the bar-hopping? Had he talked to Eloise?
“Two glasses and she was hammered. I hope she drinks some on the honeymoon. I’d love to see her with a buzz.”
Zadie rolled her eyes, hoping the good people of Turtle Island were ready for the drunken terror known as Helen. She’d heard the Fijians were a large people, so perhaps they’d be able to restrain her.
“I tried not to drink
too
much last night,” Grey said. “I figured she’d kill me if I was hungover at the rehearsal dinner.”
That’s right. Grey had had his bachelor party last night. Maybe he fucked a stripper! Please, God, let him have fucked a stripper!
“How was it?”
Grey shrugged. “Steaks and cigars at Mastro’s, then a little trip to Crazy Girls for some lap dances and shitty drinks.”
“Did you get one?”
“I tried to get out of it, but it’s a little hard when you’re the groom. I think I had about five.”
Excellent. Five naked women rubbing against his crotch equaled anything that Helen did up until Jimbo’s appearance in her hotel room.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Not really. I told you. I always worry about the girl doing it. There’s gotta be some sad story behind it all. It’s not like these girls graduate from Wellesley and decide to become strippers for fun.”
“Come on—biology has to take over at some point.”
He shrugged. “Okay, the third girl was hot. I would’ve done her if I was a total scumbag.”
“But you didn’t?”
He looked at her, incredulous. “No, I didn’t do her! I’m getting married, remember?” Why, yes, she did remember. Pity the bride didn’t.
“By the way, I arranged it so you’re walking up the aisle with Mike. Before you complain, he lives in San Diego. Close enough for a relationship, but far enough away to ditch if you don’t like him.”
On a normal day, Zadie would change the subject. But on a day where she felt like complete and utter shit for letting him down, she opted to humor him.
“This is the Mike from USC who kept his gum in his mouth while he was going down on some girl and got it caught in her pubic hair?”
He looked at her. “I told you that?”
“Yeah …”
“Well, don’t hold it against him. It was sophomore year. I think his technique has probably improved since then.”
“Is he a lawyer?”
“Not everyone I know is a lawyer.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah—but still.”
“Why’s he still single?”
Grey looked at her, incredulous. “Didn’t you just tell me last weekend that you became enraged when some guy asked that about
you
?”
“Which is exactly why I need to ask it about them.”
Grey pulled into the Saks parking lot, leaving the car with the valet. As they walked inside, he asked, “You realize you’re actually asking me questions about Mike. As if you’re considering dating him.”
“I can’t answer that until I meet him.”
“Normally, you shut me down the minute I mention a setup.”
“Well, maybe I’m a little more open these days.”
Grey grinned and elbowed her. “Is my wedding inspiring you?”
No, guilt was inspiring her. That and the fact that she was fucked blind last night. Under normal circumstances, she would tell him that, but the fact that Helen had cheated on him during her tryst tainted her story significantly. The guilt overwhelmed the glory.
Once they were at the flask counter, Grey got lost in the details of which leather casing went with which sterling cap. Zadie
wandered over to the crystal goblets and checked her messages on her cell phone, half expecting Helen to call with an apology or an excuse or even a threat. She had “no new messages at this time.” Helen was probably in the shower, trying to wash the stench of Jimbo and his Chaps off her before the rehearsal. Was she actually going to show up with a smiling innocent face and pretend like nothing had happened? As far as Helen knew, no one suspected anything. The bitch might actually pull it off.
Grey paid for his eight flasks and they left to go pick up his tux. He’d bought it and had it tailored, figuring that Helen would have plenty of Orange County black-tie affairs for him to attend in the coming years. Even though she was moving in with him in Westwood, she couldn’t be expected to leave behind her social circle and Junior League events. Grey was more than willing to be her arm candy.
The tailor, an elderly Korean man with a comb-over, made Grey try the tux on one last time to make sure he had the hem right. He looked up at Zadie. “You sister?”
Grey laughed and winked at her. “Yes, she’s my sister.”
And that was it. There was no way she could ever tell him now.
At Sav-On, Zadie had to look away when they passed the condom aisle. What if Jimbo hadn’t worn one? Helen could be infected with God-only-knows-what. Drunken tourist cooties at the very least.
She instead focused on picking out sufficient sunscreen for Grey’s Irish-German complexion. As she tossed the bottles into his basket, she warned, “Don’t forget your butt crack when you’re on the nude beaches. I fell asleep face down and naked on my balcony once, and it looked like I had diaper rash for a week.” Having Jack laugh at her while she rubbed aloe vera gel into her crack had only made the situation worse.
When they finally got back to Grey’s house, he showed her the suit he was wearing to the rehearsal. “Is this okay?”
She looked at him. “You have never—in the entire time I’ve known you—asked for my opinion on your clothes.”
“I know, but this is important.”
Given the fact that Grey dressed far better than Zadie did, she had to chalk it up to his being nervous. Nervous because he was in love and about to marry the girl of his dreams. Who was, as it turned out, a skanky ho.
She looked at the suit. “It’s perfect.”
He sat down on the edge of his bed. “In twenty-four hours, I’ll have a wife. Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?” Zadie asked.
“If I’d never met you, I would never have met Helen. My life would be totally different right now.”
Yes, Zadie thought. He might be engaged to a nice girl who didn’t cheat and he might have a best friend who wasn’t such an asshole.
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I owe you.”
Zadie squeezed it back. “No you don’t.”
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