Home > Second Start (Holiday Springs Resort #5)(9)

Second Start (Holiday Springs Resort #5)(9)
Author: S.E. Rose

“Shit, take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Parker mutters.

I look back over at him. “Don’t be a douche.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m a douche? Why don’t you just admit you are infatuated with her still?”

“I’m not infatuated.”

“Right. Jesus, don’t be obtuse. You still love her, you always loved her, you need her, she clearly still loves you, will you two just admit it and have a wild fuckfest and move on with your life together,” he grumbles.

“Thanks for the advice, but I didn’t ask for it,” I growl.

“Whatever.” I can tell he’s about to say more but his phone pings, and he smirks. Booty call. Parker only smirks like that for a booty call.

His attention goes from me to his phone, which gives me the opportunity to glance back at Brittany. She’s eating her fries. I watch her bring them one by one up to those luscious lips. It’s mesmerizing. She chats casually with Harley, but every so often I catch her glancing out at the mountain. I wonder if she misses it. I wonder if she misses me.

“Fine, if you aren’t going to fuck Brittany and claim her as yours, then I have a once-in-a-lifetime booty opportunity for you tonight.”

I slowly turn back to Parker, whose shit-eating grin is ridiculous.

“I see I have your full attention. Good.” He claps his hands and grins. “Lola and Heather. They are twins. Lola is in my yoga class, and she is... talented in the art of flexing. I haven’t met Heather, but I can only assume that she is too, I mean they’re twins.”

I groan. “Parks, really?”

“What? There’s a party tonight, and Lola invited me. She asked if I had any available friends for her sister.”

He turns his phone around to show me a social media account for whom I presume must be Lola. Yeah, she’s gorgeous. She also had about a million selfies on there, so clearly, she’s also very aware that she’s gorgeous. I’m all for a woman with self-confidence, but vanity, not so much.

I shrug. “Maybe. Show me Heather’s account,” I say out of honest curiosity.

He taps away at his phone as Luke sets down our food.

“Here,” he finally says, turning the phone back to me. Yep, they are identical. But Heather has a lot fewer selfies.

“Fine, I’ll come along.”

“Sweet.” He goes back to texting Lola, I assume.

“What time?”

“Eight.”

“We driving there?” I ask him.

“You drinking?” he asks me.

I shrug. “Doubt it. I have a private lesson tomorrow morning.”

“Then, welcome chauffeur.”

I shake my head. “You are a real dick, you know that?”

He makes a kissy face at me. “That’s why you love me.”

“No, I love you because you’re like a brother to me. But more like an annoying younger brother who I always have to pick up after.”

“Well, as long as you don’t tell mom and dad, then I’d say we are good to go.”

I flip him off and go back to my food.

 

 

Brittany

Harley’s phone pings. Her eyes light up.

“You down for a party tonight?” she asks me.

I groan. “I don’t know. Wasn’t last night enough partying for the week?”

She rolls her eyes. “Brittany, you just came from the land of partying. I can’t imagine this is overkill for someone who hung out with rockstars.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t party like a rockstar in LA. Yeah, I called caterers, DJs, and bartenders and set up venues for parties, but I did no partying. I instead worked my ass off for a few years. I made a few friends. My roommate, a want-to-be actress named Jillian, was never home because she also worked a double shift at a diner to pay the rent. And when she was home, she was grumpy. We mostly stayed out of each other’s way.

“Fine, I’ll go, but I’m driving, and I’m not staying late. So, if you do, you’ll have to find another ride home,” I say to her.

“Yay! Let’s go get our hair done!”

She gives me a pleading look. I know she means, let’s go to the spa at the lodge. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m broke.

“My treat?” she adds.

I roll my eyes. “OK. You win.”

She texts someone, and a moment later she’s grinning. “Come on, we have just enough time to grab dresses from my house.”

When I say that Harley drives like a bat out of hell, it’s an understatement of epic proportions. I grip the “oh shit” handle of the passenger door as she flies down the mountain roads, you know the one on the passenger door. She peels into her driveway and throws her car into park. She practically drags me past Eleanor, their live-in maid.

Harley throws open the doors to her giant suite. Yeah, girlfriend has her own bedroom, family room with fireplace and wet bar, and bathroom. You can access her room by the side door to the house or the main door, but she has a wing of the house completely to herself—unless they have guests staying there. Needless to say, Harley’s house was often the party house when we were kids.

We walk into her closet that’s twice the size of a normal bedroom. I take a seat on one of the winged-back chairs in the middle of the room, positioned on either side of a giant countertop that sits on drawers filled with accessories. Each drawer has a glass front, and they light up, revealing the front items in each one. Normal people might have a dresser in their closet. Harley has a fucking showroom display.

She hums to herself as she walks over to where her dresses hang. I hear a lot of muttered, “no,” “nope,” and “definitely not.”

“This one,” she finally says and tosses me an emerald green dress. It’s something I would see girls in LA wearing when they went out to nightclubs. She then hands me a pair of gold high heels.

I change, and she nods her approval. Harley, of course, finds her shortest red dress, complete with sequins.

“I’m ready!” she says, throwing her hair over her shoulder dramatically, “Let’s go get glamorized!”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now!” she squeals as she grabs my hand, and we go running through her house, well, as much running as one can do in heels. Have I mentioned I hate heels?

We make it to the spa in record time and get our nails and hair done. I have to say that I haven’t looked this stylish since I played bartender at a Voltage Drop band party two years ago.

We grab my car, well, my dad’s extra car, and Harley directs me to the party. She’s the worst navigator ever, but we finally find it. The house is enormous and fully decorated with enough Christmas decorations to rival any major city’s displays. I follow a path decorated with lights and garland up to a ginormous front door.

“Jesus!” a pretty blonde says as we walk into the extravagant cabin-style mansion.

“Nope, just me,” Harley sings as she walks over and cheek kisses the woman who giggles at Harley’s response.

“Brit, this is Lola. Lola, this is Brit.”

I extend my hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”

She shakes my hand. “Likewise. I’ve heard all about you from Harley. My sister Heather and I just moved out here last year. We are working at a yoga studio. I bet you’ve been to some amazing ones out in LA.”

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