Chapter Eleven

Today

Our friends stand in the living room with balloons, banging pots and pans with wooden spoons. Two silver and gold banners - Happy Birthday and Happy New Year - hang against the wood-paneled walls. Serena has already lit scented candles around the room.

She rushes toward me, holding out a glass of champagne. "Happy thirtieth, girl!" She pulls me into a hug. "Welcome to the club!"

I touch the colorful wrapped thread in her wild white-blonde hair and grumble, "Don't be mean. I'm still twenty-nine."

She runs her elaborately decorated nails against one another, and the rhinestones make zippy sounds. The wide sleeves of her sheer floral kimono sink into her elbows.

" Okay , honey," she says condescendingly. "You keep telling yourself that."

"Well, it's true."

Tucker interrupts, "I'm cool with being thirty." He dips his eyes to me. "But then again men age better than women. I'm only going to get more attractive. Get ready, ladies."

I snap, "The only thing you're going to attract is a venereal disease."

He smirks, kissing Serena on the cheek and takes the glass of champagne.

"That was for Ella," she starts.

"Oh, I know," he responds.

Callie smooths her short black pixie cut and comes over for a hug as well. "Happy Birthday!" she cheers, observing my outfit.

It's basically the same thing she's wearing, but she looks like a cool undercover secret agent in an action movie, and I resemble a sweaty child on Spring Break.

She says, "You're so warm weather ready. What was the weather like at home?"

"Cold. Rainy." I give Wyatt a sideways hug and his shaggy pink hair gets in my eyes. He has at least five more tattoos on his arm sleeve than he did six months ago.

"You wore that on the plane?" Callie wonders.

Tucker yells, "Ha!"

"It's a long story," I grumble.

"Not a long story at all." Tucker downs his glass. "These people know you. Wild is as wild does. "

"So…you changed in the car?" Callie understands.

Tucker places the glass back in my hand. "Bingo."

Serena replaces my empty glass with a full one. "Do they not have bathrooms in the airport?"

Wyatt perches on the edge of a blue couch and says, "Well then she wouldn't get to flash everyone on the highway." His blue eyes brighten. "You would do really well here in Florida, Ella."

I stamp my foot. "Why do I feel like I'm being ganged up on when it's my birthday? And …where's Ritchie?"

"Here," calls a voice.

I see a tall, dark figure sliding into the room. He drops his phone on the oval dining table and his soft-looking cotton shirt slides back and forth when he walks toward me. His perfect white teeth break into a smile. He's not wearing a wedding ring for the first time in two years.

Ritchie pulls me into a hug that lifts my toes off the ground, and he smells clean and sharp, like the kind of man that dives off a rock in the Amalfi Coast in a cologne commercial.

He says, "Happy Birthday Ells. It's good to see you."

I just saw him this summer, but he was in the throes of his divorce and a little quiet, distracted.

"You too," I reply.

His brown eyes shift from me to Tucker. "Tuck!" he booms and they immediately start talking.

I drop my bag on the hardwood.

Serena looks at my luggage and then pings her eyes to Johnny. He looks at Callie and then she looks at Wyatt. He mouths something back to her, holding his hands up.

"What's going on here?" I wonder, pointing a finger at all four of them.

There's a throat cleared to my left.

"Oh, honey!" Johnny rushes toward a short, petite woman at the edge of a hallway.

She has long, straight black hair and deep, dark eyes, as if she has on mascara and eyeliner, but I doubt she has on a spec of makeup on her perfect skin. She wears a flowy yellow sundress and I immediately think the outfit needs short white gloves.

She runs her eyes down the length of my body. I suddenly feel very conscious of how much of my skin is visible.

Johnny introduces: "Jen, this is Ella. Ella, this is Jen."

She extends her clean, polish-free hand. I say, "Oh! Hi." I shake it.

"Nice to meet you." Her voice is high-pitched and soft. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Me too. About you." I try to recall what I know but I'm distracted by the giant rock on her hand. "You're a kindergarten teacher, right?"

"At a Christian school," she completes.

"How nice."

I don't think Johnny added that bit. I do an awful lot of swearing, and I was just half-naked in the car with her fiancé, all things I think Jen may be opposed to. Between that, my slight infatuation with Ritchie and my war against Tucker, this week may be a little less of an easy breezy birthday party than I expected.

Johnny stands close to her, his arm on her shoulder, a look of pride on his face. Jen, however, doesn't seem relaxed.

She says suddenly, "You're very pretty."

I open my mouth to thank her when Johnny jumps in to say, "No, she's not ." He waves a hand, avoiding my eye.

I snap my head back. What did he just say?

"Yeah, she is." Jen tucks into herself.

From behind me, Tucker tells Jen, "She's not that pretty, you're just distracted by her breasts." His hand lands on my right butt cheek and squeezes. "Her ass is nothing."

I smack his hand away and when I turn around, he palms the other cheek and says, "See?"

I bite, "Get your hands off my ass - uh, my, uh butt - bottom, my back - my bee hind."

Tucker's face broadens into a smile. Wyatt covers his mouth and his shoulders heave. Ritchie turns around, and Callie bites her lip, staring at the ceiling.

I turn away from them all and say to Jen, "I'm sorry about all of that . It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Tucker by the way." He reaches a hand out and shakes hers. He even does a smarmy little wink.

Jen's eyes ping-pong between the two of us. Hattie's words ring through my ears.

She wouldn't think anything was going on with you and Johnny if Tucker was there.

Serena claps her hands. "So now that introductions are out of the way, we were thinking we should just Band-Aid the next bit."

Wyatt says, "Serena, did you listen to anything we talked about last night?"

I search their faces asking, "So your little conspiratorial looks weren't about…introductions."

"Nope." She shakes her head and downs her champagne. She looks at my full glass. "You're probably going to want to chug that real quick."

Ritchie speaks up, "I thought we were going to ease them into it?"

"Into what?" Tucker asks.

"Why do I need to be buzzed for this?" I watch as Serena picks up my bag.

"I think it's better this way so we can go ahead and get the party started," she says.

Wyatt argues, "Why is she always the one in charge?"

"Because I'm a Capricorn rising."

He argues, "That doesn't give you free rein to tell everyone what to do. I thought we were living in an autonomous collective."

Serena's curls bounce as she whips her head around. "Do you even know what that means, Wyatt?"

"Do you?" He frowns. Then: "Oh, you mean the zodiac thing. And yes . Kind of. I've had a dozen girls ask for my birth time."

Tucker waves his hand in front of their faces. " Excuse me . What is happening right now? And should I be drunk as well?"

She looks at the two of us, hesitant energy stirring her features. "Probably. We're going to show you to your room."

Johnny releases Jen's arm. "I should probably go with them…"

He takes my suitcase, and Tucker and I follow them through the wide, open living room and dining space to a large double island kitchen with white marble countertops, baby blue cabinets and open shelving. The doors to the screened porch are open, letting in the sounds of water, wind and chirping birds.

We're led down a hallway. Johnny opens the door to a large bedroom. It has high ceilings, hardwood floors, a creamy white mid-sized bed and views of the ocean. "This is your room."

"Whose room?" I step inside.

"Your room." He waves his finger between the two of us.

I understand a bit later than Tucker who robotically says, "Our parents will want the door to stay open."

"No," I realize slowly. "I'm not sharing a room with him ."

"Oh, the deja vu," he groans.

"Even if we were on speaking terms, which we're not, it would be inappropriate."

Tucker clicks his teeth. "There you go again with the whole ‘inappropriate' thing. I don't think you know what that word means."

"I know what I'm talking about." I put my hand over his face.

"You just made me take your pants off in a moving car."

Serena drops my bag on a wooden bench. "Look guys, there's only one room that has two beds in it so that's where Wyatt and Ritchie are going to sleep, it just makes sense. This is a queen - it's plenty of room. Besides, you two have shared a bed tons of times."

In unison, we answer: "No we haven't ."

Ritchie coughs at the doorway, and Tucker gives him a warning look while I avert my eyes, quickly.

Serena sits on the edge of the bed and argues, "Well then, that's weird. I had no problem with you sleeping in my boyfriend's bed in college because I assumed you were doing it with Tucker, too. Now I'm just thinking you wanted to get in his pants."

My cheeks redden. "I don't want to be anywhere near Tucker's pants."

She makes a gagging, laughing sound. "I was referring to Johnny."

"Freudian slip, right, Ell?" Wyatt smirks.

" No ," I deny.

Serena sings, "I think the lady doth protest too much."

"Stop saying things neither of you understand!"

I look at the bed. My eyes hover over Tucker. He's standing with his arms crossed, his eyes closed. He's either thinking of how much a plane ticket out of here costs, if he can murder me and hide the evidence in the Everglades, or…he could be thinking of the two of us on a bed.

Again.

"Okay!" I clap my hands. "Can you all just leave us in peace for a moment while I talk this over with Tucker? The last we shared a room on a beach vacation he body-shamed me."

He snaps his eyes to mine. " Objection ."

"And he snuck a peek at me topless."

He sucks in air.

Serena stands and waves everyone out of the room. Callie leans into the doorway and says, "Put your bathing suits on! I'm making tacos for dinner and Wyatt's making margaritas and we're going to hang by the pool! It's heated."

I sigh. "Tucker will be staring at my boobs long enough to light us all on fire, but that sounds great."

The door shuts behind them. We both stand in the quiet, looking at it. Now I'm the one questioning how much it will cost to change my flight.

I spin around to the bed. It's concerningly small. I wonder how queen-sized it actually is. Queen-sized must be an acceptable median term for anything bigger than a racecar bed, like how broad the range of six feet tall is on a dating app. "You should sleep on the couch."

He scoffs, coming up beside me. " You can sleep on the couch."

I pick up my bag from the floor and drop it on the center of the comforter, staking my claim. "I'm the girl."

"Since when?" He throws himself on the mattress. He shoves my bag to the side.

"Why don't you have any manners?" I cross my arms. "Letting me have the bed is the polite, gentlemanly thing to do."

He lets out a laugh and kicks his shoes off. "I won't fit on either of those couches. Besides if you think I'm such a sexual predator, feel free to create your own safe space in the living room."

"Am I wrong?"

"About?"

I unzip my carry-on and take out my bikini top. "You ogling me."

"Don't flatter yourself." He rolls his eyes.

"Really?"

He stares at the ceiling. I want to tell him: there are no answers up there. You can't read from a script. There's no playbook for what we've been to each other, what we've done in beds. Besides, I know one single thing for certain about Elijah Tucker: he's attracted to me. It's an unwavering fact, like how candy is unhealthy and you'll be blinded if you stare at the sun. If anything, I'm more toned and mature than I was at sixteen, so if he thought that was the best version of me - watch out.

"I know you, Tucker," I taunt. "There will always be a little piece of you obsessed with me."

He clucks his teeth. " Please ."

"You and I cannot just share a bed for sleeping."

"You're so sure yourself, huh? That's sad, actually. The level of misplaced confidence you have in your ability to tempt me."

I pause. "100 bucks says you sleep on the couch tonight."

He leans back on his elbows. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you can't keep your hands off me. You won't be able to trust yourself around me."

"Oh, I can keep my hands off you. I just don't want to. My hands like messing with you. It doesn't mean any other bit of me wants to join the party." He smirks. "And how exactly are you going to get me to give up the bed? Seduce me until I don't trust myself? Or are you just going to pee in it?"

"The first option is the easiest, so…" I sweep my hair over my shoulder. I drag my fingers through it, knowing the exact pressure points to hit to turn him to goo.

The look on his face is one I know well, but for many years pretended to ignore or explain away. He watches me, annoyance pooling between his eyebrows, altering the expression he's fighting against, and scratches the back of his neck, saying, "I haven't seen you in years, Ella. What makes you think I'm still obsessed with you?"

I smile. "Because you just used the word still ."

Tucker pinches his lips, having given himself away. He gets to his feet and walks over to me.

"Looking at your boobs is an instinct. Okay? It's like…noticing a single dark cloud on a sunny day. You can't not look at it. It doesn't mean I want you." He pauses. "It's like you're the stale end slice of white bread that you can't really do anything with and it's not much to look at, but it's still bread, so I guess in a pinch it would do the trick, but you don't really want it."

I narrow my eyes.

"I mean some people might want it." He sits on the edge of the bed.

I try to control my breathing. "That is incredibly rude ."

"You're still bread, just not to me. I prefer a salty focaccia."

"I am not stale white bread."

He blinks.

I grip the pink bikini top in a tight fist. Tucker stares into my eyes. The ripple of meanness exudes from him, steam sizzling off his wide collarbone and confident stance. Deja vu is right . He always knows exactly the perfect, stupid thing to hurt me.

I shouldn't care if he finds me attractive. I should prefer that he didn't. I don't want Johnny or Wyatt, or Callie or Serena to think about my body. I don't want sexual tension with my friends, but it feels different with Tucker because I've already seen the way he looks at me. He never stared at my sisters in their bathing suits. He never eyed Serena that way. Even at the beach, with strange women walking past, ample opportunity to people-watch and ogle, he always looked at me differently.

He's lying.

Is this part of the game?

I hold his attention when I toss my bathing suit on the bed beside him. If he wants to be mean, I can be mean, too. I can win this bet.

I peel my tank top off.

" Jesus, Ella ," he grits, shutting his eyes.

"What?" I walk up and stand next to him, reaching for my top.

He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling.

I angle my bare chest in his direction. "A boob's a boob, right? No big deal, just like you said."

He bites on the inside of his mouth, air shooting out of his nostrils.

I slide my arms into the straps of my bathing suit and clasp it behind my back. "You can look now."

Tucker leans his head to the side. His eyes drag from mine to my chest and back up again.

"You're such a bad liar," I mutter.

As I walk away, he responds, " I love you, too. "