51
Tessa
It was the best day ever for the Faraday-Morgan wedding brigade: all two hundred of us toured Maui via helicopter today, five choppers, each holding six people, at a time. And when someone wasn’t on an aerial tour, oohing and aahing about the island’s jaw-dropping sights, they were back at the resort, engaging in activities ranging from jet-skiing to parasailing to kayaking to windsurfing to lei-making. And may I just say the time I spent kayaking and windsurfing and snorkeling with Ryan, along with varying other mix-and-match companions through it all, were some of the best times I’ve ever had in my life?
Best. Day. Ever.
The only thing that could have made my amazing day better would have been if I’d been assigned to ride in Ryan’s helicopter. Unfortunately, though, when I checked the assignments, the activities director had scheduled Ryan to fly with his parents, Colby, and his aunt and uncle, and there was no way for me to switch up the helicopter assignments without it beingextremelyobvious that I’m now chomping at the bit to spend every waking moment with the Morgan family’s beloved pirate.
Of course, if I couldn’t sneak onto Ryan’s helicopter, then I definitely got the best consolation prize: Dax, Fish, Colin, Keane, and Zander. That group of hilarious dudes would have been a fun group to tour the island with on any given day, for sure; but today especially, mere hours after the happy news broke that River Records had offered a record deal to 22 Goats, that ecstatic group of guys was pure joy to hang out with. Throughout our entire two-hour tour, whenever the six of us weren’t marveling about the spectacular views outside the helicopter windows, we were collectively rhapsodizing about 22 Goats’ bright future.
And now, after our fabulous day of helicopter-riding and fun-in-the-sun, a group of us is keeping the good times rolling with pre-dinner drinks in one of the hotel bars. And, although Ryan’s not sitting next to me because I got skittish that we were becoming a bit too obvious, I’m thrilled he’s sitting directly in my line of sight at the other end of our long table. It means we can easily shoot secret smiles and horny looks at each other without Josh or anyone else noticing.
Besides Josh, Kat, Ryan, and me, the squad for pre-dinner drinks is a bit of a mish-mash of Kat’s and Josh’s worlds: Henn, Hannah, Colby, Reed, Keane, Zander, and a mixture of Josh’s and Kat’s college- and work-friends, all of us at this point meshing like we’re old friends.
At the moment, the energetic conversation around the table is about the “lost art of flirting” and how “kids these days,” with their reliance on Snapchat and Instagram, have no idea how to pick someone up in-person.
“Josh and Kat gave me a brilliant tutorial on ‘bagging a babe’ not too long ago in Vegas,” Henn says. “Those two could teach the ignorant kids of today a thing or two.”
“That’s revisionist history, Henn,” Josh says, laughing. “It was Kat who was the true professor that night, not me.”
Henn chuckles. “That’s right. Kitty, what was that one rule of thumb you taught us? The one about how a guy who’s talking to a very pretty lady knows if he should shut the hell up or keep talking?”
Kat giggles and raises her index finger. “Ask yourself this, gentlemen: ‘Is what I’m about to say more or less likely to get me a blowjob?’ If the answer is yes, then say it. If the answer is no, then shut the fuck up.’”
Everyone laughs uproariously.
“Now that’s some advice to live by,” Reed says. “I’ll definitely keep that little gem in mind next time I’m talking to...” Reed looks straight at me. “A very pretty lady.”
My skin pricks at Reed’s unmistakable implication: the next time he speaks to me, he’ll be wondering if his words are enticing me to give him a blowjob. I quickly look away from Reed’s handsome face, my cheeks hot, and sneak a peek at Ryan, only to find him staring Reed down, his body language painting the stark portrait of a man plotting a murder.
“So what was Faraday’s advice for ‘bagging a babe’?” Reed asks Henn, apparently unaware the tattooed man to his right is thinking up ways to kill him. “I’m an old dog, but I’m always open to learning a new trick, especially from a world-renowned former playboy like Faraday.”
Everyone at the table who knows Reed well simultaneously erupts with cruel mockery at the suggestion that Reed Rivers could possibly need to learn any “new tricks,” even from someone as adept at picking up women as the renowned Playboy himself, Joshua William Faraday; and, quickly, the conversation spirals into a free-for-all of enthusiastic storytelling by every single one of Reed’s college friends about Reed’s “legendary” appeal to women “back in the day,” and this from an era dating back before the man became rich and famous and known for having actresses and pop stars at his beck and call.
Blah, blah, blah. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Reed Rivers and his purportedly legendary appeal to women. I’m much more interested in staring at Ryan’s blazing blue eyes and ridiculous jawline and thinking about all the utterly delicious things he did to me last night.
Sigh.
But after a few moments of daydreaming about last night’s deliciousness with my very own manwhore of “legendary appeal,” Keane’s energetic voice draws me back to the present moment.
“It’s true,” Keane says emphatically to the group. “I’ve got mad skillz, brah.”
“He does,” Zander confirms. “Mad.”
“Give us an example,” Henn says. “Something you’d say to bag a babe in a bar. Like, hey, pretend T-Rod’s a random babe you wanna bag. Show us your magic.”
“Okay,” Keane says. He looks at me and flashes his ridiculous dimples. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I reply, a smirk already dancing on my lips.
“What’s your name, baby doll?”
“Tessa. And please don’t call me baby doll.”
“Hold up,” Josh says loudly from the other end of the table, putting up his palm. “Theresa, why thefuckhas everyone been calling you ‘Tessa’ all week? What am I missing?”
I smile sheepishly. “Tessa’s actually the name I go by in real life. Not Theresa.”
