Faye: Meet me in my room after cake. I’ll take care of my detail
That room flashed in my head again. Her between us on her bed, her moan as she came, the way she had trusted both of us at once.
The captain got on the intercom and began talking about descent and seat backs.
“I’ve never wanted cake this much in my life,” Dylan muttered.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Bet it will taste even better eating cake off of her.”
We followedthe crowd off the plane at Logan International, through the jet bridge, and toward baggage claim. Dylan checked his phone as we walked.
“Tyler texted,” he announced. “He and Hayden already checked into the hotel. He wrote, ‘If you two bail on dinner, I’m disowning you.’”
“He’s dramatic,” I answered. “Text him back and tell him we’ll be there in about two hours.”
When our suitcases finally dropped onto the belt, we grabbed them and headed to the rental car shuttle. Twenty minutes later, I pulled a mid-size SUV out of the garage and onto the highway toward the Cape.
Dylan tossed his phone into the cupholder and stared out the window. “This is kinda crazy, you know?”
“What is?” I asked.
“We’re about to meet the president of the United States and then have round two with his daughter.”
“Round one went pretty well,” I reminded him.
He grinned. “Trying to top that is a tall order.”
“I’m sure we can think of something.”
“And you’re going to shake President Donnelley’s hand, knowing you’ve been deep in his daughter’s pussy and going to do it again?”
“Are you saying you don’t want to do it with her again?”
“Hell no.” Dylan shook his head. “I’m just saying we’re about to meet the most powerful man in America knowing what we did with his daughter.”
“True, but he doesn’t know what we did with her.”
The road signs shifted from Boston stuff to beach towns and seafood spots. By the time we pulled into the resort where the wedding guests were staying, the sun had begun to set. The hotel matched the photos from the wedding packet, with its white buildings, balconies, and a view of the bay behind it. A sign out front read in script:
WELCOME DONNELLEY–DAVIS WEDDING GUESTS
Dylan let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
“We’re paying our own bill,” I reminded him. “So don’t fall in love with the mini bar.”
We rolled our bags to the front desk. The clerk smiled. “Checking in?”
“Yes,” I answered, handing her my ID and credit card. “Reservation for Matthewson.”
She typed for a few seconds, then looked up. “Found you. Two queens, ocean view, two nights.”
“Sounds right,” I replied.
“You’re here for the Donnelley and Davis wedding?” she asked.
“We are,” Dylan responded.
She nodded and reached for a white gift bag. “Here you go. Also, shuttle buses to the ceremony and reception start tomorrow at three from the front drive.”
