“Dex.”
“I did not book us a couples resort,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
“This might be the best day of my life,” Phoebe said.
Dex lifted his gaze from his phone to the sign, flicking between the two. “I’m going to kill him,” he said calmly. “Excuse me.”
He climbed out of the car, bringing the phone to his ear. Phoebe popped up through the center console, grinning. “Imagine how many people have had sex here,” she said. I winced and turned down her playlist so I could hear the stones crunching under Dex’s shoes.
“Stop.”
“All the spermy sheets.”
“Oh,gross.” I shoved Phoebe to the back seat and she fell on her side, laughing. Outside, Dex paced until whoever was on the other side of the phone answered.
“Why the fuck am I at a couples resort, Gavin?” His voice echoed up into the surrounding trees. “This is the in you had at a hotel? Are you fucking serious?”
“Gavin,” Phoebe echoed. “Isn’t that the guy who called you?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking of the strange phone call I’d received during which Dex’s friend interrogated me about my criminal record and my whereabouts during various political atrocities over the last decade before casually admitting to burning down his own dorm room. That dude had led ushere. “Apparently, Dex takes advice from a dude who committed quote-unquote ‘light arson.’?”
Phoebe laughed. Everything about the situation immediately lightened. Her happiness was a lifeboat—even when things seemed irreversibly bad, we remained afloat.
Dex scrubbed a hand down his face, his body tense like a spring on the brink of snapping. His shirt had come untucked from his pants, yet remained miraculously wrinkle-free after Coney Islandandthe drive since. Still intimidating—but I found myself opening windows I’d intended to keep locked with him. Our conversation on that bench triggered a temptation to pick his brain about everything from the odd-shaped water tower we passed on the highway, to how healthy his relationship was with his parents, to how much he’d told his friends about our trip. Iwantedto know him, I realized, and I wanted him towantto know me. I tried not to read into it—I simply liked being liked.
Dex’s eyes snagged mine across the dirt drive. His expression shifted imperceptibly and he turned his back to the car, moving several paces away. I rolled my eyes. As if eavesdropping was our biggest concern right now.
When he returned, he grumbled something under his breath and put the car in drive, bumping down the driveway instead of turning around.
“So,” I said. His fingers tightened against the steering wheel. “Your friend has an in?”
“Yes.”
“An in here?” Phoebe pressed gleefully.
“His aunt knows the owner.”
“Very cool. Very chill.” I crossed my legs, angling toward him. “So, you’re fine with this. Us staying at a couples hotel. In the Poconos. Some might say the honeymoon capital of the world.”
“We’re not staying here,” he said, shooting me a dirty look. “I paid for the rooms. I’m getting a refund and we’ll find someplace else to stay.”
“According to Google,” Phoebe said, appearing between us,“there are eleven other couples resorts in the Poconos. We can take our pick!”
The hotel emerged in all its glory—an expansive log cabin painted bubblegum pink with various topiaries of mythical creatures (unicorns and mermaids and centaurs, oh my!) and beautiful gardens surrounding the area. A practical joke. I could hear my dad laughing.
“Again,” I said as Phoebe whipped out Dad’s camera to snap a photo of the topiary garden, “your friend has an inhere?”
“I don’t know,” Dex said.
The décor inside was tamer: Dark wood floors and high ceilings helped tone down the garishness of the pink crystal chandelier and floral mosaic fireplace. Dex approached the reception desk, where a woman in a pink jumpsuit with teased hair waited, beaming.
“Hello, sweethearts!” she crowed, clasping her hands together as if the mere sight of a man and woman standing next to each other made her swoon. When she noticed Phoebe, she blinked several times in quick succession, and then glanced around the room like she might spot a hidden camera behind a bedazzled palm tree. “We don’t usually have children here.”
Dex withdrew his wallet. “I need to cancel a reservation.”
“Cancel?” the woman repeated. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“A refund, ideally. It’s under ‘Dexter.’?”
