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His words catch me so completely off guard. I let out a surprised huff. “There’s a first time for everything.”
He chuckles. “Always moving the posts.”
The truth is, it doesn’t matter if Rachel’s friends like me or if I like them—they will still be there, and I will still be me, and it will still be uncomfortable. People will talk to me whether I want them to or not. And this will only be a tiny fraction of the people at the wedding.
Before the Wheel can pick up steam, suddenly, Agustín leans forward and slants his mouth over mine. And I … just … melt. His body is warm, and his lips so gentle, and I feel myself shake loose, detach from the anxiety like releasing the string of a kite. I lean into the kiss, our tongues entwining, my palm pressing against his chest as his heart beats out a steady rhythm. I feel so anchored with him. So unafraid.
But then I wonder if he’s thinking we should do more than just kiss right now, and then I wonder what I’m thinking about that. Like, yes, obviously, yes. But now? My shoulders tense.
His hands cup my face and our kiss slows.
Agustín presses his forehead against mine. “Quick nap?” he asks.
I exhale a long, jittery breath. He tucks me into the crook of his shoulder, and I wrap my arm around his waist. I wonder what all the contours of his body look like—I want to map them out, trace all his dents and curves, from his shoulders to his ribs to his thighs. Then heat floods my cheeks.
Agustín chuckles, and my head wobbles with the movement.
“I can feel you blushing,” he murmurs.
I blush harder and then both of us are laughing.
“Stop distracting me while I’m trying to nap,” I say sternly.
His lips press into my curls. “Duerme, querida,” he whispers as my eyelids flutter closed.
37Eloise
I am surrounded by penises.
Rachel’s influencer friend, Mandy, rented some kind of party bus for the bachelorette party and now I’m sitting on a faux-velvet couch, with neon lights overhead, and phalluses staring at me from every direction. There are penis straws and penis balloons and an inflatable pickle at the back with a sign that says: The Last Pickle She’ll Ever Tickle.
I wonder if I’ve accidentally landed in my own personal circle of hell. I got here early, of course, because I needed to find a seat before the twelve other women I don’t really know descend on the scene. The van is parked outside the Four Seasons, and Agustín dropped me off a few minutes ago. He’s heading out to spend the day with his family. I feel like he should have done that right away, but he said he was having so much fun showing me around the city.
“El!” Rachel’s head pops through the open van door. She looks stunning in a vintage white satin minidress, her makeup flawless, a tiara on her head and a sash that says Bride.
“Hi.” I’m sitting ramrod straight, awash in dicks.
Rachel catches sight of the pickle and rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, Mandy,” she mutters, chuckling. “So, I know the itinerary is kind of a lot but—”
“Rachel!” I hear a squeal coming from outside and look through the tinted windows to see all twelve of Rachel’s friends arriving en masse, all in cute dresses with short skirts and heels. I glance down at myself. I didn’t know there was a dress code. I’m wearing acid wash jeans, my leather boots, and a sleeveless black mock turtleneck. Agustín told me I looked cool. I even wore my favorite gold hoops, and the giraffe print bangle from the shop in Roma. And I put on actual lipstick, not just gloss.
The Wheel starts to spin as the women descend on Rachel and begin to fill the bus. Some of them glance at me with quick smiles, but I see the confused frowns too as they wonder who the fuck I am. My hands are clammy and sweat gathers uncomfortably at the nape of my neck, as one of the girls plops down too close to me, laughing hysterically, her shoulder knocking into mine.
“Oh sorry,” she says, then turns back to another girl who is popping open a bottle of champagne.
The Wheel jams on This Interaction Will Haunt You Forever. I can feel my face on fire, feel my tongue gluing itself to the roof of my mouth. The women just keep coming, streaming onto the bus, crowding around me, their voices loud, too loud. It’s hot and stuffy and the neon lights are making my head hurt, and why must there be so many penises? The bus begins to feel smaller and smaller, so cramped that there’s barely any space to move, and I’m smooshed between a woman in pink, drenched in perfume, and another in green, her hair constantly tickling my bare shoulder.
The air is too close. My chest constricts.
I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. I hate this.
I want to be a good friend but I don’t belong here, everyone is talking over each other, and now my hairline is damp with sweat, and my lower back too, and it’s so uncomfortable being like this. How am I meant to spend an entire day as a sweaty mess, I can’t do it, but I have to, for Rachel, for Rachel, for Rachel. I ball my hands into fists and try to find air, try to think of Agustín, my anchor, my tether, but there’s only shrieks of laughter, and now they’re throwing penis balloons at each other and one hits me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to touch the penis balloon. Then the driver climbs up into the driver’s seat, and we’re going to leave at any minute, and I’ll be trapped, oh my god, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t—
A cool hand closes around my wrist. Rachel’s face swims in my vision.
“Come with me, El,” she says softly.
I don’t know how I stand and make it off that bus, except that I feel like a drowning swimmer who’s finally seen the shore. Like my legs know if we can make it out there, we’ll be okay.
