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“Yes. And that wasn’t a man,” I groan. “That was… Adonis. Apollo. One of the hot Greek gods.”
I make another turn on the path, and realize I’ve been walking in a circle. I backtrack, my mind still scattered by the sight of Austin in almost-all his natural glory.
“I’m sorry,” Millie says, laughing. “You called to complain about the godlike body of a man who is admittedly interested in you. To me, your friend who spent the past fifteen minutes recovering—physically and emotionally—from a diaper explosion?”
“Millie,” I wail. “I’m serious! He looks like he should be in a calendar. Oh my God, he probablyisin a baseball calendar. It’s torturous. Not of this world.”
“No, ma’am. Not a shred of sympathy for you.” Millie laughs. “You just drink in the view, sip a pina colada, and enjoy. This is not a real problem.”
“It is if I’m supposed to resist him!”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t anymore,” Millie declares.
“Millie,” I gasp. “You’re supposed to be my voice of reason.”
“I know,” she muses, sounding entertained by herself. “But months at home have worn me down. I’m feeling drawn to the chaos. Like, I’m over here exhausted to the marrow of my bones. The least you could do is fantasize about getting absolutely railed by the hot boss.”
“Millie,” I say, a bit scandalized. I finally find my room and swipe inside. At least here, I can cool off—in more ways than one. “Thanks so much for your help.”
“You’re welcome!” Millie chirps, as if I wasn’t being sarcastic. “I feel good about it.”
I force myself into a cold shower and count down the minutes till I have to meet Austin at the festival. I can do this. If I can just stay away from the pool and his body… and his personality and face… Everything will be fine.
Right?
* * *
“So… This is VibeFest.”
Austin stands inside the VIP entry turnstiles and takes in the sight of several thousand young, drunk, stylish people all vibing their little hearts out.
“Yup,” I agree, “Ready to feel the good vibes?”
Austin grins over at me. “Ready if you are.”
It’s an experience, that’s for sure. We make our way across the field towards the main ‘vibe village’.
On the horizon, the palm trees jut up beside the Ferris wheel, and music from a DJ set pulses from somewhere.
The festival is a wild assortment of bohemian flare. Every other girl is wearing crochet or some type of fringe or, in one memorable case, both.
“Guess I should have knitted myself a crop top,” I remark, as we pass a pack of matching coeds.
Austin chuckles. “Festival fashion would be a devastating drinking game. Drink for every guy with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel.”
“Drink for every statement hat,” I add, as we pass someone in a Pharrell hat with a bunch of flowers pinned on.
“Drink for every bra worn as a shirt,” Austin suggests.
I snort, thinking of the countless bras we’ve seen already. “No way. You would have to carry me out of here. Well, you’d have to carry me out after two drinks, honestly.”
Austin laughs. “I’m feeling old. What are we, like a good decade older than these kids? Younger me would be doing shots already. I just want to know where the food is.”
“Don’t!” I protest. “I already feel my age for packing sunscreen and sensible Birkenstocks.”
“Instead of those?” he points to a girl in platform sandals, currently clinging to her girlfriend, stuck in a pile of mud.
I laugh.
