Summer Fling: An Anthology by Vi Keeland

Lola

SUMMER HELD UP her margarita. “To another month of sun, sand, and sex.”

Charlie and I raised our glasses, and the three of us clinked.

I sighed. “Two out of three isn’t so bad, right?”

Summer smirked. “Maybe next time a guy on the beach with an eight-pack asks you what you do for a living, and you say you’re a cosmologist, when he thinks you do hair and makeup, you should just nod and twirl your hair. It might make you sound more interesting.”

My jaw dropped. Before I could respond, Charlie pointed to my mouth and nodded.

“Yup, that’ll work too. Nice and wide, Lo. You’ll be getting some action by the end of the night.”

I squinted and stuck my tongue out at both of them.

“Seriously, Lo.” Charlie set down her drink. “This summer is supposed to be about having a good time. Half the time when we go out, you have your nose stuck in a book and don’t come. How is that having a good time?”

“I like to read!”

Summer sipped her margarita. “You can read in September, when you’re back in school working on your PhD with your geek friends. But right now we’re living in a beach house on Fire Island for the summer. The only reading you should be doing is the drink menu.”

“Actually,” Charlie piped in. “You should probably also read the sign on the bathroom door. Summer has walked into the men’s room at the bar down the road twice already.”

Summer winked. “And the first time it was a mistake. ”

We all laughed. Sadly, though, my friends weren’t wrong. While I’d been relaxing a lot since we got here six weeks ago, a part of me did feel like I wasn’t living it up the way I should be.

Using my finger, I swiped a line of salt from the rim of my margarita glass and brought it to my mouth to suck off. “If I tell you guys something, you have to promise you won’t tease me.”

My best friends smiled and spoke in unison. “Tease? Us?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Summer, Charlie, and I had been the Three Musketeers since elementary school. If one of us wasn’t teasing, there was a problem.

I was pretty sure I was going to regret admitting this, but I decided to spill my guts anyway. “I think I forgot how to have a good time.”

Instead of laughing, my friends frowned. Summer reached across the table and took my hand. She squeezed. “Oh, honey. You didn’t forget. That dull bore Nathan sucked the life out of you a little at a time over the last five years.”

I chuckled. “Maybe. But however I lost my fun, I’m not sure how to get it back.”

“Well, for starters,” Charlie said. “You need to stop overthinking everything.”

“I don’t overthink everything.”

Charlie quirked a brow. “What did you say when I asked you if you wanted to have margaritas or daiquiris tonight?”

I thought back. “I said margaritas have a lot of salt. Which I love, but makes me retain water. It also causes high blood pressure. But daiquiris have a lot of sugar. And I’m trying to cut down on my sugars because my dad was a diabetic.”

My friends just stared at me.

“What?”

“Which do you like better, Lo? Which tastes better? Which makes you want to raise your hands in the air and dance like no one’s watching?”

I slumped. “Oh. I guess you have a point.”

“Not everything needs to be a logical choice,” Summer said. “It’s okay to just do something simply because it’s fun once in a while.”

Charlie wiggled her brows. “Like that guy with the big shoulders I did last week. He was a lot of fun.”

Summer waved at the bartender. “Hey, Eddie!”

“Yeah, Red?”

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

Eddie walked over to the cash register and opened the drawer. He plucked out a pen and slid it over to the other side of the bar.

“You finally giving me your phone number, Red?”

Summer batted her eyelashes. “You know you’re too young for me, Eddie.”

Eddie Edwards was the owner of Salty’s, the little bar closest to our rental house. It wasn’t the most popular place, but we often came here before going to the busier bars in town. Eddie was probably in his mid-sixties, always bartended shirtless and barefoot, and sold handmade surfboards out of a shack located next to the bar. He was also a shameless flirt, the same as Summer, so the two of them hit it off on the very first night we’d arrived. After he walked away, Summer stole a napkin from the holder on the bar and clicked the pen top.

“Okay. We’re going to fix this the same way we did when we were kids and one of us had a problem…with a pact.”

She scribbled Summer Fun Pact at the top of the napkin and then underlined it twice with heavy slashes.

I’d completely forgotten about the little pacts the three of us used to make. We’d made the first one in third grade when Charlie had to wear this crazy-looking metal contraption on her face to correct a pretty bad underbite. She was afraid people would think she wasn’t cool. So the three of us made a pact: Be Nerds Together. I still remembered some of our rules.

Take your style cues from your mom.

Always carry at least three textbooks in your hands on your way home from school, even if you have no homework.

Collect Crocs in multiple colors.

Over the years, we’d created dozens of similar pacts. But after the last one—the one involving my virginity that we were still not allowed to discuss—I guess we took a hiatus.

“Okay…rule number one,” Summer said. “Be spontaneous. If an opportunity for fun arises, take it. Don’t overanalyze it.”

“Unless it’s dangerous,” I added.

Charlie rolled her eyes and pointed to the napkin. “Add in parentheses that a majority vote determines if something is dangerous.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, that makes me feel safe with you two.”

“Next rule,” Charlie said. “Tell a joke to a stranger every day.”

That one wasn’t so bad. I nodded. “I like that. I have a ton of astronomy jokes I bet most people have never heard.”

Charlie pointed at the napkin. “Add in parentheses…no astronomy jokes. Or science-related ones, for that matter.”

“Good idea.” Summer wrote on the napkin again. “How about for number three…no more running as our exercise. From now on, we hula hoop, play Double Dutch, skip around town, pull together a dodge-ball game, and play hopscotch.”

I drank the last of my margarita. “I love that one!”

Summer chuckled. “That’s because you’re a lightweight, and the tequila already went to your head.”

I was feeling pretty good. Which reminded me...I pointed to the napkin this time. “We should throw a party at our house.”

“Now you’re talking!”

By the time we were done creating our Summer Fun Pact, we had laughed a lot and come up with ten rules. I was also pretty damn tipsy from finishing my second margarita. Things were becoming more fun already.

“I love you guys.” I smiled at my two best friends. “Thank you for making me spend this summer out here with you. It’s just what I needed.”

“Uh oh. We’ve entered the I love you guys phase of Lola’s inebriation. We better order a few waters, or we’ll skip the these hips don’t lie dancing phase and go straight to head hanging in the toilet.”

I stood from my chair and waved them off. “I’m fine. I’m not as big of a lightweight as you think. Though, I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back.”

In the small, unisex bathroom at the back of the place, I realized I actually was a bit drunker than I’d thought. Even though I was wearing flat sandals, I found myself wobbling as I hovered over the toilet to pee. Maybe some waters wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.

As I did my business, I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation we’d just had at the bar. I really did have the best friends. Even though they teased me a lot, Summer and Charlie had never steered me wrong. I decided right then and there I wasn’t going to let the rest of the summer pass me by. Sure, relaxing on the beach and reading were fun. But I was twenty-four, just came out of a dull, five-year relationship, and wanted to live a little. Even if it was outside my comfort zone, I was going to follow the rules of our new Summer Fun Pact. Starting right now, there was a new Lola in town. And she wasn’t going to overthink things. She was going to be in the moment and try things she’d never done before.

I took a deep breath and flushed the toilet, feeling excited about the rest of summer. Tonight was the start of good things. I could just feel it in my bones. In fact, I couldn’t wait to wash my hands and get back out there. Smiling, I reached for the stall’s door lock when suddenly something written at the top of the door caught me eye.

For a good time, call 409-5420

Huh.

Wonder what that’s all about?

In my margarita-induced haze, I decided to make good on my vow to be a little more fun this summer. Who doesn’t want a good time, right?

I snickered to myself as I dialed the number.

It rang a few times until a deep male voice picked up.

“Y-ello.”

Shit. I hadn’t exactly planned what I was going to say if someone answered.

“Hey!” I said enthusiastically.

“Hey!” he mimicked in a mocking fashion.

“I hear this is the number that people call when they want to have a good time around the island?” I shut my eyes and cringed.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His gruff voice vibrated in my ear.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Who’s this?” he shouted.

I hiccupped. “You first.”

“Mark.” He’d said it in an abrupt fashion, almost tauntingly, as if the word Mark were an expletive, the first name that came to mind—that wasn’t his own.

“I can tell you’re lying. You don’t sound like a Mark. And Mark isn’t an exciting enough name for…Mr. Good Time.” I snorted.

“Is this some kind of joke? I don’t have time for your shit.”

“This is 409-5420, right?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah.”

“How long have you had this phone number?”

“I don’t know…a decade, maybe?”

“You must be local if your number is posted here. You know Salty’s?”

“The bar? Yeah.”

“How long has Salty’s been around?”

“It’s new,” he said. “Eddie opened it a few years ago.”

“Then, it’s you. It’s your number. You’re Mr. Good Time. Someone seemed to think that if people wanted a good time, they should call you. Your digits are written on the stall here in the bathroom.”

“The fuck? Who would do that?”

I shrugged. “Who would write a man’s name on the stall? You tell me.”

“No. Who the hell would call a number that was written on a bathroom stall. You must be pretty damn bored—or desperate.”

Oh.He wasn’t exactly wrong on the bored part.

“Well, I took a chance. Figured I’d give you a ring, see what all the fuss is about. Clearly there’s nothing to the rumor of a promised good time. All one gets by dialing this number is a person with a stick up his ass.”

“Exactly how much salt have you had tonight?”

“Enough.”

“I can tell.”

“Look…I’m sorry. This was a mistake. You’re totally right. I’m bored—bored with life. I dialed this number on impulse, to challenge myself. Thought maybe I’d find a little excitement on the other end of the line. My friends and I made a vow to be spontaneous. Rule number one of our summer fun pact is that if an opportunity for fun arises: take it without analyzing it. I’ve had a rough year, got out of a sucky five-year relationship and just thought maybe the number was a sign I should have a little fun. Calling you was a mistake. Anyway, I’m rambling now. I—”

His tone softened a little. “What’s your name?”

I sighed. “Lola.”

“That sounds just as fake as Mark.”

“Actually, it’s not. It’s my real name. My mother’s favorite song was “Copacabana” by Barry Manilow. She’s a fanilow. My friends call me Lo.”

“Lo. As in Fan-i-low.”

“I suppose.”

He burst into laughter. I looked down at my shoes, listening to him laugh at my expense until he spoke again.

“This conversation is ridiculous,” he groaned.

This guy, whoever he is, thinks I belong in an insane asylum, and he very well may be right.

I was just about to hang up on him when he said, “I’m Silas.”

“That’s your real name?”

“Sure. What do I have to hide from a drunken voice named Lola…who’s bored and probably won’t remember this tomorrow?”

“I’m not that drunk. My inhibitions are a little off, but unfortunately I’ll remember this.”

“What are you doing hiding out in the bathroom at Salty’s, anyway?”

“Looking for a good time?”

“We established that.”

I giggled.

He laughed again. He had a nice laugh, a deep, sexy one. And now I was officially nuts if I was getting turned on by a voice.

“I’m renting a house here for the summer with my friends,” I admitted.

“So…you said you got out of a bad relationship?” he asked. “What was bad about it?”

How do I even begin to answer that?

“The lack of sexual chemistry, the lack of respect for me…too many things to name, and I regret wasting my time. The only good thing about being in a relationship, even a bad one, is not being alone. That was probably why it took me so long to end it. I was afraid of being alone.”

“You feel lonely? Is that why you called my number?”

My voice was shaky as I answered with brutal honesty, “Yeah. Maybe a little.”

His raspy voice lowered, “Are you alone in the bathroom right now, Lola?”

I nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

Something in his voice changed. “You want a good time, huh?”

Where is this going?

My voice turned breathy. “Yes.”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, his tone suddenly needy.

My heart raced as I leaned against the stall, needing to look down at myself to even remember. “A short, white dress.”

“Underwear?”

I snapped out of my haze for a moment. “Are you seriously trying to have phone sex with me right now?”

He cackled. “How have you not hung up on me yet? I was actually just seeing what I could get away with. Wasn’t expecting you to practically come when I asked you if you were alone.”

Oh my God.What a jackass.

“I didn’t…practically come. I was just…never mind. ”

There was a long moment of silence, whereby all I could hear was my own heavy breathing.

His voice lowered again. “So what kind of underwear, Lola?”

Clearing my throat, I answered, “Nude lace. But I’m not falling for your trap anymore. I don’t know whether you’re serious about phone sex or just making fun of me now.”

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. Tell you what. You want actual phone sex? Call me tomorrow night at this number when you’re sober. If you’re still down for it, we can do it for real.”

The idea of that—phone sex with this deep, raspy voice—awakened the muscles between my legs despite the fact that I said, “No, that won’t be happening.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well, you have my number.”

“Why would I call a guy who’s been nothing but rude to me, for phone sex?”

“Because you’re bored and lonely, remember?”

“Who are you, really?”

“I told you. I’m Silas.”

“You live on Fire Island?”

“Yes. In the summer.”

“Give me a tidbit about you—the real you.”

After a few seconds, he answered, “I have a full sleeve tattoo on my arm. You have my name and a main identifying feature now. There’s your glass slipper. But, baby, believe me, I’m the furthest thing from Cinder-fucking-rella.”