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“Even though they get to party with sorority girls?” I tease.
“Believe me, I partied enough in college.”
“I’m starting to think you’ve understated how fun you actually are,” I say. “Or maybe Paris has brought out your long repressed fun side.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Nope,” he says. “Just you.”
“Think you can keep it up in Ibiza?”
“Will you be there?”
“Of course.”
“Then absolutely.”
Sunlight is falling through the open shades of the master bedroom, splashing across my face and warming it. The hum of Paris is a distant noise; it might not even exist at all. Our flight to Ibiza leaves tonight but we’ll soak up every second of the rest of the day in bed together. We’ve earned it.
Not of course to say that partying with Kara is any kind of hardship. We’ve spent the last week eating the best food, drinking the best alcohol, turning down the best drugs. And though some of the company left a lot to be desired, most of Kara’s friends turned out to not be half bad. Tori especially has stuck by our side and joined us on the dance floor most nights. Last night even Dalton, always so harried, was dragged out of the back by Tori and me to come dance. When Kara saw him in the mosh pit, her face lit up and she played a song that supposedly had a special meaning for just the two of them. For the rest of the night Dalton walked on clouds.
I thought that partying every night, for most of the night, would wear me out… And I was absolutely right. Even though, on our second day, Nick had bought us a wardrobe that would last us through a month of engagements, the days always passed way too quickly. We barely had enough time to catch up with our virtual management of our teams back home before we had to go back to the club. As fun as it’s all been, I can’t wait to get through this last leg of the tour and return to New York.
However the status of my relationship with Nick back home is vague at best and bad at worst. Away from his company and the pressures that come with it, Nick has been like a different person.
How much will change back home? How much can I get to stay the same?
Watching Nick’s gorgeous face dappled by the sunlight, I pray that this moment will last forever, encapsulated in my heart for an eternity.
Unfortunately the real world waits out there for us. Full of real responsibilities.
And real problems.
The plane that Kara has chartered to Party Island is about half the size of the one we crossed the Atlantic in. It’s still way too big for the amount of people she’s bringing, but hey I’m not complaining.
The vibe is significantly different this time too. Instead of outsiders, Nick and I are friendly with just about everyone on board. The obvious exceptions are Brent and Cheryl, who’ve finally learned to just leave us alone. In Paris, every time they’d tried to come in with an attack, Nick and I had been ready and willing to meet them, fists raised. At this point, our only interactions are accidental and brief.
Dax is the one other exception to our harmony with the Krew. Nick hasn’t said anything, but I suspect something happened early on between the two of them. They only talk when absolutely necessary. I’ve tried to pry but Nick always skirts my questions. If there wasn’t an outright disagreement between the two men, I get the impression that Dax likes to be in charge and Nick obviously isn’t one to be told what to do.
Funnily enough, Kara isn’t either. She and Dax, while physically affectionate, always seem to dissolve into bickering the longer they spend talking. Other than their shared success and good looks, they aren’t the most obvious pairing.
All in all, going into the Ibiza leg, I’m feeling pretty good. Once I get back to New York I’m going to sleep for a week but otherwise, unless something goes really badly, Kara has got to be in the bag for the Seafarer. I can already perfectly picture the ad campaigns we’re going to run once she’s publicly on board. Her first concert on the ship as it circles Manhattan is going to make these past raves look like a five-year-old’s birthday party.
One thing at a time, Evie, I tell myself as Nick and I walk up the stairs to the jet. Let’s just keep things chill for now.
It’s hard to be chill with a group like this though. Nick and I stop once again at the head of the plane. Even after a week of nonstop clubbing, the entourage is doing shots and blasting rap.
“When exactly did I get this old?” Nick asks out of the corner of his mouth.
“I’m asking myself the same thing,” I say, “and I’m still in my twenties.” I haven’t done this many Fireball shots since college and it looks like I’m not getting a night off.
“You made it!” Tori shouts at the sight of us. She doubles over with laughter. “And you’re wearing the sweatpants!”
“Sure am,” I say, though I lost the top and opted for a black tank instead. Hey, I like to be comfortable when I fly. “I feel like you’re gonna regret those shoes.”
“These?” She shows them off, new designer five-inch heels Kara must have gotten her in Paris. Gorgeous for a night out, bad for a rocky plane flight. “I need the practice, gorge. If I make it through the flight without a stumble I’ve earned them.”
“And I have a hundred bucks on her wiping out in the first hour,” Kara says, appearing from behind a curtain that bisects the plane.
It doesn’t even take that long. Tori turns, obviously about to contradict her, and trips over nothing. Dalton dives forward with catlike reflexes and holds her steady before she tumbles to the ground.
