Page 46 of Gin and Bear It

Just knowing something is being done is helping me stay out of my head. The lower stress hasn’t killed my writer’s block yet, but it’s helping every moment feel less awful. I’ve kept myself busy enough to avoid Jada as much as she tries to avoid me.

But now, Mom’s wedding party is finally here. We can’t dance around each other anymore.

Mom managed to mobilize an entire party in a week and told us to show up dressed semi-formally. She even sent Pinterest boards with outfit inspiration because she’s never done anything half-assed in her life.

It helped, to be honest. I miss wearing clothes that aren’t T-shirts and jeans, so I choose one of my favorite printed button-downs and some necklaces and rings I’ve picked up in vintage shops over the years.

It takes me two seconds to get ready, so I go first, then let Jada into the bathroom. She putters around in there loudly, listening to music, clanking bottles together, and talking to Pip.

“Can you help me with my dress?” Jada says from the bathroom eventually, her voice small.

“Yeah.” I open the door a crack, then the rest of the way.

She’s holding her hands across her cleavage, which doesn’t do shit because the back of her dress is fully open. I can see the top of her panties and all the smooth skin of her back. The bright dress contours to her ass in ways that make my mouth bone dry.

I’m going to have to beat my dick clean off my body every single day to survive, aren’t I? Either that or I’ll be so hard that my cock will shatter like something dunked in dry ice.

“The zipper is caught,” she says, glaring at me in the mirror. Pip chirps from where he’s sitting on the top of the toilet tank.

My eyes flick from the tiny pink waistband of her panties to what I should be looking at—her zipper. They’re panties. Panties that are perfectly fitted to the greatest ass I’ve ever seen, but they’re panties. I need to get a fucking life and help her.

I’ve fixed a lot of zippers before, so it only takes me a second to wiggle the tiny zipper from where it’s gotten caught on the fabric. Zipping up the dress makes it hug Jada’s body to perfection. I lock eyes with her in the mirror. She’s done her makeup, too. It’s subtle, but with a bold lipstick that I like.

I’m not sure how long we stare at each other for, but Pip hops onto the counter and knocks over some of her lotions.

“Pip.” She sighs like this is something that happens all the time. She rights them with one hand while petting Pip with the other.

“We should go,” I say, clearing my throat. I want to compliment her, but the words get stuck. “Dylan is here and he’s going to ride with us.”

“He’s already here?” she asks, grabbing a spritz bottle and spraying her face to set her makeup.

“Yeah, he’s in his van,” I say. “I’m not sure where he got it, but it’s been retrofitted to live out of. He drove up from Florida.”

In our band’s breaks in the past, Dylan goes on random side quests. He traced his family’s history on both sides, going to Korea to find out more about his dad’s family, then Scotland for his mom’s. He went to a Muay Thai training camp in Thailand for a month even though he’s never done the martial art in his life. He even went to the Australian outback with the brother of one of our producers to study reptiles.

He just goes. I’m surprised he’s stuck around at his parents’ farm when he has the van, but he’ll tell me more when he’s ready.

“Sounds mysterious.” She quirks an eyebrow. “That’s his thing, isn’t it?”

“You’ve looked him up?” I smirk, and she looks a little embarrassed.

“I mean, why wouldn’t I have googled your band?”

Even the slightest look at our band’s presence pulls up a lot of videos of me in various states of near nudity on stage. At first it was practical—we did a lot of shows in hot venues—but it became something I just did because it was my thing. The idea of Jada going down that rabbit hole pleases me, then worries me. It’s a shit show of rumors, too. Only some of them are true.

“C’mon. Let’s go get him,” I say, instead of asking her more.

We head outside and find Dylan looking up at one of the trees that lines the sidewalk. It’s jarring to see him here in Jepsen, but I’m glad to see him regardless. I can’t imagine going through all this bullshit with the band and our legal issues without him on my side.

He’s cut his ink-dark hair—he’s always managed to cut his own without it looking like shit—and shaved, but besides that, he looks the same as he did when we parted ways before Thanksgiving.

He grins at me, then looks at Jada.

“Hey, you must be Jada,” Dylan says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She gets slightly flustered the way most people do when they meet Dylan. The combination of unnervingly handsome and warm gets people and only deepens when they realize he’s actually pretty chill.

Out of everyone in our band, he should have been the one to let all the attention get to his head. But he didn’t and didn’t even like all the attention.