Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Kitchen dance parties were our thing. We had been doing them since college. They were used for happy times, horrible times, and everything in between.

  When Cass told her nasty professor to suck it? Kitchen dance party.

  When I got the coveted internship I was striving for? Kitchen dance party.

  A hot barista asked Cass out? Kitchen dance party.

  The time I managed to do all of our laundry with four quarters? Epic kitchen dance party.

  There were only three rules: Rotate who got dibs on the music selection. No boys allowed. And always bring your A-dancing-game.

  Some of my fondest memories of college were with Cass, dancing around in our shitty apartment, singing our hearts out. God, this girl, she was my rock. My favorite person to vent to, cry with, and most importantly, laugh my ass off with. I wouldn’t have traded her for anything.

  “All right, sweet cheeks, you’re all set,” she announced, smirking down at me. “And your makeup is looking pretty damn fabulous if I do say so myself.”

  I stood, taking in my appearance in the mirror. I touched my cheeks as I examined the gorgeous shades highlighting my eyes. She was right; neutral was better.

  “Now, I didn’t go crazy, just went with subtle and your signature bright red lips. I still wanted you to look like my Wheorgie.” She winked. “You’re gorgeous, friend. Absolutely stunning.”

  Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you. I love you so much, Cass.”

  “Love you too.” She hugged me back.

  We rocked back and forth a few seconds, until I whispered, “You really dated an optometrist named Wally?”

  “Banged.” She laughed, shoving me away. “There was no dating. His name was Wally, for fuck’s sake.”

  I pointed at her, grinning. “You’re a troll.”

  She was completely unfazed by this. “I’m fully aware. I will not make apologies for my need to judge men by their names.”

  “That is so weird. You know that, right?”

  While some women judge men by their looks or clothes or money, Cass judged them by their names. It was one of her little quirks and it was off-the-wall bizarre, but downright hilarious. I’d seen her in action far too many times, a man asking her out or offering to buy her a drink, and her response always depended on one thing: his name.

  The name was always the make it or break it in Cass’s dating life scenarios.

  “I know, but I can’t help it. I can’t bring myself to date, much less marry, someone named Wally or Toby or Cliff. Just—” She shudders. “Nope, no way. I’ll never do it.”

  “I need to know how staunch you are on this mindset.” My hand went to my hip. “Let’s talk hypotheticals. What if Jude Law asked you to marry him, but his name was actually Morty Law?”

  She grimaced. “Nope. Sorry, Morty. Take your adorable accent somewhere else.”

  “What about Angus Efron?”

  A look of disgust crossed her face. “I don’t care how much cheese he can grate on his abs. Not happening.”

  I stared at her for a few seconds, deciding if I really wanted to do it.

  Cassie eyed me with skepticism. “Don’t you dare.” She pointed in my direction. “Don’t even think about it.”

  I nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across my lips.

  “Georgia,” she warned.

  “What if…” I smiled, tapping my chin. “Eugene Tatum—” she gasped “—was naked, asking you to marry him while grinding against you to ‘Pony’?”

  Channing Tatum was Cass’s guy. He would always be at the top of her list. When Magic Mike had come out, we’d seen the movie not one, but two times on opening night because she was a total hornbag for him.

  “I hate you.” A hand towel was tossed into my face. “I’m going to forget you ever said that,” she grumbled, striding into the hallway.

  Of course, I followed her. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

  “You know? I think Eugene looked hotter in Magic Mike XXL.”

  “Georgia!” Cassie threw her hands up in the air.

  I leaned against the doorway as she rummaged through her closet. “What? I really think his stripteases were way sexier. Eugene can bring it. That’s for damn sure.”

  “I will not let you ruin Tatum for me.”

  “I’d never—” I raised both hands in the air “—ruin the appeal of Eugene Fillmore Tatum.”

  “Oh my gawd!” She placed her hands tightly over her ears, la-la-la-ing to tune me out.

  I laughed the entire way to my bedroom.

  Standing in front of my closet, I was wavering between about fifty different options. I wanted to look cute—no, I wanted to look sexy. I wanted Kline to be eating…out of the palm of my hand. I swear that was where I was headed with that.

  I needed a guy’s opinion.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:30PM): Psst…Ruck…Come in, Ruck.

  BAD_Ruck (5:32PM): Need something, Rose?

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:33PM): Little black dress (open back) and red heels OR black leather pants and lace top?

  BAD_Ruck (5:34PM): Neither. Clothes aren’t needed in bed. Anyway, lace isn’t really my style.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:34PM): This isn’t the bed game. I need a guy’s opinion on outfit choices.

  BAD_Ruck (5:36PM): You meeting your Some Kind of Wonderful tonight?

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:37PM): You bet ya.

  BAD_Ruck (5:37PM): You’re really into this guy.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:38PM): Are you asking or telling?

  BAD_Ruck (5:39PM): Both.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:41PM): For your information, Mr. Nosy, yes, I’m really into this guy. I’m meeting him for drinks later. And I want a guy’s opinion on women’s attire for date nights.

  BAD_Ruck (5:42PM): Which shows the least amount of skin?

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:43PM): Leather and lace.

  BAD_Ruck (5:44PM): That’s the one.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:45PM): Really?

  BAD_Ruck (5:47PM): Less is more when it comes to showing skin. There are certain parts of you he wants to be the only one to see.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:48PM): I said the dress had an “open back” not open crotch.

  BAD_Ruck (5:51PM): Just trust me, Rose. This is sound advice. I promise.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:52PM): Okay, okay. Leather and lace it is. Big plans tonight?

  BAD_Ruck (5:53PM): Maybe…

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:54PM): Your own version of Some Kind of Wonderful?

  BAD_Ruck (5:55PM): Something like that. Be good tonight, Rose.

  TAPRoseNEXT (5:56PM): You too, Ruck.

  A part of me felt bad for still messaging Ruck, but we’d fallen into this odd sort of friendship, mostly chatting about one another’s dating lives. We never attempted to take things to another level, never tried to meet in person. It had become a sort of unspoken rule since we were both involved with someone else.

  I tossed my phone on the bed and grabbed my favorite leather pants and lace blouse. It was black with three-quarter-length sleeves, and the top revealed just enough skin to show off a bit of cleavage.

  The only other things I needed were the Dolce & Gabbana leather booties I’d found a week and a half ago in SoHo. They had been a secondhand purchase, and a splurge at that, but I loved them.

  “Georgia?” Cassie called from the hall.

  “Yeah?”

  “What time are we meeting Kline?”

  “Not until eight-ish. I figured we could have a little girl time beforehand.”

  “Harry Potter shots at Barcelona?”

  “I’m in.” The bar in question specialized in shots. One in particular came with fire and was famously known as the Harry Potter.

  If you’ve never been to Barcelona Bar, add it to your bucket list. It’s not the bar you hang out in all night, but it’s definitely the place you stop by to get your night started off right.

  My screen flashed with a text message notification.

  Kline: 8pm at The Raines Law Ro
om?

  Holy hell. It was one of those bars that had a secret door, and if you don’t know somebody, no way you’re getting in. It was a very unlike Kline place to go.

  Me: Uh…pretty sure I don’t have VIP access there.

  Kline: Well, don’t worry, because I do.

  Me: Kline flaunting his money around? Are you feeling okay?

  Kline: Not flaunting. Just using it to our advantage. Anyway, Will was pretty persistent since he’s never been.

  I should’ve known my brother was behind it. If Will had Kline’s money, he wouldn’t have any damn money left. Good thing Will would earn a nice salary as a physician and be too busy taking care of patients to spend it all. Where I was more frugal like our father, he was impulsive like our mother—a true American consumer who could easily be talked into buying a new car or plasma screen TV on a whim.

  And I mean all of this in the most loving way.

  Me: Okay. Count me in. Cass will be with me.

  Kline: Perfect. Meet me there at 8. I’ll leave your names at the door.

  Me: Okay, I’ll let Will know.

  Kline: No need. He’s with me now.

  Me: WHAT? Are you having a bromance with my brother?

  Kline and Will had finally met over lunch last week in Gramercy Park. It had taken about one minute of introductions and they were quickly bonding over rugby, scotch, and awkward stories about yours truly. By the end of the meal, they had exchanged numbers and my brother had enthusiastically agreed to guest play for Kline’s rugby team the following weekend.

  Kline: I had to find one somewhere. Walter certainly isn’t filling the position.

  I smiled at his ongoing battle with his cat. Every day I witnessed or heard about something else.

  Me: What are you accusing my best friend of now?

  Kline: I’m not accusing him of anything. I recount the facts. I went to all the trouble of fixing him a fresh bowl of milk, in the dish he likes, mind you, and the grumpy bastard took one drink and spit it out in front of me.

  Me: That’s probably because you should really be giving him water, not milk. He’s probably dehydrated.

  Kline: You always take his side.

  Another message came before I could send a sarcastic response.

  Kline: Are you standing around in your bedroom naked?

  Me: Don’t try to change the subject.

  Kline: I’m not. I’m merely moving on to more important subjects.

  I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror on my armoire, fully dressed and about five minutes away from being ready to walk out the door.

  Me: Yes, dirty boy. I am very naked.

  Kline: Liar.

  Me: I’ll never tell.

  Kline: I’ll tell you one thing, I’m going to take your panties off with my teeth tonight. I promise you that.

  Well, shit. That had me wishing the night out was just a night in…in Kline’s bed, to be specific.

  Kline: We’re still going out, Benny. Finish getting ready. We’ll revisit this conversation later.

  Did he suddenly become a mind reader?

  Me: In your bed, later?

  Kline: My bed. My couch. The floor. Against the wall. Shower. When it comes to my version of later, the sky’s the limit.

  Me: See you at 8. I’ll be the girl with red lips and sexy heels.

  Kline: Tease.

  Me: You know it, baby ;)

  “Okay, you’ve got about thirty minutes to get ready. We’re supposed to meet Kline and Will at eight. That leaves us with about an hour to grab a drink at Barcelona,” I shouted from my room as I sat on the edge of the bed, slipping on my new shoes.

  “Wait…Will is going to be there?” Her amused voice echoed down the hall.

  Internally, I groaned, knowing full well where this was headed. “Yes, my brother will be there.”

  “I’m definitely going with the dress, then! And sky-high stilettos!”

  “I hope you break an ankle!”

  “Me too! That way Will and I can play doctor and naughty patient!”

  “You are not banging my brother, Cass! He is off-limits!”

  “When you say bang…what exactly do you mean?”

  “No touching my brother!”

  This was an ongoing joke between us. Cassie loved telling me how hot my older brother was. She adored him, and he mostly treated her like his little sister, but every once in a while, she could get him to play along and tease me about the two of them hooking up.

  The mere idea of them together had me cringing. They’d be like oil and water. Both were far too opinionated and outspoken. If they got together, my life would implode from their bickering.

  Grabbing my silver-studded clutch, I walked out into the kitchen and got my purse in order. Phone, wallet, lipstick, and keys—that’s all I’d need for the night. When it came to New York, you learned quickly that the less crap you had to carry around, the better.

  Cass came strutting out a few minutes later, legs on full display beneath a form-fitting gray dress and black stilettos. She did a little twirl, grinning at me. “How do I look?”

  “Tell me you have underwear on underneath that.”

  “Of course I do.” She feigned offense. “I have a thong on, Georgie.”

  “Go back in there—” I pointed toward the hall “—and put on another pair. Something that covers your entire ass. When you’re around my brother and dressed like that, you’d best be double bagging that shit.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m serious!”

  “I know you are. I’m serious too. I’m real serious about getting Will naked. I guarantee his body is—”

  “All right, that’s enough.” I held up my hand. “You made your point. Are we even?”

  She nodded, visibly proud of herself for one-upping me. “Yes, I will forget about the Tatum incident.”

  “Good.” I grabbed my clutch and headed for the door. “Eugene would be proud of you.”

  She groaned behind me. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Let’s go get drinks!” I shouted, fist pumping my clutch in the air.

  * * *

  Cass and I caught the train and made it to Barcelona in record time. We hung out for an hour, chatting and laughing and dancing for a few songs to the house band. We were one flaming Harry Potter shot and a beer deep by the time we left to meet the guys.

  * * *

  The Raines Law Room was located in Chelsea, fairly close to my apartment. I had a feeling Kline had had that fact in mind when he’d given in to Will’s demands, always trying to make things easy and convenient for me. I’d heard all kinds of cool things about the speakeasy bar, but it was my first time making an appearance.

  Hesitantly, I rang the doorbell outside of the discreetly marked door.

  “I feel like we’re going into a top secret sex club,” Cass whispered even though no one was around us. “Shit, now my hopes are up. I’m going to be so disappointed if we’re at the right place.”

  I gaped at her. “Of all the places your mind could go, you’re sticking with sex club?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never been to one.”

  “I’m pretty sure most people have never been to one.”

  “Guess we need to add it to our bucket list, Georgie.”

  “No,” I responded through a quiet laugh. “That’s not going on my bucket list.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  The door was opened and an attractive guy dressed in a vest and tie answered.

  I gave him Kline’s name and, just like that, access granted.

  In an instant, we were surrounded by silky music, velvety curtains, plush sofas, and dimmed lights. I felt like I had been transported back into the 1920s. Any second a girl in a flapper dress with a glass of gin was going to stroll past me.

  Will had already spotted us, walking toward the entrance.

  “Well, hello, Cassie Phillips,” he greeted, a devilish grin on his face. He picked her up in a bear hug. The second her fee
t were off the ground, she squealed.

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m hating both of you right now,” I teased, feigning annoyance.

  He set Cass down and pulled me in for a tight squeeze. “Aw, don’t get mad, Gigi. You know I love you the most.”

  “Why aren’t you with Kline?” I asked, scanning the room.

  “I had to make a pit stop in the bathroom. He’s at the bar with one of his buddies.”

  “Buddies?”

  Will nodded. “Have you met Thatch?”

  I shook my head, more than ready to meet the notorious Thatch. I’d heard enough stories to understand he was an infamous jokester and a ton of fun to hang out with, but Kline and I had yet to get around to hanging out with him.

  “Well, follow me, ladies.” Will gestured toward the bar. “Your boyfriend’s been wondering where you were. I told him you guys probably stopped for shots and dancing at Barcelona before heading this way.”

  “That sounds like nothing we would do,” Cass disagreed, hiding her smile.

  “Uh-huh,” Will said, grinning. “I’m sure you didn’t get Harry Potter shots and request the house band to play Britney Spears either.”

  I shook my head, biting my cheek. “Nope. Definitely didn’t do that.”

  We totally did.

  It had taken a round of beers for the band to play Cass’s request, “I’m A Slave 4 U,” but they’d done it, and we’d danced like fools. It was an ongoing inside joke when we went out together. If we were going to request songs, it had to be a cheesy pop song. We loved seeing the reactions of the patrons in the establishment when our ridiculous request started to play—annoyed, groaning, cursing our names—but like clockwork, by the end of the song, everyone would be singing and dancing along with us.