“No, seriously it will be great,” Aspen carries on like she didn’t even hear my refusal. “In Arizona.”
Yeah. No way I’m going to a spa in Arizona. “Have you seen my red hair and pasty skin tone?”
Aspen scoffs not giving my concern any time of day. “They have big umbrellas.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Less than seven days later and I eat my previous words. The Serenity Spa at Arizona’s Camelback Mountain is pretty awesome.
“It’s so hot, but like… not hot,” Marissa whines and flips over in her lounge chair.
She’s not exaggerating. Arizona is hot at the end of June. Even under the large canopy that provides us with shade, the temperature is scorching. My skin feels ready to melt away from my bones like in the ending of that Indiana Jones movie, but I’m not sweating.
Still it’s Arizona and I’m at a spa. Heat blisters are a small price to pay. I wouldn’t be here at all if Aspen hadn’t hounded me this week. The cost of airline tickets to Arizona wasn’t horrible, but more than I could spend. Aspen offered to pay for my ticket, but I’m not one to accept help for a spa weekend. I’m not sure I’d accept help for much of anything.
They were unable to talk me into it until Ryland, decided his wife couldn’t fly coach and rented out an entire private plane. There was back-and-forth between them about how much luggage you’re supposed to bring on a private plane, but after they settled that argument, I let her pressure me. She won me over because the seat was covered regardless of how many people they flew to Arizona.
Plus, come on, it’s a private plane. Judge me if you must, but this trip is my only chance to ride in one. It was smaller than a regular plane but bigger than the little two seaters you always hear about crashing. Although, much to my disappointment it didn’t look like the tricked out one from Austin Powers. There wasn’t even a bed.
The death-defying ride was totally worth it because now, in the not so far distance, our backdrop is the Arizona Camelback Mountain. It’s not huge, but definitely something pretty in the view. I didn’t know Arizona had a mountain. This may reflect my less than stellar grades in geography.
With Amanda missing from our small group — off getting a mud bath treatment — we’ve stationed ourselves under the canopy next to the pool. I’ve opted out of any of the expensive spa treatments, but have no problem spending my Saturday resting in the shade. It’s simply relaxing and with everything else going on in my life that’s all I need.
Marissa spritzes herself with a bottle of water and a few droplets land on my leg. I brush them off and lean back in the chair with my eyes closed. The heat gently sways me into sleepy bliss.
“I think Finn and I are getting married.”
For a brief moment silence rules and then a small frenzy happens. My eyes fly open and I sit up at the same time as Simone and Marissa. The three of us lean over in our seats while Aspen continues lounging like she didn’t drop a bombshell seconds ago.
“What?” Simone puts her feet on the ground about to jump up and shake her. “Did he ask you?”
“Where’s the ring?” Marissa’s eyes track her best friend, searching her entire body because maybe she thinks Aspen is hiding it from us.
Aspen’s skin turns a light shade of pink not from the Arizona heat. “No ring. He hasn’t asked, but we talked about him asking.”
“You talked about it? You two are so weird,” Marissa says, forgetting we know the details of how her husband proposed… naked. She might have forgotten telling us, but I will for sure never forget hearing the story. “Besides I thought you wanted the whole day. Wear the white dress, release a few doves, smash cake on one another kind of wedding?”
Aspen sighs. “I thought I wanted one of the big weddings, but I have no family besides Ben and you guys. Finn’s an only child. After your Vegas wedding, eloping sounds like a reasonable option.”
“Is that so, Miss I’ll never get to wear a bridesmaid’s dress?” Marissa pops a single eyebrow up in Aspen’s direction.
“Don’t cock your eyebrow at me.” Aspen sticks her hand in her glass of water and flicks some on Marissa. “Plus if we do a big wedding we’ll be expected to invite all of Finn’s investors. They’ll want caviar or disgusting shit like that. The whole affair will become a circus. It’s tiring thinking about thinking about it.”
Marissa picks up her magazine and flips the page, back to her relaxed lounging position. “Yeah and you planning a big wedding would be worse than setting Godzilla on the wedding industry.”
Uh-oh.
“What’s that mean?” Aspen asks.
Marissa lowers her magazine and gives her a pointed look. “We love you, sweetie, but sometimes you’re a bit… um… dramatic.”
Aspen’s mouth falls open in disbelief. “I am not.”
Marissa flips another magazine page. “Aspen,” she says exasperated, “you found out your boyfriend was a bazillionaire and dumped him for it.”
This is a story I’ve definitely never heard. Who would dump a guy for being rich?
Oh.
Wait.
Me… maybe. But there were circumstances.
“You dumped Finn when you found out he had money?” I ask.
“You don’t understand.” Aspen throws her hand out in my direction. “There were circumstances.”
Crap.
Marissa lays down her magazine. The pages crumple against her bare legs. “Uh-huh. Is that what you tell yourself?”
“It was an emotional time.”
Marissa rolls her eyes and picks the magazine back up. “Uh-huh.” She flips another page obviously not looking at any of the content. “Finn handles you well.”
Aspen sputters, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Handles me? What about you? Ryland told me you threw a shoe at him last week.”
Simone gasps and covers her mouth. “A shoe! Marissa, we don’t treat our shoes that way. Have some respect.”
“It was one of his running shoes.” Marissa flips another magazine page.
My head volleys back and forth during the seamless exchange. Every time I decide I’ve gotten the hang of this group they have one of these sessions and I’m left reeling. It’s so… sisterly and unsettling.
Simone settles back in her chair and blows out a breath of relief. “Oh. Okay then.”
“And that shoe helped keep him in line. Those damn rules of his. He’s at thirty-six now. No wearing pants after six,” she mocks. “It was justified.”
“Clare Cunningham,” a voice rings out from the patio and I raise my head to see an employee from the spa dressed in one of their black smocks. When she sees my head pop up like a gopher, she walks in my direction. “Your appointment is next.”
“There must be a mistake. I didn’t sign up for a treatment.”
Aspen clears her throat next to me. “I booked you a body treatment.”
“You did? Which one?” I looked over the website Aspen sent earlier this week and there wasn’t a single option I’d consider affordable. Of course, under normal circumstances I couldn’t afford to sit next to the spa. “I can’t afford anything right now.” I hate making myself sound poor, but it’s better than having a huge bill later. If I can’t pony up the extra on next month’s rent, Drew will have a coronary.
“Nonsense,” Aspen says. “It’s on Finn and me.”
I don’t know what to say. Another cost may be no big deal to Aspen, but it’s an expensive gift. And Aspen will never understand how much it means to me. I open my mouth to give her a sincere thank you when Marissa beats me to it.
“Have you noticed how you and Finn now talk like one another? If you get married, you think you’ll morph into one single person.”
Aspen doesn’t comment, choosing instead to stare at her best friend with “a what the hell” expression the two of them share often. The spa employee flips her clipboard and I take it as my cue to leave rather than listen to Aspen and Marissa get into another disagreement.
She weaves us across
the patio and into the back area where spa treatments are done. Pausing in the opening into what resembles your standard high school locker room, she hands me a small key with a round metal pendant hanging from it.
“You’re locker number thirty-nine. You’ll find a pair of small shorts inside and a tank top. Please get naked except for those and I’ll meet you behind door three.”
I hurry to follow her directions, still as uncomfortable about getting naked in the locker room as I was in high school. Once finished I wait outside the open solid wood door labeled number three. The room is sparsely lit and filled with the smell of lavender and sounds of a quiet chanting melody.
“Hop up on the table and we’ll get started,” she says turning up the music.
I hesitate for a second but ultimately climb up and lie back in a comfy position. She starts by rubbing a conditioner over my hair and scalp while explaining the clay treatment package Aspen signed me up for. Apparently rubbing dirt and clay over my body will relax my muscles and draw impurities from my skin. I’m not sold on the idea, but since we haven’t made it to that part yet and I’m already super relaxed I’m not concerned. Bring on the calming mud.
The first lather of warm hits my leg and causes me to tense but as she massages it in I fall more and more relaxed. Aspen really is an amazing friend. Not only because she’s paying for me to have mud smeared on my body, but because they put up with me. Drew has mentioned on more than one occasion I’m not the easiest person to befriend and he’s right. Between my general mistrust of people and my desire to spend Friday nights at home in front of the TV, I don’t have a large circle of friends.
In fact I’ve never had this many friends.
But I’ve finally come to the conclusion that’s what the RDA girls are.
Friends.
Really good friends. Who don’t care I dumped Grant or I have no money. They like me for me. It’s odd. But in a good way. Something I wouldn’t have believed possible a year ago.
With every exposed inch of me covered in reddish-brown clay, my technician covers my face with a warm washcloth and promises she’ll be back after twenty minutes of more relaxation. If Simone hadn’t talked me into that espresso this morning, I’d fall asleep right here.
She turns up the rhythmic chanting soundtrack another few notches and dims the lights before leaving the room, the door clicking behind her.
For reasons unknown, in the darkness I conjure up an image of Grant’s face. It brings a quick moment of pain, but it doesn’t last as long as similar thoughts did last week. Perhaps it’s possible there will come a time when I’ll think of Grant and not imagine me kicking him in the shins.
I’m definitely not ready to spend significant time with him, but I envision a future where we can be in the same room. Especially if he comes along as a part of his friend group. Finding a set of four girls who aren’t petty, jealous, and back stabbers is worth putting up with a bit of Grant.
The door creaks open and the technician is back before I realize twenty minutes has passed. It took me longer than it should to work through those emotions and accept four people in my life as friends. Is Drew right and I need to loosen up a bit?
The tech breaks into my solitude and explains the cactus fiber cloth she’ll use to remove the clay before spraying me. It sounds painful with the cactus and all, but it’s surprisingly pleasant as she rakes the cloth over my legs removing the excess dried clay. I close my eyes and find my center of relaxation.
Immediately my thoughts return to Grant. I’m not sure if having to see him again will even be a problem. He called three times, but never left a voicemail. The last call came on Wednesday. Grant hasn’t visited the center, and Drew promised me he hasn’t had to turn him away from the house. He’s gone radio silent and given up trying to apologize or win me back.
Is it possible he’s already found my replacement? It should make me happy not having to worry about him showing up randomly, but I’m disappointed. We were never getting back together, but I thought I’d be worth more effort.
The first lather of warm water spreads up my legs as she rinses off the small traces of remaining clay, the water a jolt out of my thoughts. By the time she’s given me directions to visit the sauna to complete my treatment, I’ve formed a new outlook on life based off my earlier musings.
Screw Grant Moore III. Figuratively not literally. I’m becoming an RDA girl and I won’t let him ruin these friendships.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I slide my key in the lock and open the door a crack before turning around and waving to Aspen as she hangs half out of the black SUV that picked us up from the airport.
“See you on Sunday!” she yells before Jake, the driver, honks the horn twice and drives away.
Now that we’ve bonded over a weekend in Arizona, I’ll never be able to get out of a girls’ brunch again. But for the first time in… forever I’m excited about having a close group of girlfriends. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even get used to hanging out with rich people.
My skin would definitely appreciate it. I roll up the sleeves of my sweater and stare at my arm for a few seconds before walking into the house. It tingles and feels so… clean. And smooth. It’s the weirdest sensation ever.
Mid skin admiration my body bends and the floor reaches out for me. I stick an arm out to catch my fall as the box I tripped over bashes me in the shin.
“Mother…” I grab a dining room chair and successfully stop myself from face-planting in the carpet. “What the hell?”
I rub my injured leg and keep my death grip on the chair so as not to lose my balance. In the space that used to be an empty entryway is now a trip hazard. In the two days I’ve been gone an entire forest of brown boxes has collected. Boxes line one wall, stacked two or three high. Another three scattered on the floor in random positions. A short rectangular one causes my trip on the walk in.
“Hey, you’re home.” Drew walks out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a dish towel and acts like it’s a random Sunday night. Not one where I almost tripped and fell to my doom.
“What’s up with the boxes?” I ask when he doesn’t start explaining.
He tosses the dish towel over his shoulder and looks directly at the boxes in question. “Oh those. Yeah be careful so you don’t trip.”
“Really, Drew?” He’s a horrible liar. This whole “it’s no big deal” act isn’t working on me.
“They were dropped off a few minutes ago. Don’t worry. We’ll pick them up soon.”
“Who dropped them off? Who will pick them up? Where are they going?” I drop the duffel bag I packed for the weekend on the floor. “What the hell is going on?”
“Well…” He turns and walks back into the kitchen.
Of course I follow him. My previous relaxation melts away with each step. Why is it that every time I get annoyed it involves a man? The edge of my flip-flop barely crosses onto the linoleum in the kitchen when I realize there’s a better way to get answers. I turn on a heel and return to the random boxes in the entryway.
The small rectangular box I tripped over isn’t taped down, the top closed by the four flaps folded over one another. I pry them open and rummage through the contents. Inside is an odd assortment of black cords and various controllers and video game systems. A few game cases are stacked up on one side, a green X on the spines.
“What are you doing?” Drew sprints to the box and fumbles to get the top down almost sitting on it in his rush.
Aware of at least five more boxes, I walk to the next one. But before I reach out to open it Drew blocks the way. “This is private property. It belongs to our new roommate.”
My eyes narrow in his direction. “New roommate?” I lean in close and whisper, “Tell me you did not let Jesse move in here.” My crazy-eyed look should be enough to scare him into telling me the truth.
He shakes his head. “I definitely did not let Jesse move in while you were gone.”
“Are you lying to me?” He’s such a hor
rible liar sometimes I can’t tell if he’s lying, being sarcastic, or telling the truth.
“No.”
“I swear to you, Drew, if you let that weirdo move in you are in serious trouble. I will make you rue the day.”
“Oh I’m gonna rue the day.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes like he’s not at all concerned about the pain I will dish out. “I swear it’s not Jesse. Don’t worry. You’ll never see this person.”
That’s even more alarming. I side step him and tear open another box before he reaches me. This one is full of clothing. There’s a stack of jeans, a few nicely folded colorful polo shirts, and one black Stanford sweatshirt laying right on top. There is only one person who lives on the West Coast of America and would keep this assortment of clothes in their wardrobe.
I latch on to the sweatshirt and pull it out of the box, turning it and my body toward Drew. “You let Grant in our house?”
“Clare…”
The sweatshirt sails in the air as I throw it at Drew’s head. “You promised.”
“I didn’t have any other choice.”
“There is always a choice before you betray a friend. A best friend!”
“Clare, we are out of choices. I don’t have the money to cover extra rent.” Drew sighs.
I don’t sit and listen to any more of his excuses. The stairs rattle as I run up them. This poor old house hasn’t seen this much action in the last hundred years. On the second floor without hesitation I walk across the open space and throw open the door to the third bedroom.
The room is basically as empty as it was before I left on Friday. A small desk under the large window and a twin size bed the rental came with are in the same spots along one wall. There are boxes in a corner stacked on top of one another. Already a few suits hang in the closet.
Grant isn’t in the room unpacking as I expected, but there’s a lump on the bed under the covers. In two steps I clear the space and rip the covers back. Grant sits up, his eyes blinking in confusion. I stand by the bed my heart thumping, my hands on my hips and wait for him to stick up for himself.
Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4) Page 14
