Page 15 of Sweet Surrender
“Orange team wins!” Vivian called, doing her signature fist pump in the air.
Allie fell to her knees, her chest heaving, hair dripping with sweat and seawater.
They had won!
ALLIE’S MOUTH WATEREDto the point where she forgot all about the soft luxuries Vivian had mentioned before the challenge. Who needed a pillow when you could stuff your mouth with sizzling empanadas filled with cheese and black beans? Who cared about soft blankets when a platter of maduros was staring sweetly at her? Who gave a damn about fluffy cotton towels when guaro sours sloshed in short, salted glasses with lime wedges floating on top, or corn tortillas lay on a plate oozing with melted queso?
Allie reached for a tortilla and stuffed almost half of it into her mouth. Her taste buds did a backflip. She didn’t even bother with the napkin to lap up the sauce that had dripped onto her thigh. Two days into the game, and she’d gone feral.
“This is so good,” Barra said, eyes closed as she bit into a golden empanada. Sauce dripped down her chin, and Allie nearly wanted to wipe it away with her finger.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she focused on her plate of food and tried to forget all about Barra’s hand on her shoulder earlier. Which wasn’t as easy as she’d like it to be. Barra’s touch lingered like a tattoo. And the fact that she’d helped Allie during the challenge, well, she was still trying to wrap her head around it.
“I can’t believe we won,” Sutton said, piling her plate with grilled corn. “I’m literally shocked. Up until Barra started helping Allie, there were only three of us doing the challenge. I don’t think Allie got any water in the tank for the first three laps.”
Allie felt her ears go hot. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but then Barra spoke first. “That’s not fair,” Barra said. “And maybe you should ease up on the drill-sergeant routine. It’s hard to focus when someone’s shouting in your ear.”
Sutton batted her eyelashes. “I run a billion-dollar luxury ski resort in Breckenridge. If I don’t shout, nothing gets done.”
Allie took a very deliberate sip of her guaro sour. She wasn’t going to say it out loud, but wow, her partner sucked. She glanced up over the rim of her glass and caught Barra’s eye.
Barra’s mouth twitched at one corner. It wasn’t an all-out smile. It was more like she was trying very hard not to laugh. Allie had no idea why, but she felt something loosen inside her. Suddenly, it was just the two of them at the table, suspended in mutual agreement that Sutton was, in fact, a total bitch.
“Well, I probably could’ve lifted a few more weights before the season started,” Allie said, setting her drink down and reaching for a strip of caramelized maduros. She forced the breeziest chuckle she could muster. Getting visibly annoyed, especially after the very real possibility that Sutton had seen her tears during the challenge, would only make her look weaker. And on a game like this, perception mattered as much as fire. “But work’s been busy.”
“You own galleries, right?” Hazel asked around a mouthful of grilled corn she’d smothered in chimichurri sauce. “I think I remember you mentioning that.”
“I do,” Allie said, tearing open an empanada. “Three in LA, but I’m considering expanding. Might even go as far as New York. The art scene there is unmatched.”
“My sister is an artist,” Hazel said. “She lives in Monterey. She actually went to school with Kiara Franklin. You might know her. I think the three of you went to Rhode Island School of Design together.”
Allie frowned. “Who’s your sister?” Could the world be this small?
“Sue Jacobson.”
It appeared that it could. Tiny. As small as a mouse.
“Are you serious?” Allie said, breaking into a wide grin. “I haven’t seen Sue in ages. Years, even.” Then she saw the confusion printed on both Barra’s and Sutton’s faces and felt the need to explain. Frankly, it was the perfect pivot from a previously tense conversation. “We all went to RISD together,” she said. “That must’ve been about fifteen years ago now. We were basically children pretending to be serious artists. Kiara was always dragging us to these obscure performance art pop-ups in Pawtucket. And Sue literally lived off vending machine granola bars.” Then, without thinking, she asked, “Why wasn’t she at Kiara and Dominique’s wedding? I didn’t see her there...” Her sentence trailed off as she realized what she’d done, as she spotted the horror on Barra’s face.
Shit!If Allie admitted to going to Kiara and Dominique’s wedding, then surely everyone would know Barra had been there too. Their paths would’ve crossed, which meant they’d both been less than honest when Sutton asked if anyone knew each other.
Hazel, however, seemed none the wiser. “Our grandmother got sick, and then three of the artworks she was supposed to exhibit in Paris got held up in customs. She was honestly devastated she couldn’t be there, but everything just spiraled.”
“Wait,” Sutton said, a frown forming slowly along her forehead. “Didn’t you go to the wedding as well?” she asked, jabbing a fork in Barra’s direction. “I’m sure I saw a photo of you on Dominique’s Instagram. It was you and Aggie, Kendall and Frankie. You were wearing a lavender dress. I only remember because I thought, what the hell is Barra doing wearing a dress?” She laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
Allie swallowed the remainder of her empanada, though it felt like she’d swallowed a bowling ball. She’d fucked up monumentally and needed to fix it. ASAP.
“Did you?” Allie asked before Barra could respond. “Because I didn’t see you there. But then again, there were over two hundred people, so no wonder.” She brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear and hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed. Allie knew well enough that lies were best told simply. But there was nothing simple about this. “Honestly, I probably did bump into you, but didn’t recognize you. Ha.” She added an unnecessary chuckle because she couldn’t help herself. “Were you seriously wearing a lavender dre—”
“I was there,” Barra interrupted coolly. “But I didn’t stay long.”
This wasn’t technically untrue. By the time the cab had rolled through the venue gates, the only ones left on the dance floor were a few stragglers.
Sutton tilted her head. “Why not?” she asked, spearing a piece of grilled pineapple.
Barra shrugged, maddeningly calm. “I had an early flight out the next morning.” She bit cleanly into a strip of maduro, as if the conversation were boring. Allie, on the other hand, was dying inside. “I had to be back at work Monday. We were about to break ground on a large-scale mixed-use community hub in Brooklyn.”
