Part 1 (2/2)
”Every year we clear out our designer inventory to make room for the Aloha collection. White's the official color of the Open, so everyone-players, guests, resort personnel”-Ash pinched her white Lacoste shorts-”wears it. It's big fun! I'll stick this in the dressing area for you and pull a few of our top sellers.” She tilted her head and gave Dylan the once-over. ”Size six, right?”
Dylan rolled her eyes in a how-dare-you sort of way. ”Actually, it's a four.”
Ash lifted her thick, doubting eyebrows. ”Try this.” She yanked a tiny pleated mini off the rack.
”Don't bother.” Dylan waved away the skirt. ”I'll pull my own things. I have very specific taste.”
”Oh yeah?” Ash popped her collar. ”How would you describe this specific specific taste of yours?” she challenged. taste of yours?” she challenged.
Good.”
Ash gasp-turned to smile-greet a dangerously tanned man in madras golf slacks.
The instant she was alone, Dylan hung the size-four skirt back on the silver rack and grabbed the six.
In the back, outside the dressing room, Merri-Lee was signing an autograph for a fiftysomething blonde who clearly did not have a best friend. If she did, this friend would have held a mirror up to the woman's wrinkled legs and stopped her from going out in nothing but a black one-piece and three-inch slides.
”I just luuuv your mother,” the lady gushed in a husky voice. ”Or is she your sister?”
She cracked up, the loose skin on her turkey neck shaking in time with her implants.
Merri-Lee joined in until the two were cackling like reunited sorority sisters. It didn't matter how many times some desperate fan busted out the old ”Are you two sisters?” joke--Merri-Lee always lapped it up. Meanwhile, it left Dylan wondering if she looked like a forty-two-year-old woman.
Surrounded by white sportswear and mom jokes, Dylan wished she'd accepted Ma.s.sie's invite to spend the summer in Southampton. What had made her think she would have any fun hanging out with her mother and a bunch of geriatric Daily Grind Daily Grind fans? Yes, they were in paradise. But paradise was only paradise if there was someone special to share it with. fans? Yes, they were in paradise. But paradise was only paradise if there was someone special to share it with.
Rolling her eyes, Dylan closed her dressing room door, tossed the white pleated skirt on the cold marble floor, and searched for her comfy terry cloth cover-up. But it had been replaced with a rack of blindingly white tennis outfits, tight racer-back tanks, and a row of Nike sneakers.
”Mom, I don't do do white on white,” Dylan whisper-yelled through the dressing room door. white on white,” Dylan whisper-yelled through the dressing room door.
”Excuse me for a moment, Helen,” Merri-Lee said to her stalker. ”Dyl Pickles,” she called, ”everyone here wears tennis whites-it's tradition.”
Dylan smacked the hanging clothes. ”But I'm allergic to . . . athletic athletic.”
”Don't be ridiculous. Besides, I thought one of your summer goals was to drop four pounds.”
Dylan's cheeks burned. Did the Polynesians need to know this?
”Try the Svetlana for Nike outfit,” Merri-Lee insisted. ”It's very forgiving.”
Dylan sighed. It was pointless to argue. The AmEx black card was in her mother's Gucci, not not hers, meaning she'd have to play by the rules. Besides, she planned on spending most of her time on the ma.s.sage table, naked, sandwiched between Frette sheets and smothered in more oil than curly fries. And who knew? Maybe the Pretty Committee would bloat to size sixes and they could all dress up as tennis players next Halloween . . . either that or latte foam. hers, meaning she'd have to play by the rules. Besides, she planned on spending most of her time on the ma.s.sage table, naked, sandwiched between Frette sheets and smothered in more oil than curly fries. And who knew? Maybe the Pretty Committee would bloat to size sixes and they could all dress up as tennis players next Halloween . . . either that or latte foam.
”Come out, Dee Dee. Let's see it.” Her mom's puffy red lips appeared in the crack of the door. ”Svetlana wore one just like it on the cover of Sports Ill.u.s.trated Sports Ill.u.s.trated.” Dylan could hear Merri-Lee's thumbnails punch-tapping the keys on her BlackBerry. ”I'm sure you look adorable.”
”Whatevs,” Dylan groaned, not bothering to check. She swung open the dressing room door and spun to give her mom the rear view. ”White makes my b.u.t.t look-”
”Hot,” a male voice cut in.
Instinctively, Dylan s.h.i.+elded her barely covered rear and inhaled sharply, preparing to unleash her wrath on the mysterious perv.
And then she saw him him.
According to Us Weekly Us Weekly, Zac Efron was on a movie set filming yet another musical remake. But she was tempted to pluck one of this hawttie's honey-colored highlights for DNA testing, just to be sure.
”The fabric wicks sweat away before it even leaves your pores. See?” He hooked the elastic band of his own tennis whites, revealing a sliver of tanned, toned, rock-hard boy-belly.
Merri-Lee rested her perfectly manicured fingers on his shoulder. ”Dylly, this is John Thomas Daley. His father owns this place.”
”The store?” Dylan teased.
”The resort,” Merri-Lee beamed.
”And the one next door,” John added. He stuck out his hand to shake Dylan's.
”You can call me J.T. My dad goes by John.”
”Is he as cute as you are?” Merri-Lee purred.
J.T. glanced down at his tanned knees and grinned.
Dylan rolled her eyes, silently apologizing to the HART (Hot Alpha Rich and Toned) for her embarra.s.sing-times-ten mother.
The second Dylan gripped his warm boy-hand, she abandoned her whole only-crush-on-boys-who-are-going-to-crush-back summer goal. She was fully prepared to obsess over him.
”Aloha,” she giggled shyly, hating herself for not pre-glossing.
”So”-J.T. turned to Merri-Lee-”is it true you're here to interview Svetlana Slootskyia?”
Gawd! Is a stint in rehab the only way to get noticed these days?
”Wow!” He blushed with awe as Merri-Lee nodded. ”I mean, good luck with that. I heard she can be tough.”
”I can handle it.” Merri-Lee flexed her bicep.
Dylan turned away and clenched her fists.
”Did you know that aloha aloha means 'h.e.l.lo' means 'h.e.l.lo' and and 'goodbye'?” J.T. swiped his long, b.u.t.terscotch-colored bangs to the side of his forehead. 'goodbye'?” J.T. swiped his long, b.u.t.terscotch-colored bangs to the side of his forehead.
”Dyyyylly.” Merri-Lee nudged her daughter. ”J.T. is talking to you.”
”Huh?” Dylan asked, excusing herself from her I'm-invisible pity party.
”Did you know that aloha means 'h.e.l.lo' and and 'goodbye'?” he asked again. 'goodbye'?” he asked again.
<script>