There’s a car behind us, so I speed up again. “If it’s still there on the way back, I’m definitely stopping. Those guys are as persistent as the stalker bunnies.”
“No kidding. That dickhead kept texting Lily all night. Eventually I made her shut off her phone, otherwise I would’ve thrown it out the damn window. Or gone to find the fucker and broken all his cocksucking fingers.”
He flips through radio stations and taps his fingers on his knee.
“So?”
He stops fidgeting to look at me. “So what?”
“That’s all I’m gonna get? You had fun.”
“Don’t forget the several times part.”
“I’m guessing I was wrong about the vagina teeth if you managed to get in there more than once.”
“Vagina teeth?”
“Yeah. I figured she’s kinda snarly, so maybe her vagina is, too.”
Randy shakes his head. “Butterson, sometimes your brain is a fucked up place to be.”
He flips down the visor and checks his reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the short ponytail he’s sporting. He’s joined the man-bun fad. I think he looks like a douche, but the ladies seem to like it.
“She wasn’t snarly with me at all.”
“That’s because you were boning her.”
“Lily’s actually a lotta fun.” His mouth quirks up in a private grin. He flips the visor back up. “She has a cousin who was at Camp Beaver Woods this past week.”
“With us?”
“Yup.”
“No shit.”
“She said he’s been playing hockey since he could hold a stick, but her aunt and uncle have, like, six kids, and they can’t afford all the lessons, or whatever. Don’t tell her I told you, though. I think he might’ve been one of the kids you helped subsidize.”
“Huh.”
“I don’t think she hates you as much as you think.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he checks the message, ending the conversation.
I try to decide if Lily has been different with me since we arrived yesterday, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with all the Benji BS and Sunny’s poison ivy.
The fundraiser takes place at a cottage on top of a hill. The driveway curves around a rocky bend, making the actual structure impossible to see. Cars snake upward in a slow line—luxury rides interspersed with moderately expensive vehicles. Based on the sheer number of cars, we’ll be sitting here for a while. It’s like a small version of a car show. The rental would’ve sucked compared to Waters’ car.
Randy pulls his phone out and sends a few more messages while we wait, so I do the same, including a warning to Sunny that we saw a camping trailer parked a couple miles down the road from the cottage.
Sunny messages back. They’re hard to decipher without listening to them, but the last one has a heart and a kissy lips emoticon, which is cool.
Randy passes over his phone with our invitation to the suits manning the gates. The dude passes me a clipboard with a bunch of forms to sign. I pass it to Randy to scan, otherwise we’ll hold up the line.
“It’s a bunch of waivers for photos. The usual.” He passes it back to me, I sign, and we move forward.
As soon as we round the bend, the cottage comes into view. It makes Alex’s pad look like a dump, and that’s saying something. Three stories of glass, wood, and stone are built into the side of a steep, rocky incline. The view is spectacular. The top floor is the only one accessible from the driveway. I’d love to appreciate the architecture more, but I suddenly realize I’m in trouble. Cars worth a quarter million dollars and up line the edges of the driveway. Two Ferraris—one red, one yellow, a black Mercedes, and an orange Lambo are among the nicest.