“Okay, don’t look now, but this guy has the juiciest ass in the world,” Charity says a little too loudly to me, which makes Jeremy’s eyes widen. She gives a bashful, “Whoops, sorry. Yours is super cute too.”
Sebastian leans over and whispers into my ear, “I don’t know if she knows this, but a man never wants the word cute attached to any part of his anatomy.”
I giggle and then turn to Jeremy. “Do you go to a lot of concerts?”
“No, actually. I’m more of a sports guy. I have season tickets for the Eagles, Phillies, and the Flyers,” he states and then lifts a finger. “Oh God, and the 76ers, of course. I must have lost my mind for a second.”
“Must be all those sporting events you go to,” Charity says in a cutesy, sarcastic way.
“Come on. It’s not so bad. The games are filled with energy, the tailgating is a blast, and it’s a great way to mix business with pleasure.”
Charity nods. “Fair enough. And there are super-cute outfits to wear for every game. I’d get decked out from head to toe. Rhinestones and glitter everywhere.”
“I have red face paint. I can give you a full face for the Phillies games,” he says.
“That’s funny.” She blows him off.
“No. I’m totally serious. Half-white, half-red, and I even write on my body when my friends and I are together. We’ve been on camera a ton of times.”
She looks at him with a side-eye. “Oh. Cool. Sounds like fun.”
Jeremy’s phone rings, so he steps away from us to answer. Sebastian offers to get us more drinks at a nearby tent and then kisses my temple before leaving.
“Jeremy is pretty great,” I say, gauging her interest.
“Yeah,” she says, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself. “He’s certainly a lot of fun. He’s been game for every band, no matter the music, and he’s going with the flow of the day.”
“Absolutely. And he’s really hot.”
“Yeah. So cute.”
“So sorry for that,” Jeremy says when he returns with his phone still in his hand. It rings again, so he holds it to his ear to answer. “Oh, wait. I have to take this too. Hang on. Hello? Is that so? Tell me more.”
He walks away again.
Sebastian returns with drinks for us, careful not to spill beer out of the top of the plastic cups. “This festival is awesome.”
“Are you having a good birthday, babe?”
“The best. I never would have done this. For some reason, I thought it was more for young twenty-somethings,” he states before taking a sip.
I swallow my own drink. “That’s what’s great about it. There are bands that span every genre, so you get a mix of all age groups.”
Jeremy returns again and takes his drink from Sebastian. “Thanks, man.”
“The only time I’ve been to a concert like this was in Miami. Jennifer Lopez put on a show on South Beach for a client of mine, and it was the best.” Sebastian smiles.
“We saw U2 in Central Park a few years ago. It was amazing,” Charity gushes, and I high-five her at the memory of our girls’ weekend.
“Okay, I don’t want to sound snobbish, but if you haven’t been to see Andrea Bocelli in Lajatico, Tuscany, you haven’t really lived life. Am I right?” Jeremy says, and I see Charity inwardly cringe.
“So, what are everyone’s plans for the rest of the summer?” I ask.
Charity answers first, “Just work for me. The rooftop at the Garden Room is insane at night. The tips are fantastic, so I’m taking on as many hours as they’ll offer me.”
“I go to the Garden Room all the time. When we have clients from out of town, we take them there for after-dinner drinks. The waitresses are like eye candy, so the … shit. That was really dumb.” Jeremy’s posture rolls back as he realizes his mistake.
“It was,” Charity agrees and takes a huge chug of her drink. But as she always does, she finds a way to level the situation. “We usually draw straws when we see the epic douchey professional guys come in with their clients. You never know if you’re gonna get sexually harassed or tipped an extra hundred because they think they’re going home with you at the end of the night—which, by the way, I never, ever do.”
Jeremy gives her a cheers. “To epic douche bags who should keep their mouths shut.”
“Cheers to you!” she chimes, and they end up launching into a conversation about the band that’s up on the stage.
Sebastian snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. His chin rests on my shoulder as he drawls into my ear, “That could have been a disaster.”
“Looks like it won’t be a match made in heaven.”
“You never know. The night’s still young.”
“I don’t know. It seems to be getting older by the minute.”
My comment gets me a tickle on my side, and then he takes my hand and leads me away to a row of carnival games. He takes a selfie of us with the stage in the background and the massive crowd gathered behind us. There’s a football toss game, sponsored by the local sports radio station. Sebastian hands me the ball, and I give it a toss, missing the bull’s-eye, pathetically. It’s a one toss per person game, but instead of taking his turn, he offers it up to me. This time, he gives me pointers on what to do.
“It’s all about the fingers. Middle on the top laces, ring finger on the second and third. Pinkie on the back.” Sebastian adjusts my hand and then wraps my thumb around the ball, whispering in my ear, “Raise it ear-level. Laces away. And throw.”
I do. I miss again but not as bad as the first time. As a reward, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
There are a few rides at the back of the festival. Since it’s his day, I let him pick the ride.
“That one.” He points to a chair swing ride.
Where most seem to be a couple dozen feet off the ground, this is about a hundred and fifty feet high, and it bobs up and down as you ride. My stomach drops just as I look at it.
We stand in line and talk about the music that’s playing, the great weather, and how crowded the place is getting as the day goes on. Before I know it, it’s our turn, and Sebastian and I are taking side-by-side seats.
I double-check the lock on my seat belt, making sure I’m firmly secure … and then I check again. Sebastian doesn’t seem to be concerned at all. He has a cool confidence about him. A man who’s untouchable.
We start to move, and the wind on my skin feels refreshing. The ride lifts, and I grip the chain of the handles. As we rise, the people below get smaller, and my heart feels like it’s pounding hard in my chest. The clamminess from my hands makes them slide down the chains, which dig into my skin as I try to grip them. There’s a tension in my back that’s sharp from how tightly I’m holding my shoulders.
The swing is traveling fast, zipping around in circles and rising higher. And then it drops. That pounding heart is now making room for my stomach that has just launched itself up, threatening to make me sick.
A panic rushes over me, and I close my eyes, waiting for the ride to be over quickly. I try to calm myself by thinking of anything else. A pedicure, the stream of gooey chocolate as it’s getting ladled out of a metal bowl, and even sex. Nothing works.