You ever nap and when your eyes finally open you can't decide if it's been 20 minutes or six hours? Hell, maybe a year. You can't tell if you slept through a nap or slept through the night. The sky is the same color, but maybe it's been 24 hours. Maybe there's no sky at all and you're just under fluorescent lights with absolutely zero indication as to what time of day it is.

So that happened.

I roll over, still in my towel. It seems bright enough still, but that's probably because all the lights are on and the walls are white. I feel oddly rested.

"Morning," Brooks says, watching me from the headboard.

"Damn it!" I jump, pulling the towel up closer around my chest. Like it matters. "You scared me."

Brooks just smirks, watching me. I can still feel the pouch of drool under my cheek.

"What?" I ask.

"Just looking," he says quietly.

"Well take a picture," I say, sitting up and sliding off the bed. The TV clock puts a duration to my nap. 23 minutes. Just enough time for the drool to pool. "You shouldn't have let me sleep."

"You looked relaxed," he says, shrugging. "It was only twenty minutes."

"I know, but we need to be ready in like an hour!" I say, snatching my brush and makeup bag from my rolly.

"I know, I know. Bathroom is all yours."

Blow out, makeup, two cups of coffee and 50 minutes: I am ready. I have done it. I have rediscovered the wrap dress. It's back baby –in a delicate lilac shade. Midi to mini, because I want to show some leg but not too much leg. Taupe colored heels. Fuck they tall. Brooks walks over to me and we're basically seeing eye-to-eye.

"You look great," he says, kissing me on the cheek.

"Thanks," I smile. "You look pretty handsome yourself."

Navy. Blue. Suit. Wow.

"Are you ready for this?" I ask, touching his collar.

"To be paraded around like a dutiful son? Be introduced to a ton of people I don't actually care about?" Brooks flattens his hair. "Yup, I'm ready."

"Drama king," I smirk. "It won't be so bad. And I'll sneak you out whenever you want. Just say the word."

I don't even have to lean up to kiss him. Not in these heels. I just lean in until my lips find his. Brooks tenses beneath me and quickly breaks the kiss.

"Not now," he says. His voice sounds strange. "Come on. They're probably waiting for us."

I walk into the hallway. Brody and Lauren are already waiting for us. Brody's wearing a sand-colored suit. Lauren has on a mint green mini dress that is up her ass without looking hoochy. How. Her rockin' bod puts mine to shame, honestly. Her hair falls like waves over her chest and down to her waist. Serious Miami mermaid vibes.

"Wow. You guys," I say, giving the thumbs up. "You make us look our ages."

"I've always been the better looking one." Brody shoves Brooks.

"Come on. We were supposed to be in the lounge 10 minutes ago," Brooks says coolly.

He's turning again.

The lounge is already crowded when we get there. What a blend of guests. Gentlemen with suits and cigars, holding brandies, conversing with young hipster twenty-something's wearing too skinny of pants. Girls with body-con dresses and stiletto heels walking alongside women in floor-length gowns. It seems my semi-formal wrap dress is a happy medium.

Brody takes Lauren by the arm and steers her ahead of us. I shift awkwardly next to Brooks, unsure of how much is too much.

We're here as friends, I remind myself.

We walk further into the room and deeper into the guests. The space itself is massive. It's the oldest part of the resort, leftover from the old sugar mill that used to be on the grounds. It's far from the high-rise of the main hotel and has a completely different ambiance. There's a huge vaulted ceiling and wide-open archways that lead to the courtyard. Leather sofas and chairs cluster around small glass tables.

The bar runs the length of the room, raised on a platform off to the side. Its flagstone floor is covered in the center by a thick vintage carpet that matches the leather. Glass chandeliers hang in each of the three archways.

I spot Ken standing at the side of the bar, in front of two chairs occupied by men puffing cigars. He doesn't even notice when we enter. Doesn't even look up. Three women approach him, each in a luxurious evening gown. I can almost hear their laughter as if they were next to me. I notice how Ken throws his head back when he laughs. How his entire face lights up. So familiar.

People look at us, craning their necks to see if we are a celebrity or influencer or famous for some other fake reason. Now that I look around, I do see some celebrities. They shall remain nameless. I saw that person in a movie last month. And that person used to be in a TV show I watched. OMG, that person I follow!

"Seriously, how did your dad get some of these people here?" I whisper, leaning into Brooks.

"His checkbook." Brooks doesn't smile.

The cocktail waitresses all match. Of course. They have tight black midi-dresses on with white belts. V iconic look. One passes near us, shocked to see our empty hands.

"Welcome to the Launch. What can I get you?" She smiles, her eyes shifting between Brooks and Brody. Be more obvious.

"I'll help myself, thanks." Brooks passes by her. I follow behind him.

"Kinda rude of you," I say. He looks sideways at me. I'm not used to being on his level.

"What? I don't need someone waiting on me." He looks away. "I can pour my own drink."

"It's a party. It is her job." I roll my eyes, bracing for tense Brooks. I don't think I have the energy to deal with him tonight. I squeeze his arm, aware of his minor flinch as I do so. "Don't make this unpleasant for all of us."

He measures me for a minute, calculating his options. Something flickers behind his eyes. "Fine. You're right."

I let Brooks lead me through the crowd, across the tapestry rug, and up the two steps to the grand bar. We stop next to Brody and Lauren, next to Ken, who hardly notices until Brody clears his throat.

"Jay! Brody!" Ken turns, exclaiming too loudly. He shakes both their hands (for show) and I get what Brooks meant. This is not who we met for lunch. This is a different person. "Emmy, Lauren."

We don't get handshakes. No hugs either. Fine by me.

"These two are mine," Ken says, indicating Brooks and Brody with his drink hand. "Take after their mother, of course."

This annoys me. I get it. It's just what people say. Yes, Brooks and Brody are two of the most stupidly beautiful men I've ever fucking laid eyes on, but honestly put an age filter on them and they're Ken.

"Nice to meet you," Brody says, shaking the man's hand.

"And this is Jay," Ken adds, nodding to Brooks. "My oldest."

"You're the one with Edge, right?" The second man asks, shaking Brooks's hand. He looks Brooks over, like he's evaluating him. I can feel his discomfort beside me.

"Yes, that's him. Started it while he was still in school." Ken answers for his son.

"It was a group of us." I hear Brooks mumble, running his fingers through his hair the way he does when he's on edge.

"He's being modest. Jay was the only one with the head to run it. Make it take off. It got picked up by universities across the country."

I can't tell if it's pride in Ken's voice or if he's just that great at faking it. Maybe a little of both.