Page 60 of Famous for a Living

I want to go post these so badly on both Mina and Kannery Park’s pages, I feel tempted to sneak out.

I hear splashes in the distance and set the cup down. Someone has brought a beach ball and a game has begun of bobbing it from person to person, keeping it above the water.

As I slowly make a panoramic video, I see Zaiah. He’s standing with three other men, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

My phone stops on him.

He’s frowning as he’s listening to one of the men talk.

Wow. And here I thought at first he didn’t like me.

I seriously underestimated the looks Zaiah could give.

This makes our first meeting look like he fell in love.

The group stands out in the crowd, partly because they look so rigid in a world of leisurely clusters, partly because of their builds. All of them soar a full head above the rest, wearing T-shirts and swim trunks like everyone else, but still set apart. More muscular. Standing straighter, like commanders of two armies meeting in the middle, conversing before the battle.

I lower my phone, squinting.

“Who are they?”

Kevin—who has his head trapped in Jax’s armpit, fighting for his life—twists to look. Whatever he sees is significant because he slaps Jax in the stomach.

Somehow this type of slap is different than the other identical ones he’s been giving his brother because Jax immediately halts. Looks over.

He drops Kevin’s head.

All of them frown as though smelling a landfill. There’s a substantial pause before Mina speaks, and when she does, the words honest-to-goodness sound like she’s a warrior having just discovered Orcs in the building. Gutteral. Low. “Glacier Boys.”

“Glacier who?” I say, but Mina shushes me.

“They’re coming,” she hisses, and I realize then that all three of the men are headed our way. Kevin and Jax both visibly puff up their chests.

“Well, well, well, the Kannery Park group T-shirts rally around for another season.”

The three men drift to the edge of the river beside us, stopping beside a large boulder planted in the water. The one in the middle seems to be some sort of ringleader. He’s tall, his beard long and thick as though to make up for his receding hairline.

Distinct West Side Story vibes are coming off the two groups.

Really? Are we going to rumble at midnight? Is someone going to start snapping?

“Has the advertising worked?” one of the boys—I really couldn’t call them men at this point—asks.

“Well, this is day one . . . ,” Kevin begins. “I don’t think you can really quantify any results yet—”

“Of course we have,” Mina cuts in, and from the way Kevin suddenly yelps, I have a feeling some body part was just pinched under the water. “Several people—a hundred people—said they couldn’t wait to visit. Said they’ve been trying to find somewhere secluded and beautiful for a week.”

The man-child in the middle grins down at her, an amused tilt to his lips. “Really? A hundred people.”

“Probably closer to two,” Mina retorts, dark eyes daring.

He laughs. “Incredible. Makes me wish we had some ourselves.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Kevin jumps in. “I was a bit worried about the font at first, but—”

And there’s the yelp again.

“But then, this past season we had the opposite problem. Three million visitors last year. A jump from 1.7.” He sighs as though just thinking about it exhausts him.