His eyes are half closed as he leans back toward me. “She’s probably with Connor,” he mumbles. His breath smells like cheap liquor.
“Yeah, but I should check, you know how she gets when she’s been drinking.” I disentangle myself from his arms, which are still in a vice grip around my waist.
“Come on, Gemma,” he says, tugging on my wrist. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.” His lips find my cheek when I try to turn my face away from his.
“Dex, not now,” I say. Not ever, I think.
He nibbles at my neck. Literally. With his teeth. “Don’t be such a tease.”
The words strike a nerve, and for a second I think just do it. Get it over with. This is getting ridiculous, isn’t it? You could do a lot worse than Dex. But the thought makes my body seize up and I’m shoving him off me again.
“Dex, stop it,” I say. He’s mumbling something in my ear but I don’t hear what because someone is pulling him off me.
“Hey man, she said stop.”
It’s Spence. I don’t know where he came from but he looks livid and is standing between me and Dex.
“Who the fuck are you?” Dex asks, wiping saliva off his lips. The spot on my neck where his mouth was is damp and cold.
“A fucking gentleman, that’s who,” Spence says. “Unlike you. No means no.”
Dex looks pissed, and I’m afraid he’s going to make a scene.
“It’s fine, Spence. I’m fine,” I tell him, stepping between him and Dex. His gray eyes are serious as they search mine.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yeah, he’s just drunk. He’s not normally like this.”
“I’m not drunk!” Dex slurs, and then completely disproves this statement by turning around and vomiting spectacularly into the kitchen sink.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I say, turning around and covering my eyes. Spence’s chest is inches away from me. He smells like laundry detergent and cold winter air. “I hate puke, I hate puke.”
Spence laughs and puts his hand on the back of my head to keep me from turning around. I squint my eyes closed and block my ears so I don’t have to hear Dex retching behind me.
“You okay man?” I hear Spence ask, his voice muffled. I don’t hear Dex’s reply. Spence leans in close to my ear. “He flipped me off, so I think he’ll be okay.” His breath whispers against my skin and tingles go all the way down to my toes.
“Do you want me to get you out of here?” he asks. Yes, I think.
“I have to find Amanda and Connor,” I say instead. “We have to get him home.”
“Okay, so let’s go find them.”
“Dex, I’ll be right back,” I say, tapping his back lightly as I scurry away. He’s not puking anymore, just laying flopped over the kitchen counter next to the sink. Spence thinks to run the faucet before we leave the room.
We search the whole party, but can’t find Amanda anywhere. We do eventually find Connor, and I explain to him that Dex is in a bad way and someone should probably take him home.
“Aw man you’ve got to be shitting me,” Connor says. He’s in the middle of a game of flip cup and just lost.
“Connor? Did you hear me? Dex is puking in the kitchen, you’d better get him out of here.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m taking care of it,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Have you seen Amanda?”
“No, I thought she was with you.”
“She was, but then she wandered off with some guy.” He sounds pissed about that and scans the room for a second, presumably looking for Amanda, and then goes back to the flip cup table.
“Connor,” I say. “Dex.”
“Oh, yeah, right, I’m on it.” He heads for the kitchen, and Spence and I go in search of Amanda again. I look in the bathroom and outside on the deck and even poke my head in a bedroom that is, thankfully, empty, but I don’t find her. I pull out my phone to text her but there’s a message from her already waiting there.
I’ve got a ride home so don’t worry about me!
The message is devoid of typos, so I assume she’s still fairly sober, wherever she is.
“Amanda’s okay,” I say, suddenly exhausted. “She found a ride home.”
“Good,” Spence says. “So we can get out of here now?”
“I guess.” I wonder how it’s come to be that I’m leaving this party with Spence, of all people. “How did you get here? When did you get here?”
“Lucas drove. We’ve been here awhile.”
Spence has been here the whole time and somehow we never crossed paths. I wish we had. Then maybe the entire Dex situation wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
“Should we look for Lucas?” I ask warily. The music is making my head pound and the thought of walking in circles around this apartment again looking for Lucas is not appealing.
“Nah, I’ll text him. How did you get here?”
“I drove.”
“How many drinks have you had? Are you okay to drive?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. It’s true. I only had one beer and I’ve never felt more sober than I do right now.
“Are you sure? Because I can drive us.”
“How many drinks have you had?”
He holds up one finger. Then two. Then holds up his entire right hand and a couple fingers on his left, grinning like he’s proud.
“Really?” I ask, honestly surprised. “You don’t even seem drunk.”
“I’m very good at drinking,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you are. I’m driving.”
We get in the car and I realize I haven’t ever really been alone with Spence. Not since that night we first met in the stairwell. And there had been a door between us. But now in the car he feels very close and we feel very alone. I think of how I’d been imagining what it would be like to kiss him right before he came and pulled Dex off me. I glance over at him, sure he can tell what I’m thinking, but he’s drumming his hands on his knees, playing along to a song that only he can hear.
“Come on Gemma,” he says, turning to me and smiling. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
I start driving and Spence leans forward to fiddle with the heating vents.
“So what’s the deal with you and that guy?” he asks, adjusting the vents one last time before settling back in his seat.
I shrug. “There isn’t one.”
“You seemed pretty close to him all night.”
My eyes narrow. I hadn’t seen Spence all night, and it isn’t like he’s hard to miss. He stands nearly a head above everyone else in the room. “How would you know? Were you watching us?”
“No,” he says, but he’s smirking a little bit.
“There’s nothing going on between us. We’re just friends. He got too drunk.”
“He likes you, though.”
“Apparently.” Spence doesn’t say anything else. He looks like he’s thinking this information over.
“I didn’t need you to save me,” I tell him. “Just so you know. I can handle myself.”
“Well, you’re lucky I came in when I did. Otherwise he probably would have puked all over you.” He turns towards me and mimes puking, retching noise and all. I shriek and pull my hands away from the wheel to cover my ears and then quickly realize I’m driving and put them back again.
“Spence! Not funny!” I yell. He’s cackling next to me, slapping his knee and gasping for air.
“I’ve never seen anyone react that way to puke.”
“It’s a real affliction, you know,” I snap at him. “Emetophobia. Look it up.”
He holds his hands up, still laughing. “Okay, okay.”
“How’d you end up at that party anyway?”
He shrugs. “Lucas heard about it and wanted to go.”
We get back to the apartment and start up the stairs. When we get to the second floor landing I try to say goodnight to Spence and continue up the stairs, but he blocks my path. He leans against the wal
l, crossing one ankle over the other.
“You know, I’ve got to say I’m a little jealous that you were making out with someone else, seeing as this is our second date and all.” Spence smirks down at me.
“Oh my god, Spence,” I groan. “You’ve got to stop with this.”
“I mean I get it, we’re keeping things casual, that’s cool. You’re entitled to see other people.”
“Yes, I am, because there’s nothing going on between us.”
“There isn’t?” he says, his voice low. He lowers his head toward mine and I can see the stubble on his jaw, the flecks of color in his irises. Green and blue and yellow mixed in with the gray. “Are you sure about that?”
There is very little space between us. I try to swallow but find my mouth has gone completely dry. One of us needs to move.
“Goodnight, Spence,” I say, ducking under his arm and scurrying up the stairs.
“Goodnight, Gemma!” he calls after me. “I’m looking forward to our next date!”
Me, too, I think, closing the door behind me.
Early the next morning, before the sun is even up, I hear the front door open and Amanda creep into her bedroom. I wonder briefly where she stayed last night, then roll over and fall back asleep.
I don’t drag myself out to the living room until nearly lunch time. Amanda is sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. The congealed remnants of Kraft mac and cheese sit in a pan on the stove, the bottle of milk sitting out on the counter where it’s been for who knows how long.
“Where were you last night?” I ask Amanda.
“Hmm?” She doesn’t look up.
“You didn’t come home until this morning, where were you?”
“Oh, I stayed with Connor.” Amanda flips the page in her magazine.
“Is that right?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I thought you guys were “off” again?”
She shrugs. “It was just a one night thing.”
“How was Dex?” I ask her. After I’d gotten home, I’d felt bad about leaving him behind without checking on him. I didn’t want to hook up with him, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about his well being.
“Fine.”
“He was in pretty rough shape last night. Did you help Connor get him home?”
“Mhmm, yeah.” Amanda is completely focused on her magazine. She hasn’t even looked up at me. That’s when I realize she’s lying. The Amanda I know would be pissed she had to help Connor drag Dex home. She’d be complaining about it nonstop. Which is ironic, considering all the times I’ve had to drag her home.
I don’t press her, even though my curiosity is piqued. We can both keep our secrets about what happened last night for a little longer.
“What did you do last night?” she says, finally looking up at me. I panic a little, thinking she must have heard about me and Dex. I’m not in the mood for her to give me a hard time about not giving Dex a chance. I did give him a chance. It was terrible and he almost puked on me.
“What do you mean?” I say innocently. “I went to the party and came home.”
She gives me a self-satisfied smirk. “Heard you left with Spence.”
Okay, that’s not what I expected her to say. “Where did you hear that?”
She shrugs. “Around. What’s the deal with that?”
I turn towards the kitchen, intending to clean up her mess as usual. “There is no deal, I just gave him a ride home.”
“He’s going to give up on you, you know.”
I turn to look at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Spence. He’s not going to keep chasing you. It’s not like he doesn’t have other options.”
“I don’t want him to chase me,” I say. “I’m not interested.”
She tosses her magazine down on the table and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Just sleep with him and get it over with already.”
Her comment hits a nerve.
“First Dex, now Spence, is there anyone else you’d like me to sleep with this week? Because I’m going to have to make a schedule,” I snap at her.
“I’m just saying,” Amanda huffs. “Hasn’t this whole self-imposed celibacy thing gone on long enough?”
“I don’t know, Amanda. Should I find a guy and toy with his emotions the way you do?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You and Connor. This whole on-again, off-again thing is ridiculous.”
“Oh please,” Amanda stands up. “Don’t act so high and mighty!”
“I’m the high and mighty one? What about you, princess? When are you going to start cleaning up after yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the mess in the kitchen.
“Oh, come on, that’s been sitting there for two seconds, relax!”
“Really?” I say, grabbing the milk container. “This isn’t even cold anymore. It’s garbage now.” I chuck it into the sink so hard the cover pops off, sending a wave of milk all over the counter and floor.
“You’re a lunatic, you know that?” Amanda says, leaping off the couch.
“Because you’re making me this way!” I scream at her.
She scoffs and crosses her arms. “You know what, this was a mistake. We never should have moved in together.”
“No,” I say, fuming. “We shouldn’t have.”
I storm back into my bedroom and slam the door.
Chapter Twelve
Spence
There’s no reason for me to be knocking on Gemma’s door right now. Not a good, logical one anyway. After we got home from the party last night, she’s all I could think about. How jealous I felt when I saw her making out with that guy. How I should have kissed her when we got home. How there is no way I could wait until we played Kincaid’s again to spend time with her. So here I am, at a little after seven on a Saturday night, knocking on her door holding a bottle of champagne.
“Spence.” There’s a look of surprise on her face when she opens the door and sees me.
“Hi,” I say, feeling awkward.
“What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, I brought you a present.”
“A present?” The surprised look on her face is replaced with one of confusion.
I pull the bottle of champagne out from behind my back. “For you.”
She takes it from me, but now she looks even more confused. “Thanks, but why?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. Now that I’m here actually doing this I realize how lame and weird this excuse is. “For putting in a good word for us with your brother. You didn’t have to do that. I know it’s a little late, but I wanted to say thanks anyway.”
It didn’t occur to me to do this until I needed a reason to come over. I bought this bottle of champagne an hour ago. My mother would be ashamed. Hand written thank you notes mailed out immediately, that’s how my mom rolls. Not a hastily thought of bottle of champagne a week later, used as an excuse to get a girl to talk to me.
“Oh, well, you’re welcome, I guess,” Gemma says, but she’s definitely looking at me like this is weird.
We stand in the doorway, staring at each other. My plan didn’t get much further than this. After presenting her with the bottle of champagne I kind of hoped she’d pull me inside and take her clothes off. My brain is whirring, trying to think of something to say to keep her from closing the door in my face. I take a deep breath, and notice the delicious smell coming out of her apartment.
“Are you cooking? What smells so good?”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh shit!” she says, before turning and sprinting back into the kitchen. I follow her, because I’m curious about whatever she’s cooking. She puts the champagne on the counter and hurries over to the stove. I lean over her shoulder and look into the pot on the burner.
“Mmm, that looks good. What is it?”
“Risotto,” she says, stirring. “Which I thankfully did not fuck up.”
“What is it, one of those meal delivery kits or something?�
�� I ask, leaning against the counter.
She scoffs. “No, I went to the store and got the ingredients and made it myself.”
“Really?” I nod approvingly. “That’s impressive. Only thing I know how to make is peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh?” She says, turning to me. “So something you’re not good at?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“It seems like you have a long list of things you’re good at but this is the first time I’ve heard you even come close to admitting you’re not good at something.”
I laugh. “Well, everyone can’t be perfect. Though I will admit I’m pretty close. Like Mary Poppins. Practically perfect in every way.”
She shakes her head and turns back to her risotto. “I’m making a list. Starting with ‘can’t cook’.”
“A list of what?” I ask, amused.
“A list of things you’re not good at.”
I chuckle. “It’ll be a short list. I can’t even think of a second thing for you to put on there.”
“You’re the worst. Can I put that on the list? You’re general worst-ness?”
“No, you definitely can’t, because that’s not a word.” I watch her stir. I figured she would have asked me to leave by now, but she hasn’t. She’s focused on her risotto. Now she’s sautéing up mushrooms and garlic and my mouth is watering. “Who are you making this fancy dinner for? Amanda?”
She sighs. “Just me. Amanda isn’t here.”
“Shame, seems like she’s missing out.”
“We got into a fight today. This was meant to be a peace offering. Guess she’s still mad.”
“Wow,” I say, surprised. “I thought you guys were best friends. What were you fighting about?”
She stiffens. “Stuff,” she says, turning around so her back is to the stove. She looks at the bottle of champagne still sitting on the counter. “You going to open that or what?”
“Right now?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Yeah, right now. You’re here, you might as well stay for dinner. There’s plenty of food.”
I don’t move. I can’t believe my luck. Maybe my earlier fantasy wasn’t wishful thinking after all. I mean, her clothes are still on, sure, but the night is young.
Lost and Found Page 7
