Wasted Words: Inspired by Jane Austen's Emma (The Austens Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  She smoothed a hand over the skirt of her dress, toying with the end, with her eyes full of adoration. It was strange to see her without her glasses — she was foreign and familiar all at once, and truth be told, I missed them. But she was ever beautiful to me. This was just another shade of her that I hadn’t yet seen.

  “Your dress is spectacular.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes sparking with joy. “Thank you. It just made me feel so pretty that I had to get it.”

  “You did good, Cam. Real good.”

  She smiled. “Are they feeding us at this thing?”

  “Yeah, dinner and hors d’oeuvres. And an open bar.”

  “Hallelujah. What’s it for? I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask. I was too worried about the prospect of applying lipstick.”

  I chuckled. “It’s a charity fundraiser for men’s cancers, put on by Gene Holmes.”

  “The old quarterback for the Giants?”

  “The very one. He throws this every year, always has some of the big names in sports. Jack bought four tables, enough for sixty of us. I think they sold something like a thousand tickets.”

  “Wow. How much were tickets?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She made a face. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

  I paused, wondering if she wouldn’t freak out worse once she knew. But I also knew that until her curiosity was satisfied, she wouldn’t let it go. “Five grand.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Each?”

  “Yup. Honestly, it’s not even that much in the way of these kinds of things.”

  “That’s five million dollars raised,” she said, gaping.

  “It’s a good cause, and Jack writes it off. No one’s kids are starving because we’re here, don’t worry.”

  She shook her head. “That’s just crazy. I’m about to eat a five-thousand-dollar meal. I don’t even think I’ve ever had a hundred-dollar meal.”

  I smiled down at her. “Don’t think of it that way. Think of it as a free dinner. With me.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.” She looked nervous, her eyes shining a little in the dark cab. “Just hold my hand.”

  I brushed my knuckles against her cheek. “Always.”

  A little while later, we were walking up the stairs inside the hotel lobby, heading for the grand ballroom. Cam was on my arm, taking everything in as we followed a loose crowd of people in cocktail attire. When we reached the ballroom and gave the attendants our name, we headed into the opulent room, and Cam looked around, awestruck.

  The space was vast, with high ceilings set with massive chandeliers that twinkled softly. A large dance floor stood at the end of the long room, and tables dotted most of the space, with two bars situated across from each other.

  “Wow,” Cam said, her voice full of wonder, her arm, hooked in mine, squeezing gently. Her eyes wandered all over the room like she was soaking in a fantasy, taking it all in, her red lips parted just enough to see a sliver of white teeth behind them.

  But I was only looking at her. “You can say that again.”

  20

  CRAZY HE CALLS ME

  Cam

  I STOOD AS STRAIGHT AS I could, hanging onto Tyler like I’d drown if I let him go. It was like something out of another world, like a ballroom in a castle. I supposed in a way that it was like modern royalty, this kind of grand luxury. It looked a little like a theater, with two floors of balconies along the walls where people milled around above us, talking and laughing, the steady hum of people under the music coming from the booth at the far end of the room. Everything was lit up, colors shifting from pinks to reds to purples to blues and around again, reflecting off the massive chandeliers hanging above us.

  Tyler and I made our way to the bar to wait in line, and once I had whiskey in my hand, I felt loads better.

  I took a sip, feeling the warmth of the whiskey as it moved through me.

  Tyler looked like a dream, so tall and handsome, smiling brightly as we wandered through the crowd, stopping occasionally when he came across someone he knew. And he knew a lot of people — football players, baseball and basketball players, agents, sales reps, sportscasters. I did my best to remember everyone’s names, making associations. Jerry loves Derek Jeter: Jeter Jerry. Sam went to Purdue: Sucky Sam.

  What? I grew up in Iowa. Football is one of the few things, besides reading and keggers, that there is to do. And Purdue sucks.

  When we finally found Jack, he was standing with his wife and a group of other agents from their firm. His hair was cropped and combed neatly, his gray mustache trimmed and eyes crisp and blue. He lit up as we approached.

  “Hey, you two made it.” He extended a hand, which Tyler took, pumping it once with a smile.

  “Hey, Jack,” he said. “You remember Cam.”

  “How could I forget,” he said, bending to kiss me on the cheek. “That mac and cheese you sent Tyler with knocked my socks off, kiddo.”

  I laughed. “Happy to keep you fed, Jack.”

  He turned to the woman at his side, smiling proudly. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Anne.”

  Anne was beautiful, the apples of her cheeks high and cheerful, her straight hair in a tidy bob. “Nice to meet you, Cam. And it’s good to see you, Tyler. Jack said you’re heading home this weekend? Meeting with Darryl?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod. “It’ll be nice to get to a game and see my family, too. A two-for-one deal.”

  “I’ll bet. You’ll have to tell your mom and dad I said hello. We’ve got to get back down there to see them soon.”

  “I’m sure they’d like that. You glad to have Jack home?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Usually not, but this time, you bet. I knew how much trouble that trip was going to be, and I was loath to send Jack into the trenches.”

  Jack chuckled. “She loves when I’m gone. She doesn’t have to hide her shopping bags.”

  “It’s a stress I don’t like to discuss,” she joked. “I’m glad Pharaoh is worked out, for the time being, at least.”

  Jack huffed and lifted his glass to his lips. “It better be for good. I’m not doing that again. Next time, I’m sending Tyler.”

  Tyler snickered and pulled me close, and someone came up to talk to Jack and Anne. I glanced around again, finally feeling a little settled, aided by Tyler’s arm around me, and the whiskey too.

  “Oh, man. I forgot,” I said, trying to open my bag one-handed. “Here, hold this for me for one second.” I passed my drink to him and dug in my clutch for my phone. “Ah-ha! I swore to myself I’d take a selfie tonight.”

  He laughed. “Here, let me take a picture for you.”

  “No. There’s something even more desperate about getting someone to take a picture for you than taking a selfie. Don’t ask me why. That’s just how social media works.”

  I held my phone out, trying to look inconspicuous, and snapped a picture. It was horrible. I frowned and tried again, making a kissy face, but I looked ridiculous. I took my drink from Tyler and tried one of me sipping it, but that didn’t work either — my face was flat as a pancake, and I had at least one extra chin.

  I huffed. “How is it that tweens are more adept at taking selfies than me?”

  “Because they spend all that time practicing.” Tyler said and took my phone from me. “Here. Take one with me.” He pulled me in close and held the phone up, and I grabbed his lapel, leaning into him. “Say ‘Hawkeyes suck!’”

  I laughed, and he snapped the picture, showing it to me afterward with a smug look on his face.

  “There you go.”

  I shook my head, looking at it. It was amazing, the two of us laughing and happy, my smile as I looked up at him, and his looking into the camera and … it was just amazing. I pretended to pout. “How did you nail that on the first shot?”

  He shrugged and held out his arm, drink at the end of it, in display. “I’m like a human selfie stick.”

  I laughed. “So my T-re
x arms are bad for selfies. Got it.”

  But he kissed my temple. “Guess you’ll just have to take selfies with me indefinitely.”

  I leaned into him again, blushing as a soft bell rang over the speakers and a soothing voice informed us we’d need to choose a seat for dinner. My stomach rumbled — I realized then that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Too busy shaving my legs and watching video tutorials to eat, I supposed. We took a seat with Jack and a few other agents and their dates, and I sat between Anne and Tyler.

  I picked up the letterpress menu that sat on top of my plate and scanned it, grateful when I saw there was a steak option. We ordered and chatted, or listened to Jack tell stories, more like. He thrived with an audience, and he had so many stories to tell, from when he played to the hundreds of players he’d worked with.

  By the time dinner was served, I could have eaten my napkin, and on my empty stomach, with the scotch and now whiskey in my belly, I was buzzing enough that one drink would have been the difference between me talking to someone about the merits of Battlestar Galactica, and this was not the crowd to delve into that with.

  The server set my plate down in front of me, and everything else shut down.

  See, when I’m really hungry and I finally start to eat, it’s like some weird animal instinct takes over. My brain sees the food and is like, Put all of that in your body, right now, as fast as you can. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I unknowingly growled at people if they tried to talk to me, or, heaven forbid, if they tried to touch my food.

  Which is why I was halfway into my steak before I realized that Tyler’s ex girlfriend had approached our table.

  It was her laugh that brought me out of the haze, my jaw slowing as it worked on a piece of steak that I realized distantly was far too big to be considered appropriate. I turned to find her standing just behind him — he was turned in his chair to face her.

  She was one of the most gorgeous girls I’d ever seen in my entire life.

  Her hair was the color of honey, her skin flawless, an olive complexion that made me think she was Spanish or Italian. Her big, brown eyes drank Tyler in, her smile sweet, her teeth so white I needed sunglasses to look directly at them. Standing next to her, I felt like a cheap imitation, like the Fendi knock-offs they sold near Midtown that said Frendi.

  As if that weren’t bad enough, she was wearing the runway edition of the nude dress I’d tried on the day before — the one that made me look like a meat tube — and she looked incredible in it.

  Tyler glanced at me as I hovered over my plate mid-chew, gesturing to her. “Cam, this is Jessica.”

  I knew exactly who she was — I wouldn’t have been a good friend if I hadn’t stalked Tyler’s ex on Facebook — but I sat there like a dummy for a second, wondering how her name wasn’t Flavia or Alessandra or something before snapping into action.

  My steak was too big to swallow in its current state, and I couldn’t exactly spit it out, so I smiled with closed lips and extended a hand, pointing to my mouth with my other hand and rolling my eyes in jest.

  She looked like she was pretending to be amused but actually thought I was horribly rude and strange.

  “Uh,” she said as she took my hand, smiling, “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I nodded and smiled, chewing as quickly as I could, taking the moment to watch the two of them.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Jess,” he said. There was a strange quality to his voice that I couldn’t place.

  She smiled that million-dollar smile of hers. “Yeah, I came with Cade Matthews, the quarterback for the Patriots.”

  Tyler smiled back, but it was tight. “Yeah, I know who he is.”

  She laughed, and it sounded like a chorus of angels or something. Seriously, you could record it, make a ringer called Hot Girl Laughing, and make a million bucks. “Of course you do. I don’t know why I said it like that. I don’t mean to bother you, I just thought this might be the only chance I had to come say hi.”

  I kept chewing, reaching for my water. Almost there.

  “You look good, Tyler.” Now her voice had a strange quality, but this one I knew for a fact I didn’t like.

  I swallowed and took a drink, Cam-the-nervous-girlfriend gone as the bulldogging friend took her place. “We haven’t met before, but I’ve heard all about you.”

  Her smile faltered a little. “Oh. And who are you?”

  “His girlfriend. You know, Tyler and I were just talking the other day about you. He really took it to heart, what you said. You remember — when you called him boring? But I still said that going to India was way too big for our first trip together, didn’t I, babe?”

  I reached for his arm, and he looked down at me, smiling. “I mean, you’ve got to live a little.”

  “Exactly. I thought skydiving was crazy enough.”

  She blinked. “Skydiving? I thought you were afraid of heights?”

  He shrugged. “Face your fears, you know?”

  “I mean, I just don’t know how you ever handled him,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s hard to say no to Tyler, though, so when he wants to sneak into a bathroom to …” I gave her a look and looked around to make sure no one was listening, “you know, I just can’t deny him.”

  A laugh burst out of Tyler, and Jessica’s eyes bounced between us, her lips parted, though she had a smile still stuck to them.

  “Gosh, I’m so rude. Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me. So you’re here with Cade Matthews, huh?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she beamed, snapping back to it. “You’ve heard of him? I mean, girls aren’t usually into football. Like, none of my friends even know who he is.”

  Pretty sure the entire feminist movement cringed with me. “I totally get what you see in him. He rides that motorcycle, right? I mean, gosh, he nearly killed himself wrecking it last season, didn’t he?”

  “Totally. Thank God he was okay.”

  “Yeah, I mean, you can’t really call a guy like that boring, can you? And I wouldn’t think twice about his being married three times in the last five years. That’s just experience, right? At least he’s interesting.”

  Her cheeks flushed, her pretty lips flattening. “He is interesting. Thanks for reminding me. I should probably get back to him.”

  I couldn’t read Tyler’s face, but there was no way I was rolling over at that point. “Have fun,” I said, overly cheery.

  “Ah, you too.” Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded once before turning and walking away, her beautiful bare back framed by the draping of the dress.

  The second her back was turned, the blood rushed to my cheeks. I touched his arm, embarrassed, my heart full of uncertainty at the realization that I very well may have upset him.

  “Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Tyler. I shouldn’t have … I don’t know. Done whatever that was.”

  But when he looked over at me, he was smiling, leaning toward me. “Don’t apologize. I’ve thought about what would happen if I ever saw her again a hundred times, and nothing I could have imagined was as perfect as that.”

  I laughed and dropped my head to my hand. “She deserved that, but ugh. I’m so inappropriate. I told you I can’t be trusted with my mouth in public.”

  He tipped my chin and kissed me sweetly. “I happen to love your mouth. Thank you for sticking up for me.”

  “You’re welcome. On a scale of one to naked grandma, how weird was it to see her?”

  He thought about it for a beat. “Boner in gym class.”

  I laughed again.

  “But you made it easier.” He thumbed my cheek. “Thank you for coming with me, Cam.”

  I gazed up at him, lovestruck. “You’re welcome.”

  When we turned back to the table, Jack was telling a boisterous story, and by the pat on the leg and understanding smile Anne gave me, I had a suspicion he’d started telling it to distract everyone from what I’d decided to call the Jessica Lazarus Event. As I picked up my fork and knife, I reminded myself not to
eat like a hog, and I cut a demure, dainty piece of meat off, slipping it into my mouth.

  The rest of dinner was uneventful, past Jack’s stories, one after another, including one about Tyler’s dad from when he played for the Chiefs early in his career. I was happy and comfortable, feeling like I was amongst old friends, with no notice of my shoes or dress or the multitude of strangers around us. Just simple contentment of company. And when our plates were being cleared away, Tyler leaned over to me and whispered, “Dance with me.”

  I hadn’t lied to Jessica. I couldn’t say no to Tyler.

  “Of course,” I answered and slipped my hand into his.

  People stood in clusters between tables, others dancing on the huge dance floor as the Billie Holiday song “Crazy He Calls Me” played, which seemed wildly appropriate, and he pulled me into the throng, bringing me into his chest as he took my hand.

  With heels on, I was a much better height — the top of my head almost came to his chin — and I rested my cheek against his chest, rocking with him in time to the music.

  With Tyler, I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t care who saw me or what they thought. I didn’t care if we looked silly together because of our height difference, or if they didn’t like my lipstick or dress. None of it mattered. The anxiety fell away, there in his arms. It was one of the safest places in the whole world.

  He sped up, leading me around in circles with his hand against my back, holding me close, not just rocking but pulling me in rhythm with his feet, not fast enough to need to think to keep up, but enough that we were dancing. He smiled down at me, and I laughed, surprised.

  “You can dance,” I said.

  “I can,” he echoed and spun me around quickly enough to make me giggle.

  “Well, color me surprised.”

  He smirked and leaned to whisper in my ear, “I’ve got more in my bag of tricks.”

  I lifted my lips to his ear. “Show me.”

  “Just say the word.”

  “The word.”

  He laughed and spun me around again, dancing me around until the song ended.

  I sighed, sad the song was over, but when “Bust A Move” came on, he straight up grinned, backing away from me. I didn’t even know what to expect, bouncing my shoulders and wiggling my hips, thinking we were just playing. But my jaw hit the floor when Tyler legit busted a move.