by Marni Bates
It wasn’t like I called him that on purpose.
The first nine times.
Sadly, his name was the only thing I found even remotely interesting about our guide. So I tuned him out. If we were going to be tested on anything that came out of his mouth, I fully accepted the fact that I was going to fail. I expected it. Especially since I couldn’t ask any of my classmates for help. I wasn’t clear on who had initiated the silent treatment, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break it.
Not that it really mattered. My parents didn’t expect me to return to Oregon with B’s. Or C’s. Hell, they probably would be psyched if I maintained straight D’s.
The whole thing was pointless for me to speculate on, since I had no intention of sticking around in Cambodia long enough to be graded. My dad had asked me to keep an open mind and give it a chance . . . well, I had done that. And after spending almost a whole week sweating on the stones of temples, I was officially ready to leave. Ben slung an arm across my shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Okay, so I was on speaking terms with Ben and Neal. That didn’t do much to relieve my sense of isolation. I mean, one of them only spoke to me because he thought he had a shot at getting in my pants and the other was my professor.
Oh yeah. My social life here was great.
I glanced from Ben, to the monkeys, and then back to him. “Sure. I was just thinking that between the two of you . . . the monkey probably has better technique.”
“Ouch!” Ben leaned in closer. “You know, there’s really only one way to test that theory. . . .”
I laughed. “So not going to happen.”
“You sound pretty sure about that. Don’t you want to see the size of my”—he paused suggestively—“banana first?”
“That’s the lamest line I’ve ever heard.”
It was exactly what I was thinking, but the words hadn’t come from my mouth. Houston was looking at us both irritably, probably because it put his nose out of joint whenever anyone dared to have fun without his express permission.
I cranked up the megawattage on my smile. “Sounds to me like Detroit wants to see your banana in action way more than I do.”
“Nah, he’s already seen it.”
That made my jaw drop.
“Roommates,” Houston explained, although judging by his gritted teeth, he felt more like punching somebody than talking. “It comes with the territory.”
“Um, what?” Now I really couldn’t stop laughing. “Is that some secret housing requirement? Must be comfortable with—”
“No, it’s not a requirement!” Houston’s eyes were flashing fire, and I thought I saw faint traces of a blush moving up his cheeks. “It’s what happens when you get sexiled and your roommate forgets to lock the door!”
“Dude, that happened twice!”
Houston shot Ben a get real glare.
“Okay, so it happened four times. Who’s counting?”
“Me. I was counting. And it was six times, you moron.”
Ben crossed his arms over yet another one of his lifeguard shirts. And while the guy had a killer smile, I wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone except Logan Beckett. Especially with someone who was making it pretty freaking obvious that the extent of his interest was purely skin deep.
I rested my hand on Ben’s shoulder and ignored the way Houston seemed to become increasingly tense. “I appreciate the offer, but it just doesn’t hold my interest. Sorry, Ben . . . better luck with someone else!”
Then, with an easy hair toss, I put on headphones to make it look like I couldn’t hear the boys while I walked toward yet another temple. Eavesdropping shamelessly the whole way.
“I think she’s still interested in me and just wants to play games first.”
“Drop it.”
“But—”
“Drop. It. Now.”
“Have you looked at that girl, Houston? I mean really looked? Her ass is—”
“Off-limits,” Houston finished for him, although I doubted that was how Ben wanted to describe it. Maybe it was stupid, but it felt good knowing that a college boy wanted me, even if that particular college boy didn’t strike me as being very selective.
“Like hell it is!” Ben retorted. “We’re in Cambodia. You know what they say: What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia.”
“Nobody says that, Ben. Nobody.”
“Well, they should. There’s no reason the two of us shouldn’t have a good time and . . . get to know each other.”
“Form a book club then. But you can’t mess with Paul Halloway’s daughter.”
“Why? Does she have scales?”
That was all I heard, and frankly, it was a good thing Mr. Horny distracted me, because I was about to laugh and give myself away.
Ben had no clue that there were actually two Chelsea Halloways. One of them was comfortable dancing and flirting in high heels and a tight dress . . . but the other was still figuring out how to be alone. And neither version could handle having a one-night stand. I wasn’t even sure I was ready for another relationship, considering that my last serious boyfriend . . .
My mind skidded away from old wounds. I may have been forced to look at super-old temples every day in the sweltering heat, but there was no need for me to dwell on my past.
“Did you know that the name Angkor Wat means ‘City Temple’ and refers to this whole area?”
I turned to Liz and crossed my arms defensively. “Nope. Then again, I also don’t know why you think I care.”
“Because we’re going to be tested on it, and you clearly can’t understand Mr. Horny.”
That startled me. After our little bathroom conversation, I hadn’t really spoken to Liz or Amy beyond, “Hey! Could you hurry up, already? I want to shower!” So I wasn’t prepared for her to be . . . nice. Let alone for her to use my stupid nickname for Mr. Hournj.
“And you care if I fail the test?” I raised an eyebrow but kept my tone light. If this was a legitimate gesture of goodwill, I didn’t want to screw it up.
Liz shrugged. “Not really. Unless you start crying afterward, because I really don’t want you using up all the Kleenex or hogging the bathroom.”
Then she nudged me with her shoulder and I found myself grinning back. As if we were actually friends and her quasi-insult was an inside joke.
“I think I can handle the test,” I lied.
“So then you already knew that the temple is both the symbol for Cambodia and depicted on the national flag? Oh, and that the design and construction of this one began in the first half of the twelfth century under the rule of—”
“Okay, okay, I get your point!”
She smirked. “I’ll be leading group study sessions when we get closer to the exam. And you’ll be buying a round of drinks.”
“Why are you being nice?” I demanded. “Studying with me . . . drinks . . . What gives?”
Liz cleared her throat. “Amy may have pointed out that we didn’t exactly give you much of a chance. She’s feeling guilty about it.”
I glanced over at Amy, who was scribbling down Mr. Hournj’s every word.
“Really?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Amy doesn’t strike me as the type to worry about much beyond her books.”
Liz laughed. “Yeah, well, she does. And since we’re stuck sharing a room with you . . . I thought we could blow off the group and get pedicures or something. Y’know, girl bonding time. And stuff like that.”
There were so many ways I could have declined.
I could have made excuses:
Sorry, Liz, I can’t make it tonight. Neal’s been hounding me to have a private chat. He keeps wanting to talk about my feelings. Maybe we’ll connect some other night?
I could have created a conflict:
I promised my parents that I would try to get an Internet connection in this godforsaken country. Sorry!
Or I could have unleashed my inner bitch:
Pedicures? With you? Um . . .
pass.
But I accepted the invitation. In fact, I used it as an excuse to duck out of the heart-to-heart session Neal kept trying to schedule to make sure I was “adjusting” to the program. He had straight up told me that if I ever needed to talk about anything—translation: the divorce—that he was always available to listen. Ordinarily, I’d be pissed off to have someone acting like my surrogate dad. My parents might not be the best, but that didn’t mean I wanted someone else to try to fill their roles.
Except . . . I hadn’t been able to get mad at Neal. I found myself at a complete loss for words, including snarky comments. I couldn’t even zap him with one of my best patronizing looks because Neal had already expressed more interest in my dancing than my dad had ever managed.
So I bailed on him in favor of exploring Siem Reap with the girls.
Mistake number . . . five thousand.
Chapter 8
It’s not exactly a girls’ night out if guys insist on coming along.
Unfortunately, Neal got all freaked out at the idea of the girls wandering the streets of Cambodia on their own and insisted that we let the guys go with us. I thought Liz made a particularly good point that his attitude was paternalistic and overprotective. Still, in the interest of not wasting time while Liz duked it out with him, Amy and I dragged her out of the hotel . . . while Houston and Ben watched in amusement. Still, it wasn’t all that bad. Most of the time Ben’s gaze was focused on checking out all the women in the marketplace.
Which meant that he definitely wasn’t going to be hung up on me.
At one point he gave an attractive girl his patented once-over and then announced, “I’m happy to let her work out her daddy issues with me.”
Just . . . gross.
I didn’t catch Houston’s response because Amy’s face grew flushed with anger.
“That’s wrong. It’s disrespectful and it’s just rude.”
“Um, well, you’re right. But I think Ben intended it to be fun—”
“Who said anything about Ben?” Amy demanded. “Wait, did he buy one of those shirts too? Because I will burn it.”
Liz must have picked up on my confusion because she pointed at the stall in front of us. “Amy hates those shirts.”
I glanced over at them. “Elephants are now offensive?”
“No!” Amy growled. “The one that says: Danger! Cambodia land mines!”
I waited patiently for the lecture I knew was coming.
“It’s awful! I mean, people are dying from land mines here, and these tourists”—Amy spat it out like a dirty word—“are making light of the situation.” She deepened her voice. “It’s all, Dude, cool shirt. Land mines. But it’s not cool!”
“You sure you’re not blowing this whole thing out of proportion? It’s a shirt, not an actual bomb.”
Amy started flapping her arms at me. I should have known that her quiet exterior covered up a passionate nutcase underneath.
“It’s a very big deal,” Amy insisted. “There are thousands of land mines here just waiting to blow up! So turning it into a joke is just—”
“Unspeakably awful?” I suggested. It certainly felt to me like there were no real words that could encompass the pain of the country every time I passed amputees with donation bowls resting where their legs used to be. It was overwhelming.
“O-kay, it’s terrible. Awful. Now that we have that settled—” Liz pointed to the rows of comfy-looking chairs where women of all ages were waiting to give massages. “I vote we stimulate their economy by getting pampered.”
My kind of thinking.
Until Ben and his best buddy, Houston, intercepted us as we began moving toward the masseuses. Apparently, they were finished looking for shot glasses and patches or whatever type of souvenirs guys collected.
Ben winked at me. “You know, if you wanted a rubdown, Chelsea—”
“Cambodia is the place to get it,” Houston finished for him. “I think I’ll join you guys myself.” He flopped into one of the big overstuffed chairs next to me, ignoring both Ben’s scowl and my raised eyebrow.
“You playing bodyguard now too?” I exaggeratedly batted my lashes while Ben shuffled off, muttering something about getting a beer. “Protecting my honor?”
Houston shrugged. “Your dad just wants you to return home with the same dubious amount of honor you possessed when you left.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Total douche-bag behavior,” Liz agreed.
Amy nodded. “Out of order, Houston.”
Wow. It was kind of nice having people jump to my defense. Sure, if we were all back at Smith High School, Fake and Bake—um, Steffani and Ashley—would’ve backed me up. Except they would have been doing it because I potentially posed a threat to their social lives . . . not quite the same thing.
Houston nodded curtly. “Okay. That may have come across a bit harsh.”
Rather weak as far as apologies go, but he didn’t seem like the type to give them lightly.
I narrowed my eyes. “A bit harsh? No freaking kidding, you jerk!”
“But,” he continued as if I had never spoken, “since I promised your dad that I’d look out for you, consider yourself on a hookup hiatus.”
For the first time since I came to Cambodia I found myself laughing hard.
“You think that you can stop me from flirting? Trust me, Tallahassee, I could have any guy I wanted wrapped around my little finger back in middle school. If I turned on the charm, not even you would stand a chance.”
Liz moaned from her chair as her masseuse began rubbing her legs with oil. “God, this feels good. Wait . . . middle school?”
That’s when I realized just how close I’d come to sharing far more than I was willing to tell anyone.
So I merely shrugged while a middle-aged Cambodian woman rubbed my legs systematically. Liz was right: It felt amazing. It was too bad that our conversation had me so tense I had to force my hands to unclench.
“Yeah. Middle school.”
“So what happened?” Amy looked like she was about to fall asleep in her chair, but apparently she was still paying attention. “Did things work out with the guy?”
Deep, even breaths. No need to panic over a perfectly innocent question. Especially since I had told the truth . . . mostly . . . about having guys wrapped around my little finger.
I had just left out a whole bunch of details—like the fact that I had also completely lost myself in the relationship. That what I had with Jake had spiraled into something twisted that sickened me more every day. I could still remember feeling my heart swell when he murmured, “Nobody will ever love you as much as I do, Chelsea” into my ear. It had been so thrillingly romantic. It made me feel sexy. Desired. Wanted.
I didn’t realize it was a threat.
Nobody will ever love you as much as I do, Chelsea.
Because they don’t really love you at all.
If you really loved me back, you would stop wasting all your time teaching kids at the dance studio. You would let me take naked pictures of you. You would stop flirting with other guys. Stop saying that you were just trying to be friendly, Chelsea. We both know differently.
Nobody will ever love you as much as I do.
So you’d better not screw this up too.
I didn’t think anyone in the group would understand.
If someone tried to manipulate Liz’s emotions, I was willing to bet they’d find themselves kicked to the curb, holding a handcrafted sign: RELATIONSHIP TERMINATED DUE TO SUDDEN OUTBREAK OF UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR. As for Amy . . . I doubted that she had ever been in a relationship, which meant the closest she had probably come to heartbreak was waiting for her crush to finally notice her.
It sure sounded like Ben got laid and moved on with no hard feelings on his side. It wouldn’t even surprise me to hear that he rolled off a girl after sex and high-fived her before searching for his pants. I didn’t really understand how he could
dive into casual flings and one-night stands without feeling, well . . . used. But it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. I seriously doubted he would have any trouble disentangling himself from a hookup that was approaching its expiration date.
That left only Houston. I eyed him speculatively, but I couldn’t get a read on him. Part of me wanted there to be a female Jake the Mistake lurking in his past that would conveniently explain why he was so suspicious of me.
But I seriously doubted it.
“Yeah, Chelsea. What happened?” Houston smirked as if he already knew whatever I was going to say wouldn’t be the truth. Not the full truth, anyway.
He was right.
I rolled my eyes. “I dated a high school senior back in middle school. We broke up. He left for college. Satisfied?”
Amy’s eyes snapped open. “Seriously? You can’t stop there.”
But that’s exactly where I wished the story had ended. I wanted it to be nothing more than a temporary footnote in my romantic history—one that glossed right over a year of warped mind games followed by an inevitable breakup and a two-year tailspin. I definitely wanted to forget how desperately I had needed someone to reassure me that Jake had it all wrong.
That I wasn’t broken and unlovable.
But I didn’t know how I would recover if Jake’s words were only confirmed, so I didn’t risk it. Instead, I pretended that I was perfectly fine and focused on maintaining my popularity. Nobody could hurt me if they thought I had the power to make them regret it. All they could do was whisper about me behind my back as I smiled, tossed back my hair, and put on the performance of a lifetime. By the time I figured out that all the guys I was surrounding myself with weren’t going to ease my gnawing self-doubt—that only Logan had ever been interested in hearing what I had to say—he had already moved on to geekier pastures.
Not that I would admit any of that out loud.
Houston laughed, but I couldn’t tell if he actually found any part of the conversation funny. “I take it back. I’m calling you jail bait now instead of princess. That’s just—” He shook his head for a moment before the laughter died and he suddenly went very still. “Your dad doesn’t know you were in middle school when it started, does he?”
