"I thought we were just dancing. Do you have other plans for tonight?" It comes out sounding a little harsh, but I'm tired of guys only wanting sex and not wanting to get to know me.
"The dance ends at nine and I didn't think you'd want to stay the whole time, so I thought maybe we could go get something to eat. That dinner wasn't very good." He pauses. "Do you like pancakes?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"There's a restaurant just outside of town that has really good pancakes."
Pancakes are a big deal with my family. They're a tradition. Rachel makes them every Saturday and I set up a toppings bar. Jade and Garret come over with their kids and we stuff ourselves.
"I could go for some pancakes," I say. "Do they have different kinds?"
"I think so. I've only been there one time. I didn't get a good look at the menu." He leans back and puts his arm up along the top of the bench. "So I know you like to draw. What else do you like to do?"
"Paint. Swim. Play with my nieces and nephews."
"You seem too young to be an aunt."
"My brother's a lot older than me. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"I have a younger brother. Back to your comment about painting. Can I see some of your work?"
"I didn't bring any to school. I'll be making new drawings and paintings in class. I'm an art major."
"I wish I was talented like that. I can't do anything artistic. That's why I'm studying business. I'm better with numbers than a paintbrush."
"My dad and brother were both business majors."
"Oh, yeah? Where do they work?"
"They own a sporting goods store." I shiver as a cool evening breeze rushes past.
"Here." He takes his blazer off and wraps it around my shoulders.
"Thanks."
"My dad's in business too. He owns an investment firm in New York. I guess you already knew that from when your friend mentioned it earlier."
"Is that where you're from? New York?"
He nods. "I was born and raised in the city. Upper West Side. I wanted a break from it, which is how I ended up here."
"My mom and stepdad live in New York." I don't know why I keep bringing up my family. He doesn't want to hear about them. I shiver again as the breeze blows.
"You look cold. Do you want to go inside?"
"Yeah, okay."
Back inside, the band is playing and people are dancing. It's a fast song and I spot Willow jumping around and waving her hands in the air. I laugh. I didn't expert her to dance like that. I thought she'd stick to slow dancing. Taylor is next to her, dancing just as crazy. Seeing them out there makes me want to join in and have a girls' night instead of being on a date, which is what this feels like. Preston is definitely interested in me, and I like him, but I'm worried he's going to push me to do things I'm not ready to do. But this is college and every guy is going to expect those things, so I just need to tell Preston no if it gets to that point.
"You can have this back." I give Preston his jacket and he sets it on the chair next to us.
He slips his hand around mine. "You ready to dance?"
I nod and try to relax. As soon as he held my hand, my arm tightened. I need to stop being so tense around guys. It's just a hand hold. Nothing to get all worked up about.
He leads me to the middle of the dance floor and does the typical side-to-side thing that guys always do. Except my brother. He has really good dance moves. I don't know where he learned how to dance.
My arms are waving around and my feet are moving as I start to get into the beat. But then a slow song begins. Half the dancers go sit down because they don't have partners. Preston puts his arms around my waist and continues the side-to-side thing. I feel Iike I'm back at prom. He's smiling at me so I smile back. He is really hot. Hotter than any guy I've ever dated.
He leans down by my ear and I'm expecting him to tell me I'm hot again, or give me some line, but instead he says, "What kind of pancakes do you like?"
He says it in a sexy whisper and I laugh.
He laughs too. "Were you thinking I was going to say something else?"
"No. That's exactly what I thought you were going to say."
He leans even closer, his lips brushing my ear. "Buttermilk? Blueberry? Apple?" He's using the sexy whisper again and I can't stop laughing.
"Blueberry," I say, pushing him away. "Now I'm getting hungry. Maybe we should just go now instead of later."
"You want to leave?" He pulls back. "Is it because of my shitty dancing?"
"Yes," I say seriously. "I can't watch this a second longer."
"I totally understand." He takes my hand and we walk over to the table to get his blazer. He puts it around my shoulders as we go outside.
"God, that was bad, wasn't it?" he asks. "This is why I always stood on the side of the room at dances. I'm horrible at it."
"You're no worse than any other guy. Most guys aren't good dancers."
It's getting dark, and as we approach the edge of campus, I start to get that nervous feeling again. I just met this guy. Can I trust him? My dad and brother would say no, but they'd say that about any guy.
"You coming?" he asks.
I stopped walking and he's ahead of me, our hands still attached. "Where's your car?"
"In the freshman lot, so we'll be walking for a while."
Camsburg makes freshmen park a half mile away to discourage us from bringing a car to school. Campus parking is very limited and since most freshmen live in the dorm, the school assumes we don't need a car as much as upperclassmen who live off campus.
"Maybe we should just stay here." I fish my phone out of my skirt pocket and make sure it's on and fully charged, just in case I need to call the police. I'm not saying Preston is dangerous, but you never know so you have to be prepared. It's what I've been taught. Better to be safe than sorry.
"You don't want pancakes?" Preston asks. "After I made them sound so good?"
I smile. "You did make them sound good. All right. Let's go."
It takes ten minutes to walk to the parking lot. Preston's car is a brand new silver Audi. He holds the door open for me and waits for me to get in, then goes around to his side. We don't say much on the drive to the restaurant, which is fine. We can talk when we get there.
The restaurant is old and run-down, but they serve breakfast all day and night. I'm surprised Preston suggested this place. It doesn't seem like the type of place a rich, preppy city boy would want to eat at.
Stop judging by appearances, I remind myself. That's what my mom does, not me. As we're looking at the menu, my phone rings. My mom must've heard my thoughts because she's the one calling. She always gets mad when I don't answer her calls, even when I can't, like when I'm in class.
I hold up my phone. "I have to get this."
"Go ahead."
"Hello, Mother." I step out of the booth and walk to an empty corner of the diner. "Did you need something?"
"No, I don't need anything," she snaps. "I was simply calling to see how you're doing. You seemed tense earlier."
She never calls to ask how I'm doing. She only calls to criticize me, or yell at me, or tell me what to do.
"I'm fine, but I'm out with a friend so I really can't talk right now."
"What friend?"
Why did I tell her that? Now she'll ask who it is, then tell me not to hang out with him. She doesn't approve of my friends unless she picked them for me.
My mother used to pick my friends based on how their parents could benefit her or my family. It was when I was younger, when my dad was still married to her. My dad let her do it because he was raised the same way. So was she. My dad said it's what rich people do, but after they divorced, he let me pick my own friends. My mom was furious and still tries to control who I socialize with.
"You don't know him," I say.
"Him?" She's angry. She doesn't want me dating anyone she doesn't approve of. She even claims she's going to pick my husband for me. It's another thing rich people do, but it's not
going to happen. My dad would never allow it.
"He's just a friend, Mom."
"It's Mother, not Mom. You sound trashy using that term. Now who is this boy? Give me his name."
I keep quiet.
"Lilly Kensington! You tell me his name this instant!"
She'll keep calling back until I give her a name. Given that Preston's rich and his dad owns a company, maybe she'll be okay with me dating him.
"His name is Preston Litchfield. He's from Manhattan. Upper West Side. His dad owns an investment firm." I made sure to mention only the things that would impress her.
"I've never heard of him. Why are you already out with a boy? You just moved in today."
"I met him at the freshman dinner and he invited me out."
"Out where?"
"We're at a restaurant near campus. Mother, I need to go. You always say it's rude to keep people waiting."
"People who matter, not some boy you met on campus. We will talk about this tomorrow." She hangs up and I return to the booth.
"I ordered you blueberry," Preston says.
"Thanks." I slip my phone in my pocket.
"Is something wrong?"
I sigh. "My mom. She's always telling me what to do."
"My dad's the same way. He expects me to be a younger version of him, even though we're nothing alike. He's always trying to control me." He smiles. "Let's talk about something else."
He switches the topic to music and I find that he likes a lot of the same music that I like, which is surprising because I like Indie artists who hardly anyone has heard of.
Our pancakes arrive, along with glasses of chocolate milk.
Preston picks up his glass. "I ordered you one. I hope you don't mind. I like chocolate milk with pancakes."
"Me too. My family says it doesn't go with pancakes, but they don't know what they're missing."
Preston and I have more in common than I thought we would. We like the same music. We both love pancakes and chocolate milk. He has a controlling dad. I have a controlling mom. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe we're meant to be together, or at least date and see where it goes.
When we get back to campus, he walks me to my dorm. We stand just outside the door.
"Thanks for hanging out with me," he says, his arms wrapping around my waist.
"Sure." I smile.
"Do you want to hang out with me again sometime?"
"Like when?"
"Maybe tomorrow night?"
"I can't. I need to get ready for class. I won't have time during the day. My mom will be here in the morning and then we have orientation in the afternoon."
"Speaking of that, you're in my orientation group. I was checking the schedule on my phone when you were talking to your mom and I noticed your name right next to mine."
"So we have to do team-building games together?"
He laughs. "Yeah. I'm sure it'll be lame. Why don't we go out for dinner afterward? We won't be out late. You'll still have time to get ready for class."
"Okay. I guess we could go to dinner."
"You like pizza?"
"Everyone likes pizza, but yes, it's my favorite food after pancakes."
"I'd take you someplace nicer but I don't want you getting the wrong idea."
"Which is what?"
"That I'm trying to make you my girlfriend."
"Are you saying you don't want that?"
"I do, but you have to agree to it and that'll take some time. I really like you, Lilly, and I don't want to screw this up. I want to take things slow. Is that okay with you?"
"Yeah." I'm relieved he said that. Taking it slow is exactly what I want.
"So for now, let's spend time getting to know each other. No pressure. We'll have some dinners together. Meet for coffee. Maybe go to a movie or two. Sound good?"
I nod. "Yeah, it does."
He hesitates. "I know this contradicts everything I just said, but is there any way I could kiss you goodnight?"
I smile. "I think that'd be okay."
Actually, I was hoping he'd kiss me. The night has gone well and I'm really attracted to him.
He leans down and kisses me. Just one kiss, but his lips remain over mine, like he wants to keep going. But I pull away. If he's willing to go slow, then we're going slow.
It's only our first date and our first day at college. We have plenty of time.
CHAPTER FIVE
My phone rings, waking me up. It's my mom. Why is she calling so early? It's not even eight.
"Hello, Mother," I say, my voice weak.
"Please tell me you are not still in bed." She doesn't wait for an answer. "It's five minutes to eight. Nobody should still be in bed at this hour."
"I'm up. I was just—"
"Hurry and get dressed. I'm picking you up at nine. I made you a hair appointment and then we'll go to lunch."
"My hair doesn't need to be cut."
"I disagree. Now hurry up. And wear something appropriate. Goodbye, Lilly." She hangs up.
I toss the phone aside and stumble out of bed. Grabbing my basket of shower supplies, I head down to the communal bathroom. So far, that's what I hate most about college. The communal bathroom. I'm not used to having to share a bathroom.
Forty-five minutes later, I'm showered and dressed and inspecting myself in the long mirror that's hung on my closet door.
The skirt I'm wearing is too straight. I tug it down and feel like I can't move my legs. I like skirts that are loose and flowing, like the one I had on last night. But today I have to wear something my mother would approve of, and since she bought me this skirt, she can't complain about it. It's a black pencil skirt that looks like something a corporate executive would wear to the office, not something you'd wear to lunch. I paired the skirt with a silky beige blouse, another gift from my mother.
My mother sends me clothes all the time but they're nothing I would ever wear. They just sit in my closet and eventually I give them away. The only reason I brought this skirt and blouse to school with me is in case I ever had to interview for something here on campus, like an internship or a job. I'm not looking for either of those but I figured if an opportunity came up that I was interested in, I should have at least one outfit that's appropriate for an interview.
It's a good thing I had it, because my mother wouldn't be seen in public with me if I was wearing my normal clothes. In her mind, a t-shirt and shorts is not appropriate attire. She also hates anything denim. She doesn't even own a pair of jeans. She wouldn't like the dresses or skirts I wear because they're all casual and she doesn't like casual. In fact, I'm surprised she didn't yell at me yesterday when she saw how I was dressed. She expects me to wear fancy dresses and suits at all times, like she does.
Still standing in front of the mirror, I run a smoothing product through my long blond hair so it's not so staticky. My hair hangs a couple inches past my shoulders and just last week I had the stylist cut some long layers in it so it wasn't so boring. My mom prefers it to be all one length, so she's probably planning to have it cut that way at the salon today. If she does, my hair will have to be cut to where the longest layers end, which means my hair will be at least three inches shorter. That'll look horrible.
I call my dad. He's the only one who can stop this.
"Dad, it's me," I say.
"Hi, honey. How was the dinner last night?"
"It was good. I went with a girl from my floor." I'm not going to tell him about Preston. Not yet. "I was calling because Mom's going to be here any minute and she's taking me to get my hair cut."
"You just had your hair cut last week."
"I know. She didn't ask me. She just made the appointment."
He knows what that means. She's trying to take over. Trying to control me. She's been doing this since I was born. She wants me to be just like her. To look like her. Act like her. No matter how much I resist her efforts, she keeps trying. And talking to her about it gets me nowhere. My dad is the only one who can get her under control. I
don't know how he does it, but he does.
He sighs. "I'll take care of it. What time is she going to be there?"
"Ten minutes. Maybe sooner if she's early."
"I'll call her right now."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Lilly, I'm sorry she showed up there like that. It's stressful enough moving away and starting college. You don't need your mother making it even more stressful."
"It's okay. She's leaving after lunch."
"If she doesn't behave herself at lunch, call me and I'll have another talk with her."
"I will." I say that, but the truth is, I wouldn't call him about that. I can handle my mom's rude comments. But I can't handle her having all my hair cut off. "Bye, Dad. Love you."
"Love you too."
I set my phone down and face the mirror again, feeling much better that I get to keep my long hair.
There's a knock on my door. My shoulders slump. She's early. I'm not ready for this. The constant criticism. The judgmental tone. Her eyes inspecting my body and face, finding fault with every little thing.
I open the door and Willow's standing there in pajama pants and a matching shirt. They're black with a white paisley print and hot pink stitching.
"I like your pajamas," I tell her.
She glances down at them. "I know. Aren't they cute? I love pajamas. I have way too many." She scoots past me into my room. "So how was last night?"
"What was last night?" I shut my door.
"Your date!" She puts her hands on her hips. "What happened?"
"We went to—"
"Wait. Before you tell me, why are you dressed like that? Do you have a job interview at a Fortune 500 company?"
I laugh. "No. I'm going out with my mom for lunch."
She checks the clock by my bed. "It's not even nine."
"We're doing some other stuff before lunch." I have no idea how we're going to fill the time now that the hair appointment isn't happening. This is a small college town. There's nothing to do here.
"Why would you dress that way for lunch?"
"My mom bought me this." I point to myself. "She doesn't like how I dress so it's just easier if I wear what she bought me."
"I could leave the house in pajamas and my mom wouldn't care."
Lilly: A Kensington Family Novel Page 4
