Was that what I’d been doing?
Britney turned into “Pony” by Ginuwine, and as the song that made Channing Tatum a household name blared over the state-of-the-art sound system, I glanced back at the table. Kurt was down to his undershirt, boxers, and tube socks. While the words “I’m just a bachelor…” rolled across the room, my normally reserved teammate thrust his hands in the waistband of his shorts.
“Ah, hell.” He was going to regret this in the morning.
Before I could even think about stopping him, Kurt spun around. His sports socks slipped on the mahogany table, but he caught himself…and then proceeded to flash the room his huge white ass.
The crowd whooped in appreciation. A few girls yelled for him to take it all off. I turned the hell away, shaking my head with a tired laugh.
Maybe I needed a drink. It’d been a long week, and if nothing else, it would get my mind off the troubles with Ilusiòn. Scanning the options, I decided to go with a Crown and Seven, and as I uncapped the bottle and filled the red plastic cup with amber liquid, I found myself wondering what Lily would have chosen.
Was she more of a wine cooler girl, or a salt-of-the-earth, beer-from-the-keg chica? Knowing her, she’d probably stick to water.
Smiling to myself, I grabbed the soda and added it to my cup.
The crazy thing was, if I was home right now, I could’ve asked her. I also could’ve found out what she’d thought about the game, if she’d had fun, and if she’d seen me make the impossible throw in the third quarter that put us up forty-nine to three. I smirked as I dropped a couple of ice cubes in the mix. Holy shit. It was a good thing Fairfield’s baseball team was nationally ranked because, damn.
“Already smiling into your cup, huh?”
Aidan sauntered into the kitchen, brushing past me on his way to the keg. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide smile, but it seemed off. “You deserve to get tanked. I can’t even fathom your stats after that performance.”
“Hey, I didn’t do it alone,” I replied, not bothering to correct him about the drink. This would be the first of the night, and I barely even wanted it. “Four of those TDs were yours.”
Aidan snagged a Solo cup and pumped the keg. “I didn’t see your sister out there,” he said, gesturing toward the general bedlam beyond the kitchen. “Where is she tonight?”
I leaned my hip against the granite. “Home. She asked a couple of girls to sleep over.”
“Oh yeah?” His cup filled to the brim, he took a long pull, then licked his lips. “Same girls from the game?”
“Yup.”
After watching him take another sip, I glanced at my own cup. The sound of glass breaking rose over the cacophony of loud music, obnoxious chatter, drunken hooting, and phones chirping behind me.
Flipping on the faucet, I dumped my untouched drink down the drain. Standing back up, I already felt lighter. “Hey, man, I’m gonna bail.” I tossed my cup in the trash and threw up deuces. “See you Monday.”
As I turned, I could’ve sworn I saw him shake his head. When I glanced back at the doorway, Aidan waved and took another sip of his beer, going back to scanning the room. I scrubbed a hand over my face. I was officially losing it. Rolling back my shoulders, I left to look for Chase.
Five minutes later, I found him, past the congested hallway filled with discarded cups and bottles and beyond the massive line outside the bathroom, where someone was definitely puking up their guts. He was in the den, seated on the sofa with a girl wearing a short skirt and a bright pink tank top in his lap and a couple making out next to him.
That wasn’t what caught my attention.
What made me pause, halfway across the room, was Chase didn’t even seem to notice the brunette rubbing her boobs on his arm. He was leaned in talking to Robbie, who was parked on the coffee table in front of him, and completely ignoring the girl.
“Yo.” I stepped over the legs of the guy rounding third on the couch and took a knee so Chase could hear me over the music. “I’m out of here.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You want me to come with ya?”
I shifted back, studying his eyes to see if he was high. They were clear as ever, though they did look bored as shit. “Dude, it’s your party.”
“The guys will shut it down.” He glanced at Robbie, who nodded in the affirmative. “A service is coming in the morning to clean anyway. I can jet if you want.”
Shit, now I was gonna look like a dick. My oldest friend had a hot girl on his lap, in the middle of a party of his own making, and he was asking to leave with me. Clearly, the answer I should’ve given was yes.
“Nah, man.” I shifted my gaze to the French doors leading outside. “I promised Angel an empty house for her sleepover. I’m just gonna sneak in, duck into my room, and call it an early night.”
Chase’s shoulders drooped, and I wrapped a hand around the back of my neck. I almost relented, but I really did promise my sister a quiet house. Plus, a pair of pretty blue eyes swam in my head. Remembering that charged moment in my truck, I leaned in and added, “Besides, they’re tearing apart your house, man. Something broke a few minutes ago, and Kurt did a striptease on old Louis.”
An amused glint entered his eyes, and I smirked. It’d serve Mrs. Winters right if her cherished Louis XVI dining table got scuffed. Neither she nor her husband could be bothered to attend any of her son’s games, which was why I couldn’t have been bothered to tell Kurt to get down earlier. Still, someone at least somewhat responsible should hang around to make sure the place didn’t burn down.
Plus, I wanted to go home alone.
Chase sprawled back on the couch. “Yeah, that’s cool. I better stay anyway. A Fairfield cheerleader said she’d meet me in the pool house in twenty,” he told me…still failing to notice the brunette already perched on his lap.
The girl squawked—legit squawked, like a bird—and Robbie fell over laughing.
As Chase winced, his body already shifting forward to protect his junk, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”
Pushing to my feet, I headed straight for the French doors. I didn’t even pause to acknowledge the girls who called my name or the guys who slapped my back as I shot past.
I was going home.
Chapter Eighteen
Lily
Carefully stepping around the prone bodies of my friends, navigating the cushy pallet of blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows on the living room floor, I presented the tray of freshly baked cookies with a flourish. “Voila!”
Angéla cheered, as the occasion clearly called for, while Sydney shook her head like I was a dork. Good thing I wore the banner proudly. I could admit, though, that tonight I felt different. I didn’t know if it was watching the game, throwing the impromptu party, or just something in the air, but I felt more like myself than I had in a long time—and, since my true self was a major dork, that was what they were getting.
“How long are we supposed to leave these on again?” I asked, gingerly touching the mostly dried green goop on my face. My nails were freshly painted, and I was wearing those weird rubber dividers between my toes. All in all, my mom would’ve been proud.
“I think this one said twenty minutes,” Angéla replied, finishing the polka-dot art on her fingernails. Nail art was on her list of Teen Movie Sleepover Musts, as were the other spa treatments we’d experimented with tonight. A huge pile of DVDs lay scattered across the entertainment center—only a tiny fraction of her massive collection—but so far, we hadn’t touched a single one.
Sydney sighed happily. “This reminds me of the sleepovers we had when we were kids, Lil.”
I nodded in agreement, and Angéla perked up. “Really? I thought most of these things were Hollywood clichés. I didn’t know real, actual people did them.” She curled her lip and said, “Man, I had sucky friends.”
Sydney sat up and peeled the cucumbers off her eyes. Taking a bite out of one, she said, “We mostly just had each other, Lil and m
e, but Mrs. Isa would pull us into her bathroom for ‘spa time,’ and she always had the best junk food.”
“Don’t forget about the dirt, either,” I added. “No sleepover was complete without talking about the latest gossip: who was crushing on who, who had gotten in a fight that week.” I shook my head at the memory. In a lot of ways, my mom had been a big kid, and she’d always been my best friend. “The best part, though, was her words of wisdom.”
“Definitely,” Syd agreed.
“What do you mean?”
“Mom never let a sleepover end without handing out sage life advice,” I told her.
Sydney cleared her throat and, affecting my mom’s Boston accent so perfectly it made goose bumps dance down my arms, she recited, “Girls, always remember to be the heroine in your own story. You don’t need a prince to rescue you.”
“But, if one does come along,” I added with a grin, “snatch him up something fierce and remember to treat him right, because a good man deserves to know he’s wanted.”
After the words fell, we both sighed, and Sydney crawled over from her side of the pallet to lay her left ear on my shoulder, carefully avoiding the green goop on her cheek. Angéla snuggled up to my other side, doing the same. “I would’ve liked to have met her,” she said softly, and I ran my fingers down her glossy hair.
“She would’ve loved you,” I told her with confidence, and Angéla smiled up at me.
Quiet descended again for about thirty whole seconds, then Angéla sat back up and spun to face me. “I still can’t believe you’re not going,” she complained, picking back up the argument we’d been having since lunch. “It’s senior Homecoming, Lily. This is it. Our last one ever!”
I shrugged, bouncing Syd’s head on my shoulder. “I just don’t see what the big deal is. I’ve never done the school-dance thing. No one’s asked me, but even if they had, I probably would’ve said no. I was always studying.”
“Homecoming falls the weekend after first quarter exams,” Sydney piped in unhelpfully, and I pinched under her ribs. My best friend yelped, totally ticklish, and I sat back victorious. She was supposed to be on my side.
“What if my brother asked you?” Angéla challenged, and every muscle in my body chose that moment to jolt. Since they were both practically sitting on top of me, there was no hiding it.
“Th-there’s no point in speculating about that,” I sputtered. “It would never happen.”
Sydney rolled forward to face me, grabbing a pillow to hold in her lap. Plucking the decorative strings, she said, “It’d be awesome, though. I could finally see the two of you dance.”
Angéla eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Girl, they’ve got serious chemistry, let me tell you.”
Scoffing loudly—even as my heart did a funny little flip in my chest—I looked at both girls like they were nuts. “The only thing remotely chemistry-related between your brother and me is when I step on his toes and he reacts in pain.”
“So you’re telling us you don’t have any fun at all when you’re dancing?” Angéla asked with a scrappy look that said not only was she not giving this up, but she also saw straight through me. I deflated against the couch with a grunt. Fine.
“I didn’t say I didn’t have fun,” I muttered, studying my siren-red-painted nails—a bold color I would’ve never selected on my own. “Surprisingly, I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow’s lesson. And I feel closer to Mom when I’m there.”
To tell the truth, it was more than that. Despite my best efforts to compartmentalize the lessons to one hour a week, I found myself dancing around the house, practicing the steps I’d learned and even going so far as to search out tutorials on YouTube. I still sucked at them, of course, but they were fun to watch.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s great and all,” Sydney said, sitting up on her knees. “But I want to know if you’re feeling Stone there.”
I rolled my eyes at her merciless grin. Ugh, this was so embarrassing.
“I guess…” I blew a strand of hair off my face. “I guess he’s different than I expected.”
Sydney tossed her throw pillow at me. Laughing, I ducked my head and grabbed a second pillow, chucking it back.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I might have a slight crush on the boy. Are you two happy now?”
Angéla started squealing and stomping her feet on the ground, which I took as a yes. Sydney lay back on her section of the pallet with a wide smile. Thinking back to my conversation with Aidan, I felt it necessary to add, “But everyone has a crush on Stone Torres. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’m sitting around doodling our names together or planning a wedding. We’re friends, and he’s hot. That’s all.”
The lack of any sort of facial change or recognition of my words assured me neither of them was buying what I was selling. I made a distressed sound in my throat. Angéla handed me a cookie, winking as she turned her attention to Sydney.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I want to hear about cuttlefish boy.”
The blush that tinted my best friend’s ears almost made up for the trauma of the last few minutes. Finally, Sydney had gotten her man, and the way Nick had asked her to Homecoming had been particularly fabulous. He’d met her at the door to AP Bio with a sign that said, “I want to Cuttle with you at the dance.” A seriously cheesy line, not to mention a huge stretch of the word, but it’d been perfect for Sydney. She’d absolutely loved it.
Of course, Nick could’ve grunted and said, “Will you?” and she would’ve agreed wholeheartedly, too, but it helped that he went the extra mile. He got my seal of approval.
“I’ve been waiting years for those two to get together,” I said, and Angéla turned to me, seeing that Sydney was suddenly Fort Knox. Funny how that happened when you were the one on the chopping block.
“Why did it take so long?” she asked, and I raised a questioning eyebrow at Syd, wondering if she wanted to take this one.
She blew out a breath. “I’ve really only had two relationships,” she said, poking a finger in the mask drying on her cheek. “Both short. Which is fine, because I don’t really have time for them. I’m always busy babysitting or doing something for student council. It’s just…whenever I do date, I’m always the one to break it off. I always find something wrong with the guy. Some flaw that becomes impossible to ignore. A habit I suddenly find annoying. I’m actually starting to worry there’s something wrong with me, since I can’t seem to stay interested longer than a couple of weeks.”
Sydney gnawed at her bottom lip, lost in thought for a second before she looked at us, genuine worry in her eyes. “I really like Nick. He’s smart and funny and so damn cute. I’ve been crushing on him for forever. I want this one to work. But what if it doesn’t? What if we go out for a couple of weeks and then it just…fizzles? Am I doomed to be single like my mom forever?”
I reached out and put my hand on her foot, squeezing it in a hug. Sydney’s mom was a serial dater. She had married Sydney’s father, but that only lasted long enough to have Sydney. Her relationships since had resulted in two additional children and a string of broken hearts.
This wasn’t the first time Sydney had expressed her worry over her romantic future, so I knew enough not to comment. Her questions were rhetorical, and giving advice would only shut her down.
Angéla, obviously sensing that, too, laid back down. Her black hair spread across her pillow like a dark halo. “I’m definitely not the one to ask,” she muttered. “I’m like the opposite of Dr. Phil. A guy has to have balls of steel to show up at my door, what with Ágoston and Chase guarding me, which means my dating history is pathetic.”
I took my place between them, scooting back until my head landed on my pillow. “Does that mean Sean has steel balls?” I asked with a grin. “Because he did ask you to Homecoming.”
Angéla scoffed. “Sean’s harmless. Trust me, if Ágoston thought for one second I was genuinely interested, it would be a totally different story. He’s crazy protective. Even th
ough we’re twins, and I’m actually seventeen minutes older than him, it doesn’t matter. Somewhere along the way, he decided to take on the role of big brother.”
Unconscious or not, her hand fell to her touch-wood charm. It was clear why he’d taken on that job.
The moment lingered, and I opened my mouth and closed it several times, wondering if I should push. It really wasn’t any of my business, and she deserved to have her secrets. But then, we were friends now, right? And she’d had no qualms about grilling me.
“Angéla…” I scrunched my nose, trying to figure out how to word it. “Could it be there’s someone else you would’ve preferred had asked you to the dance, instead of Sean?”
She rolled her head to the side, and I lifted my eyebrows with a slight smile, hoping she’d spill.
“Ugh.” Making a face, she wiggled in her spot on the floor, shaking her shoulders and scissoring her legs like she had a sudden excess of energy she needed to get rid of. I bit back a smile, not wanting to scare her away, but unable to hold it in. She was just so dramatic.
“Obviously you’ve already figured it out,” she said, adding an almost comedic sigh while she pushed herself up until she was sitting. “Which is funny because I’ve officially known you for, what, a week, and yet my brother remains utterly clueless. He’s such a guy. But yes, given the choice, I would’ve loved for Chase to have asked me to the dance…or to the movies, or to dinner, or to just about anything that involves being alone with him, because I’ve been in love with the stupid boy since forever. And while we’re at it, I also wouldn’t mind having his beautiful babies one day, either. Years from now, like after I’m ruling E! and he’s the king of ESPN.”
When she saw my lips twitch, Angéla blew a raspberry. “It doesn’t matter, though, because Chase thinks of me as a sister. When he looks at me, he sees the tomboy who followed them around when we were kids and the fragile girl who was sick once. Chase visited me in the hospital almost as much as Stone did, and at times, he fusses over me more than my own brother. It’s like he thinks I can keel over from exhaustion or a simple allergy attack. When he’s not trying to wrap me up in bubble wrap, he’s got blinders on. I doubt the guy even knows I have breasts!”
Eyes on Me Page 16
