“So when are the parentals due back?” Camie asked, flipping from her stomach to her back. “Not early tomorrow, I hope.”
“God no,” Jo Lynn replied, propping herself up on her elbows. “But I’m sure they’ll be home by supper on Sunday. Mother has some Glass Slipper Club stuff to take care of before the invitations go out.”
Trisha giggled. “I can’t believe it’s almost D-Day. I want my invite now, I swear. I hate the way they make us wait.”
“Like, how do you know you’re even on the list?” Camie teased. “It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?”
Jo Lynn rolled her eyes behind her Prada shades.
Secret, my ass, she thought. Everyone knew which ten girls were getting in and which weren’t, no matter how they all pretended it was a great big shock. And Jo Lynn had no doubt her name was at the top of the list. Bootsie Bidwell was chair of this year’s selection committee, which meant there was zero chance Jo Lynn would lose her spot.
“So what’re you wearing to the announcement dinner, Jo-L?” Camie prodded. “That funky Galliano halter dress your mom bought you in New York?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure yet.”
She creased her brow, mulling over several of the insanely expensive outfits procured on her and Bootsie’s most recent spending spree in Manhattan. She’d narrowed things down to the beaded Galliano that looked like something designed for a 1920s flapper and the vintage white Valentino with red embroidery.
“Maybe the Valentino,” she said, though she knew she wouldn’t make up her mind until the last minute.
“Well, whatever you pick, you’ll look perfect,” Trisha chimed in. “It’ll be the icing on the cake for you, won’t it? I mean, the guys at Caldwell named you Hottest Girl at PFP three years in a row.” Trisha twirled her long red-gold ponytail and sighed. “No other Glass Slipper deb will hold a candle to you, especially not that lard-ass Laura Bell.”
Camie sniffed. “She’s lucky as hell that she’s a legacy.”
“And filthy rich,” Trisha added.
“Because she’s hardly what I’d consider deb material,” Camie continued without missing a beat. “The girl can’t seem to keep her hands out of the cookie jar, can she? It’s like she’s Pine Forest’s version of Ugly Betty. Only she’s Big-Ass Betty.”
“Yeah, I heard Miss Laura was sent off to fat camp this summer. Your mom’s friends with Tincy Bell, right?” Trisha nudged Jo Lynn’s leg with a toe. “Did you get an update? Did she lose any weight at all?”
“First, stop poking me.” Jo Lynn pushed Trisha’s foot away. “And, second, no I haven’t heard anything new about Laura Bell. But you know how I feel about sharing the stage with a debu-tank. That’d be, like, sacrilegious. My great-grandmother helped found the GSC, and she’d totally roll over in her grave.”
“Can’t we do anything to make sure that skank’s not picked?” Camie asked. Trisha chimed in with a heartfelt “Yeah, what can we do, Jo-L?”
Jo Lynn reached around her back to retie her bikini top so she could sit up. It was almost time to leave anyway; she had a few things to pick up for her party before she headed home. “Maybe we won’t need to do anything at all. Even though Bootsie’s tight with Tincy Bell, Laura could still get blackballed by the other committee members.”
“Now, that’s a happy thought!” Cam remarked. Trisha giggled.
Jo Lynn wondered how Laura Bell would take it if she waited and waited for a Rosebud invitation…and none came. Would she eat herself into oblivion? Would she blame Jo Lynn for everything, like she did last year when Avery Dorman gave her the heave-ho?
As if any of what had gone on back then was Jo Lynn’s fault. Laura had brought it on herself, by deluding herself that she’d ever be part of the in-crowd. Though the girl came from money and was well liked at school in the way overly friendly overweight girls were, she was nothing more than debu-trash in plus-sized couture. Laura Bell just rubbed Jo Lynn the wrong way, and someone had to show her what was what. If it had to be Jo Lynn, c’est la vie.
“Hey, gorgeous.” A familiar throaty voice broke into her thoughts. “You look intense. Hope you’re not too preoccupied to give your boyfriend a kiss.”
“Dillon! What’re you doing here?” Jo Lynn nearly jumped up out of the chaise. “I didn’t see you out here earlier.”
“I just emerged from the cave,” he said; Jo Lynn knew he meant the club’s weight room.
From the looks of things, he’d finished his workout and decided to cool off in the pool. He was dripping on the deck tiles, making a puddle at his feet. Then he shook his head like a dog and sent droplets flying in every direction.
Jo Lynn took a few to the face and blinked. “You jerk!” she squealed, and sprang out of the lounge chair, grabbing for him.
“Hey, hey, don’t make me call the lifeguard,” he said, and flung his beach towel around her, rolling her up like a tortilla wrap. “Uh-oh, looks like you’re all tied up.”
Jo Lynn laughed, feeling light-headed with Dillon’s arms around her. “You’re such a geek,” she told him, which was as far from the truth as she could get.
Dillon was the best-looking guy at Caldwell Academy, by far, with his wavy gold hair and sea blue eyes. Not only was he tall enough that she could wear her spikiest Jimmy Choos and still not reach any higher than his nose, but he was the first-string varsity Q-back, a blue-chip player that universities all over Texas had been actively—if not illegally—recruiting since his sophomore year.
He’d been working out this summer, too, and his biceps looked carved from stone. His pecs and abs were equally chiseled, and every tanned inch of him glistened as the sun dried the water off his skin.
“Hey there, Cam, Trisha. How’re y’all doing? Warm enough for ya?” he asked, and unwrapped his towel from around Jo Lynn.
Jo Lynn watched him turn his boyish smile on her friends, and they were instantly smiling back, murmuring, “Hey, Dillon, yeah, it’s real hot out” before they fell silent and stared bug-eyed at him, ogling his hot body.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was almost pathetic, really, the way Dillon could disarm women, no matter their age. Bootsie practically thought he walked on water, which was fine with Jo Lynn. She’d have hell to pay if her parents hated her boyfriend. Luckily, Dillon was everything they wanted for her, and then some—so different from the rest of the Caldwell jocks, who liked to talk tough and drink hard and went hunting on the weekends, shooting Bambi and driving tricked-out Silverados with loaded gun racks in the back window.
God, but that was so cowboy, Jo Lynn thought as she pulled an oversized DKNY T-shirt from her bag and slid it over her head.
Dillon was beautiful and generous and gentle, never trying to outmacho anyone, as was the Texas way. He treated her with kid gloves, acting like the perfect escort whenever they went to the country club for dinner with her folks or dressed up for some charity function at the St. Regis. He would hold her hand, kiss her softly, and put his arm around her in such a way that everyone would coo, What a beautiful couple!
“Hey, Jo, you okay, babe? You sort of drifted off there for a moment.”
“I was just thinking about us,” she told him. No lie.
“Happy thoughts, I hope,” he said, smiling down at her, and she smiled back.
“Always happy.”
He bent to kiss her, his soft lips brushing hers, and Jo Lynn’s heart beat so erratically at his touch, she felt like she might stroke out or something.
Could you ever love someone so much it killed you? she wondered, hoping she’d never have to learn the answer.
“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” he asked.
Jo Lynn reached up to wipe a drip of sweat from his cheek; then she leaned in close enough to whisper, “I figure you’ll see all of me tonight.”
Dillon gave her a squinty-eyed look. “I thought you were having a party.”
“Oh, we’ll party, all right,” Jo Lynn assured him, smiling slyly. “It wouldn’t be the end o
f summer if we didn’t, would it? You’re bringing Mike and Brody, right?”
He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “We’ll be there.”
“Nine o’clock, okay? I’ll make sure Nanny Nan’s fast asleep by then.”
Dillon squeezed her shoulder. “Sounds good to me. You girls don’t cook too long out here, okay? I gotta run,” he said finally, rubbing Jo Lynn’s arm and patting her ass. “But I’ll catch you later.”
“Can’t wait.” She nodded, and he ruffled her blond hair before he gave her another quick kiss.
Then he was gone.
“You’re so lucky,” Camie said, pulling her dark curly hair off her neck and wrapping it into a knot. “Dillon’s très tasty.”
“I’ll bet he’s great between the sheets, too,” Trisha teased, and she and Camie giggled while Jo Lynn ignored them, hiding her true emotions behind her Prada shades.
The truth was, Dillon had hardly been great between the sheets lately; hell, they hadn’t done anything but sleep between the sheets these past two weeks when they’d been together. Dill seemed alternately exhausted, distant, or preoccupied. Only, whenever she asked what was wrong, he kept telling her everything was okay.
Just worried about the season and signing with the right college, he’d say, and getting through the summer two-a-days.
Jo understood how much pressure he was under. Dillon’s dad was a former pro linebacker from the Houston Oiler days. Now Ray Masters was a balding car dealer with a beer gut who’d shifted all his dreams onto his son. Jo Lynn knew that kind of stress firsthand and realized how hard it was on Dillon. That had to be all it was, because he’d never lied to her before, and Jo had no reason to doubt him. But things between them felt weird just the same, and she’d do anything to change that.
She pulled her Marc Jacobs butterfly wedges from her bag and slid them on her slim feet, mulling over what she’d wear that night as she fastened the tiny ankle straps. For sure, something sexy that showed off her assets, something that would ensure Dillon looked at her and no one else. Until they could be alone—oh, and she’d make sure they were—at which point she planned to take every piece of sexy clothing off and blow his mind.
Then whatever was bugging him would disappear, and everything between them would be right as rain again.
* * *
Cockroaches and socialites are the only things that can stay up all night and eat anything.
—Herb Caen
Why can’t eating Ben & Jerry’s be more like sex with Avery: sinfully delicious and a calorie burner to boot?
—Laura Bell
* * *
Five
“Let me get that for you.”
Laura sighed and ceased struggling with the zipper on the back of her mod-print sundress. She glanced at her bedroom’s peony-blush walls, wondering if her cheeks nearly matched the deep pink. When her gaze settled on Avery Dorman, sitting on the edge of her queen bed with its ruffled floral spread, she had to blink twice to reassure herself he was really there and not a mirage.
“Stop starin’ at me and come on over,” Avery demanded in his masculine drawl, the graveled sound of his voice making Laura feel a lot like melting butter.
Demurely, she did as he asked, settling on his thighs and turning her back to him. She pulled her blond hair over her right shoulder; the ends were still a little damp from the shower. She heard a faint swooshing sound and felt the tickle of the zipper going up her spine. Then his hands slid down her bare arms, giving her goose bumps.
“I’m so glad I caught you at the airport,” he said, nuzzling the back of her neck, his breath warm on her skin. “I’ve hardly seen you all summer, and I need my Laura fix.”
She smiled, keeping her back to him, relieved he couldn’t see the delight that was surely written all over her face. It would’ve appeared so gauche for her to jump up and down, knowing that he still needed a Laura fix, even though they’d been officially broken up for a year.
Even if she willed her brain to forget him, the rest of her wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not in an eternity, no matter how hopeless Mac kept telling her she was when it came to him.
Laura happened to believe that some people were meant to be together, and she and Avery were two of them, even if he didn’t see it quite as clearly as she did…yet. But he would, even if she had to work like the devil in the weeks ahead to make it happen. Still, she felt like she was one step closer now.
“There,” Avery said, getting back to zippering, “all done.” He gave a whistle as she got up off his knee and stood to fasten her belt. “You kick ass in that dress.” He cocked his head, and a sliver of sandy brown hair fell across his face.
“Only I think I like you better out of it.”
“Stop it,” Laura said, and blushed despite herself.
“You’re, like, a pathological flirt, I swear.”
“Hey, but I’m no liar.” He reached out, catching an arm around her waist and drawing her back again. “I might mean things I don’t say, but I never say things I don’t mean.”
What crazy kind of logic was that?
She wrinkled her forehead, staring at him. “Avery, that hardly makes sense.”
“It would if you trusted me a little.”
“Trust you?”
“Is that so impossible?” He squinted at her, managing to look halfway serious. “I know sometimes what I do doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s hard always tryin’ to do the right thing when everybody’s watching you.”
“Don’t you mean the acceptable thing?” she corrected, because that seemed more like the truth—as she saw it, anyway. He was the Big Man on Campus, the one the guys at Caldwell all wanted to emulate and the girls at Pine Forest all wanted to shag. His image meant everything to him. Maybe too much, sometimes.
“If anyone should get that, it’s you, Laura,” Avery said, and ran a finger over her hip. “Sometimes I feel like all I’ve got is people pulling on me. I don’t need you doin’ it, too.”
Laura saw the hurt look on his face and sighed. “I do understand,” she told him. “I really do.”
She knew how important his success was, not just to him but to everyone around him, including his family, Caldwell Academy, even the Texas Longhorns, since they were setting him up to become the biggest thing since Ricky Williams. Laura realized he didn’t get much downtime. She remembered a Saturday when she’d gone over to his house in Hunters Creek to help him babysit his younger sisters. He’d been so silly and relaxed, playing Twister and goofing off, revealing a softer side of himself she was sure other people didn’t see. Out in the public eye, he did his tough-guy act, like he always had something to prove; only Laura knew what lay beneath the macho routine. And that was the Avery she’d fallen in love with.
“Then stop tugging on me, please,” he said quietly. “Let’s just enjoy where we are, right this minute.”
Normally, Laura would’ve laughed at such a line, but she didn’t now. Her breath caught in her throat as Avery pressed his head against her belly, and she wove her fingers through his hair. Her eyes took in the tangled sheets on her bed and the rumpled white elbow-length gloves discarded on the floor—crazy how those turned him on—and her whole body heated up as she thought about being with him, the way he’d held her, how he’d kissed her, the gentle way they’d made love.
And it was love. Deep in her heart, Laura believed it.
Thank God her parents weren’t home and Babette was off for the rest of the weekend, because Laura had desperately craved this time alone with Avery after feeling so isolated at Camp Hi-De-Ho. She needed to feel good about herself as she was. It was wrong to think she needed to starve herself to fit in.
She silently repeated her mantra, I am who I am, adding a slight twist: and my heart needs this.
“Listen.” She pulled back a step and cupped his chin with her hand, making him look up at her. “I don’t want to tug at you, Avery, but I’ve got something important to say, and I’m only gonna say it once.”
Because she barely had the nerve to get it out the first time.
“Okay. I’m all ears.” The deep-set eyes within his chiseled face looked at her so intently, like she was the only other person in the world, and she found herself wondering how many girls besides her had seen that same expression; girls who wore a size two, like Camie Lindell and Jo Lynn Bidwell.
It wasn’t the most pleasant thought in the world, but it gave her the courage to insist, “You can’t keep treating me like a yo-yo. Either we get back together one of these days, or the fun has to end. I don’t want to be your bed buddy while you’re dating your way through the Bimbo Cartel. I’m worth your undivided attention.”
Part of her wanted to take it back after she’d said it, so afraid he’d say, Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’ll see ya around, sweetheart. So she held her breath, awaiting his response; her heart skipped a few beats as well.
“So I’m dating my way through the Bimbo Cartel. Is that what you think?” Avery leaned back on the bed, reclining on his elbows. His bare chest rippled from his pecs to his rock-hard abs; hair soft as down trailed a path down to his waist. He hadn’t buttoned up his cutoffs, and she could clearly see his black boxers with the skull and crossbones print. “If you don’t believe you mean something to me, I’m not sure why the hell you’d leave the airport in my car, much less come back here.”
Laura blinked at him, his reply only confusing her all the more. “It’s just that your being here is like a secret,” she explained. “It’s not like being together in public.”
“Your best friends saw us at Hobby. How much more public can we get?”
Laura opened her mouth to say, They don’t count, but bit her tongue because she didn’t mean it like that. Mac and Ginger knew how she felt about Avery. They knew about Avery coming back to her whenever he needed his Laura fix. And they knew she was too weak to refuse him.
The Debs Page 5
