by Box Set
The song began to mix into a fast one and I realized we’d danced for not one, but two slow songs.
“Thanks, Brady,” I said as we stepped apart.
“Tomorrow at eleven?” he asked as we walked toward my friends.
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Brooklyn,” he said, stopping me in my tracks before we got to the edge of the dance floor.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for dancing with me. If you’ll notice,” he paused, moving only his eyes toward the group of faculty, but not his head, not even a twitch. “The dean has her eyes on me, so I can’t ask you to dance again tonight. But I want you to know it’s not because I don’t want to.”
And with that, he left me.
Jared
The only thing holding me up two and a half hours later, long after Brady had left the gym, was the caffeine I’d ingested thanks to several sodas, and the resultant trips to the restroom. I was too tired physically to dance and too drained emotionally to care that I was standing by myself while my friends sucked every moment of joy they could out of their evening at Westwood.
“How you doing?” Kaylee asked from my left, startling me.
“Kaylee,” I said. “When did you get back from the bathroom?”
She gave me an amused, wide-eyed look. “Twenty minutes ago. You asleep standing up there, Brooklyn?”
I exhaled. “Yes. Pretty much. Sorry I’m not very good company tonight.”
“It’s okay. You’ve had a rough week. And anyway, it’s been a good night; I’m just standing here sort of reliving it. Which seems lame, but I don’t care.”
I looked at her and smiled. “We did both dance with hot guys, huh?”
She smiled back. “We did. I mean, it was kind of crazy how it happened, but yeah. And Declan…” she fanned her face, loudly blowing out a breath.
Laughing, I looked out at the crowd again, trying to find him. “Where did he go? He didn’t leave early, did he?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s over there with the guys.”
I looked back out on the dance floor where a bunch of guys were fast dancing. “Why aren’t you out there with them?”
Kaylee shrugged. “I’m not much of a fast dancer. And anyway, I didn’t want to seem desperate. This kind of thing doesn’t come easily to me, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m not Chelly.”
Speaking of which… I glanced out and easily found Seychelles in her siren red dress. She was in the middle of the dance floor, again, surrounded by guys like moths to her flame. “Wow. She really knows how to work it,” I said, watching her laugh and interact with the boys like she was having the best time of her life. She probably was, I told myself.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Kaylee said, as awed as I was. “She makes it look so effortless.”
“I think it is effortless for her. She’s just one of those girls that oozes confidence. I mean, look around: she doesn’t have the best body or the best hair, and I’m not trying to be mean at all, she just…”
“She’s got it all,” Kaylee finished, nodding. “That confidence is everything. Not too many people could even pull off that dress, but she totally owns it.”
“So who’s she after?” I tried to watch and see if she paid any special attention to any of the guys in particular, but she seemed to be an equal-opportunity flirter.
“I’ve never seen her date one guy exclusively.”
I frowned at Kaylee. “Really?”
“Nope. Not for lack of offers. I mean, look at those guys sniffing around her. She’s just a free spirit, I guess.”
I looked back at Chelly, a little bit envious. Not that I wanted to be at the center of a group of guys who seemed to all want me.
Right. Who was I trying to kid? “Wow. She’s kind of living the dream.”
Kaylee leaned into me and nudged me with her shoulder. “You know it, sister.”
Scanning the crowd, I saw Emmie and Celia dancing among a group of guys also. Dave was right there with Emmie and I felt a huge pang of guilt and looked away from them.
“What about Celia? She got her eye on anyone?”
Kaylee looked out toward her roommate and shrugged. “She was into Steve Collins last year, but he’s so busy with football and she’s got her basketball practice…And,” she added, leaning closer to me. “Between us, her academics aren’t great. She needs to spend more time on studying or she’s going to end up on notice by the dean.”
I nodded, but was still curious what kind of guy Celia’d be into. “Is Steve here?”
She took a drink from her soda, but her eyes scanned the crowd. “Up in the bleachers. Short brown hair, no neck—your typical football jock.”
That described four of the guys on the bleachers.
“The one on the end,” Kaylee added, obviously reading my mind.
“And you?”
She looked at me. “And me, what?”
“You seemed to have a nice time dancing with Dylan.”
“Declan,” she corrected. “And I did. He’s sweet.”
“And hot,” I added.
“So hot,” she agreed. “So…”
“Irish? Tall? Nice?”
Kaylee turned to me and grinned. “The list goes on and on, doesn’t it?”
“It does. If you ask me, which you didn’t, but I’m going to pretend you did anyway, he’s a way better choice than that Phillip douche.”
She sighed. “I know. But Phillip, I don’t know, there’s something about him.”
“Yes. He’s an asshole.”
“Exactly. Why do we like the wrong boys?”
I looked out at the crowd, my eyes landing on Dave. “I have no idea.”
* * *
It wasn’t much later that the DJ announced the last set of songs for the night. “Thank God,” I muttered, glad that we’d be out of there and on the bus in ten minutes or so. I was desperate for my bed.
But then, as I was about to turn to Kaylee and let her know I was going to take one more trip to the restroom, I saw a guy coming straight for me, his eyes trained on me like I was a deer and he was a cougar. I swallowed and felt like I should turn and run, but that was ridiculous, and anyway, I didn’t have time to move away.
It was the guy Dave had been talking to earlier when Emmie’d introduced me as her roommate. He seemed older than the other guys, but it had to be because he was bigger, with broader shoulders, and had dark, swarthy stubble and the long tied-back hair—though his green eyes still seemed very young. Something about him was familiar, but I was sure I’d never met him before—I’d definitely remember meeting this guy.
And then he was there in front of me, just inside my personal space, making me back up into the pillar behind me. He was so tall that I had to lean back to look up at his face. He smelled amazing, like the most perfect musk cologne had mingled with his own smell, enveloping my senses as I stood there. But more demanding of my attention was that he was standing there, smiling mischievously, making me no longer feel like prey, but more like a soon-to-be co-conspirator in some sort of plot.
Somehow, in something like four seconds, this guy had me completely and utterly intrigued.
And breathless.
“Hi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “Brooklyn, right?”
Wow. I nodded, my brain unable to access words at that very moment.
“Dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I glanced over at Kaylee, who gave me an encouraging look, which was all I needed. I nodded again and slid my hand into the boy’s.
“I’m Abe,” he said as we walked out to the dance floor.
“Nice to meet you,” I forced out of my mouth. And then thought of all the other Westwood guys I’d met, not wanting any other misunderstandings. I looked at him sideways. “Wait, first name or last name?”
He gave me a confused look as we stopped at an empty spot on the floor. He put his big, warm hands on me, but he was so tall they landed not on my waist, but on my s
ides, right over my bra. I tried to put that fact out of my brain, but blushed fiercely anyway.
He tilted his head. “So, you don’t know?”
Don’t know what? I smiled at him. “I’m the new girl, so you can assume I don’t know anything.” I couldn’t reach around his neck comfortably, so I held onto the backs of his biceps, my forearms supported by his arms. I tried not to get distracted by how muscular he was. Not an easy task, but I tried to focus on his pink pocket square at my eye level, realizing quickly that if I stayed focused on his face, I was going to finish the dance with a very sore neck.
He turned his head like he was surveying the rest of the couples on the dance floor and then blew out a breath. “I’m Jared Abromovich, but you probably would know me as Abrams.”
My brain stuttered for a moment as it tried to compute: Jared Abrams.
And then it clicked. “From that show Lady Parts?”
He nodded, his smile faltering a little and I suddenly felt bad. Jared Abrams had been a child actor. At one time, he was the it kid of network TV, starring in that really popular sitcom about two women who ran an automotive garage; he was one of the women’s kids. He’d grown up on that show and I even remembered some episodes in about the fifth season when his voice changed and cracked all the time—it had to be so hard growing up in the spotlight. As my hands barely circled halfway around his arms, he hardly looked like little Ricky from the show anymore. I had to think that wasn’t an accident.
“Is it better or worse if I tell you I loved the show?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’m used to it, so neither.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I did love it and thought you especially were great. You got robbed at the Golden Globes that year.”
He smiled as he looked down at me. “That’s what my mom said, but she might be biased.”
“She’s totally right,” I said. “And I’m not at all biased. I mean come on, you’re the fifth child actor I’ve hung out with this week alone—I don’t play favorites. So you can totally trust me.”
His smile widened, making his eyes crinkle in a very sexy way. It seemed the new and improved, completely exhausted Brooklyn who was too tired to be shy or concerned about what she said, was a hit at this dance.
“Thanks,” he said softly, validating I’d said exactly the right thing.
“So the guys call you Abe?” I asked lamely.
So much for that conversational hot streak.
He nodded. “So, tell me about you,” he said. “You’re quite the novelty around here, being the new girl.”
I blushed, feeling weird that the guys were talking about me. Although it’s not like it was something I could complain about to Jared (or, I guess, Abe, but calling guys by their last names seemed like such a…guy thing, I guess) who’d been in the spotlight for many years.
“There’s not much to say,” I said.
“What about your family? Where are you from?”
That was kind of a loaded question that I couldn’t really answer, so I told him about my time in London. Then he told me about a press junket he did around the premiere of a movie he had a tiny part in that took him to London, too. I didn’t want to seem starstruck, but his story was really interesting and his delivery was great; he’s really funny and a natural story-teller.
By the time the songs wound down and the lights came on in the gym, making us squint and mutter angrily, I’d come to realize I didn’t want the dance to end, despite my earlier desire for my bed. Jared was good company and I’d wished he’d asked me to dance earlier.
“Thanks,” I said sincerely.
“My pleasure. It was great to get to know you, Brooklyn. I have a feeling we’re going to see each other again soon.” He gave me another one of those mischievous smiles and a sexy little wink that made my stomach lurch. Especially when I realized he was still holding me. His hands tightened on me a little—it was kind of making me dizzy.
“I’ll be here next week to work with Dave on the inter-school projects. Maybe then,” I said, stepping back out of his grasp and giving him what I hoped was a matching smile, though I couldn’t bring myself to wink.
“Looking forward to it.”
“Come on, Brooklyn,” Celia said from behind me as she came up and looped her arm through mine. “The bus is leaving. Later, Abe.” She gave him a wave over her shoulder as she tugged me toward the door.
“He is super hot, so I get it,” she said quietly. “But what about Brady?”
“Brady wasn’t here to ask her to dance at the end,” Kaylee said as she materialized on the other side of me. “Abe asked her. Nothing wrong with dancing with him, too. Two hot guys, huh, Brooklyn?” She waggled her eyebrows at me.
I didn’t say it out loud, but actually, Jared made three hot guys I’d danced with that night.
* * *
Even surrounded by a bus full of excited, chattering girls, I fell asleep on the way back to Rosewood. Kaylee had to wake me up and practically drag me up to my room while the other girls hung out in the lounge, rehashing the entire evening. Had I not been nearly comatose, I’d have joined them, but my brain just wouldn’t allow it.
And also, if I’d been conscious enough to identify it, I was nervous about being around Emmie; that dance with Dave had been awkward. Way awkward. And although I didn’t have a lot (okay: any) experience with guys, there had been something in the way he’d looked at me and I was terrified she’d seen it, too.
I’d been at Rosewood for two weeks and although everyone had been nice, the last thing I wanted to do was upset anyone, especially my roommate, the girl who had already done so much for me.
Once I got in our room and the door closed behind me, I unzipped Emmie’s dress and let it slip off my shoulders. I hung it up as I kicked off my shoes, moaning in relief as I did. I used the bathroom and swiped a damp Kleenex over my face to remove at least some of my makeup.
Then I fell into bed.
It had been both the most awkward and kind of the best night of my life. I had danced with three cute guys was my last conscious thought as I drifted off to sleep.
Only to be awakened not ten minutes later.
Burgled
“Brooklyn!” Emmie hollered, maybe for the first time, maybe for the seventh—I don’t know. All I knew was that she woke me up from a dead sleep.
And I was not impressed.
I rolled away toward the wall, prepared to ignore her until I could get back to sleep.
But one thing about Emmie that should come as no surprise by now? She would not be ignored.
“Brooklyn, you have to wake up. Seriously.”
And then it hit me that maybe she’d come to grill me about Dave. I turned and looked up at her, blinking away the cobwebs, even though I’d only been asleep for a few minutes.
She didn’t look mad. Actually, she was grinning; whatever it was, it wasn’t about Dave.
Relieved, I closed my eyes and mumbled something. Even I couldn’t tell what I’d intended to say.
She barked my name again and my brain finally clued in that I should just get whatever this was over with. I sat up and looked at her. She was holding out a printed card.
“What?” I whined.
“Look. Did you not see this when you came back?”
I narrowed my burning eyes. “See what?”
She shook it toward me. “This.”
“Not helping, Emmie.”
My roommate sighed and dropped to the edge of my bed. “You didn’t notice your underwear drawer was open and this was on top?”
Okay, that got my attention. I took the card and squinted at it.
* * *
Dear Panty Owner, a pair of your underthings has been borrowed for the evening. Thank you.
To receive them back, you must go to the rear door of the Rosewood aquatic center, Saturday evening at 10:45 p.m.
Signed, TWPP*
* * *
*The Westwood Panty Posse
* * *
I looked up at Emmie. “What does this mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “Panty raid, Brooklyn. They snuck in here while we were on our way to the dance and stole our panties.”
I looked around the room. Nothing had seemed out of place when I’d returned from the dance, but of course, I’d been focused on getting into bed as quickly as possible. “They were here? Wait…who?”
“The boys. Did you notice their pocket squares?”
It took me several long seconds to get it. And then, as Emmie stood there, watching me, her face pulled up in a smirk, like I’d seen on all those guys earlier…
“NO!” I said. “They were wearing our underwear as pocket squares?”
She tapped my nose. “Right you are, Sherlock.”
“Did you know this?”
She shook her head. “Not until we got back here. We aren’t the only ones with notes. Those rotten boys. I’m going to kill Dave.” But she hardly looked mad. She actually looked…giddy?
“So his orange pocket square?”
“One of my thongs.”
I looked down at the card still in my hand. Which meant…I swallowed. “And Jared’s pink one?”
Emmie pointed at my underwear drawer, still ajar. “Yours, I bet.”
“Oh. My. God. Are you serious?”
She nodded her head toward my open drawer before turning to go use the bathroom. “See for yourself,” she said over her shoulder.
But it wasn’t the missing panties that had me suddenly moving like I had a fire under my butt.
I swung my legs out of bed and jumped up. Digging in my underwear drawer, pushing my panties aside, trying not to think about boys going through all of my underwear (especially my torn, old ‘that time of the month’ ones) my fingers grasped the box tucked away at the back. Pulling it out, I held my breath and prayed silently that what was inside hadn’t been discovered.
