by Liz Talley
It all felt so grand—the limo, the flickering lanterns, the sequins on the dresses of the girls streaming into the entry with their tuxedoed dates. Summer paused, lagging behind, enjoying the thrill of prom. Graysen had been right—prom was more than just a dance. It was an experience.
“Oh my Lord, look at Addison Meeker’s dress. Totally the wrong color for her, and that ruffle over her boobs? What the hell was she thinking?” Graysen said, leaning in conspiratorially. Graysen’s breath smelled like mint and alcohol.
“Well, she has a big chest. Sometimes girls who are well-endowed feel like they should cover it up, I guess.” Summer liked Addison, who was at least a DD in cup size. The girl always slumped like she was trying to minimize her assets. Summer felt bad for her.
“That’s true. Come on, time to party,” Graysen said, looping her arm through Summer’s and dragging her toward the steps, where Hunter and Rhett conversed with a few other guys. Everyone was smiling . . . except Mrs. Miller, the vice principal, who was eagle eyeing everyone. At one point the woman leaned close to Hunt and took a deep breath. Was she actually trying to smell alcohol on him? And was there a Breathalyzer?
“Hi, Mrs. Miller,” Summer said, donning the good-student smile she always used around teachers.
“Oh, Summer, don’t you look . . . different.”
Summer’s face must have reflected her confusion.
“Oh no, dear. You look beautiful. I didn’t mean you didn’t. Just not like yourself. And who are you here with?” Mrs. Miller looked around, her gaze skipping over Rhett and Hunt and going out to the space beyond. “Or are you here alone?”
“No. I’m here with Hunt,” Summer said, nodding toward her date, who seemed to be deep in a conversation about someone’s truck and a fight after a baseball game. He glanced over at Summer and smiled, acknowledging her perusal.
“Hunter McCroy?” Mrs. Miller said. The incredulousness in the older woman’s voice was both hurtful and amusing.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Huh,” was all Mrs. Miller said before taking the group’s tickets and telling everyone how nice they looked. Then the four of them walked into the draped tunnel covered in twinkling lights that led to the darkened gym. Just before they entered, Summer glanced at Rhett. The lights glinted off his golden hair, and his strong jaw seemed to invite little kisses along its length. He epitomized gorgeousness. Catching her gaze, he gave her a wink and a smile.
Just like the song her grandmother used to play. A wink and a smile. Dang, if those two things together weren’t a dangerous combination.
Rhett placed his hand on Graysen’s waist and looked down at her. She smiled and Rhett kissed her.
Okay. Slap of reality.
Hunter stood behind her and she could feel him close, smell his cologne. Stop longing for Rhett and pay attention to the guy who awkwardly placed the corsage on your wrist, nerd girl. Rhett belongs to Graysen. You’re with Hunt . . . at least for tonight.
Summer stepped into the noisy gym. Lights crisscrossed above them, holding alternating colored lanterns. Gauzy fabrics covered the collapsed bleachers, and filigreed panels completed the exotic theme. Small tables holding flickering lanterns surrounded the dance floor, where couples were writhing and shaking to the band on the raised platform. No more stinky gym and faded mural of a buccaneer. Instead, the space had been transformed into something magical.
“Whoa, this is incredible,” Summer said, turning a circle.
“I told you,” Graysen said, laughing as she twined her arms around Rhett. Her Boy Wonder smiled down, his gaze adoring.
Summer wanted to gag but instead, she turned to Hunt. “Should we get a table?”
Hunt shrugged. “Yeah, let’s get one in the back.”
Rhett and Graysen headed toward the back right corner. As Summer moved to follow them, Hunt grabbed her elbow. “Hey, put this in your bag. None of the teachers will check you. They’re already all over me.”
He opened his jacket and tapped the top of a pint bottle.
“I’m not sure if I—” Summer stuttered, stepping back.
Hunt pulled her closer. “Come on, Sum. They won’t even think to check you. You’re such a good girl.” His arm twined around her shoulders and he pulled her close, an almost hug.
Hunt smelled expensive, and he radiated warmth beneath his jacket. She’d never been this close to a guy before, outside of her father, and she found it heady. Of course, it was Hunt, a guy who didn’t like her, but his voice was soft and pleading. And he was her date.
“My clutch isn’t that big. I’ll have to take out my lipstick.”
“Good girl.” He smiled, looping his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “Be cool about it.”
Summer slipped her hand between them, feeling for the bottle. Hunt dropped a kiss on her forehead. It was soft and dry, and it made her slightly tingly.
But you have nothing for Hunt. You don’t like or respect him. Stop being silly over a covert operation. His hands on your back mean nothing. The hot breath he’s blowing against your hair is a ruse.
Still, Hunt was a good-looking guy with a lean body, wavy hair, and expensive cologne. Plus, he had his arms around her . . . and Rhett had his arms around Graysen. Sometimes a gal had to be grateful for what she had at hand rather than what stood several feet away from her . . . in love with another girl.
Hunt wasn’t that bad. In fact, he was a pretty good catch for any girl. Even a discerning geek like Summer.
With her finger and thumb, she twisted open the clasp of her borrowed clutch and jammed the pint bottle inside. “Okay. I got it.”
“Good girl,” Hunt said, releasing her.
She found she missed his arms, but then she shook herself and followed her date to the table farthest from the teachers clustered around the refreshment table. A few other of the popular kids who she knew only from class or the occasional club meeting joined them. A few of the guys eyed her and lifted their eyebrows. Summer jerked her chin up and went to stand by Graysen, who was oohing and aahing over Katie B’s slinky dress and the shoes Ashley Goodwin wore. They were Manolos borrowed from her NYC cousin who was in town for a family event. Summer thought they looked painful and strange, but she nodded when everyone declared them to die for. Then Molly walked up with a swaggering guy in a black tux.
“Hello, everyone, this is Joshie. He’s from Cedarwood Prep in Charleston.” Molly beamed at the boy who stood almost as tall as Hunt. “He plays lacrosse.”
Joshie frowned at the nickname. “It’s just Josh. What’s up?” He held his hand out to Rhett, who took it and gave it a quick shake.
“I’m Rhett. This is Hunt, Shawn, and Jamie.”
Hunt glowered at the guy and didn’t offer his hand. He merely jerked his head in acknowledgment. Josh didn’t seem to take offense. Instead he surveyed the gym. “Been a while since I’ve been to a dance in a gym. I’m digging the old-school vibe. Cedarwood’s is held at a downtown hotel. Which makes it convenient.”
He didn’t elaborate, but Summer assumed he meant the hotel was centrally located. Or maybe he was thinking about the minibar in each room? Or the queen-size beds? She wasn’t really sure. Maybe all three.
“Prom in this gym is a tradition,” Hunt muttered, crossing his arms. He looked defensive. Pissed. Kinda hotter than normal, and at that moment Summer was glad she’d said yes to prom. Even if he’d used his soft brown eyes and pretty words to get her to hide liquor in her purse.
Molly narrowed her eyes and then turned to Graysen. “You look pretty, Gray. The dress is perfect.”
Graysen smiled, like the queen bee Nessa had dubbed her. “You, too, Molly.”
Molly turned her attention to Summer. “Wow, you look different. I didn’t know you even wore dresses.”
Harsh. “Thank you, Molly. I actually have another in my closet. Hanging right next to my power pantsuits.”
Molly’s lip curled into a pseudosmile. “And you tell jokes. Winner, winner, chicken dinner, Hunt.�
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Hunt took Summer’s hand and pulled her to him. Then he patted her rump and eyed her boobs. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
Summer knew her eyes were googly but Molly didn’t seem to notice as she sniffed, took Josh’s arm, and tugged him toward the dance floor. “Come on, Joshie. I want to dance.” She looked back at Hunt. “I want to feel your arms around me.”
Hunt’s body tightened beside her and she felt his anger.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Rhett said, sinking onto a chair and pulling Graysen onto his lap. “She’s trying to goad you. Ignore her and pay attention to your date. And the way she fills that dress out.”
Rhett winked at Summer.
Hunt dropped his arm from around her waist and sat down next to Rhett. “Yeah. Whatever. Shawn, you and Jamie go grab some punch. I’ll hook you up. Bring that purse over here, Summer.”
He patted the chair next to him as his minions went off to do as he bid.
Summer surveyed the dance floor. Molly had disappeared into the crowd with her prep-school trophy. Out of sight, out of Hunt’s mind. She hoped.
Just as she set her purse between her and Hunt, she caught Nessa coming toward her with her geeky clarinet player in tow. Nessa wore a fitted bustier with satin ribbons that streamed down and a tulle skirt. She’d paired a glittery pair of black Chucks with the ensemble, making her look a bit like a deranged ballerina on the run. The look was fashion-forward, cool, and very Nessa.
But obviously Graysen didn’t think so because the face she made when Nessa parked her hip on the table and studied Summer sitting beside Hunt was almost comical.
“Wowie, wow, wow, look at you. Are you showing shoulder, Summertime?” Nessa drawled, her green eyes twinkling in the low lantern light.
“Who are you?” Hunt asked.
Nessa delivered a withering glance at Summer’s date. “Your worst nightmare, Romeo.”
Hunt did his glower thing and then rose. “I’m going to get punch.”
“Thought Jamie and Shawn were fetching your refreshments.” Rhett’s voice held laughter.
“I need some air. I’ll be back, Summer.” He tossed her a backward glance before drifting toward the two tables holding iced cookies and stacks of punch glasses.
Well, at least he remembered his manners.
“You look cute, Nessa,” Summer said, leaning over to say hello to her date, who looked appalled as he stood there with all the jocks.
Nessa grinned like a naughty nymph. “I’m channeling Madonna meets Tinkerbell.”
“And succeeding,” Summer said, patting the chair Hunt had vacated. “Sit down.”
And this was how prom went. Summer spent the night sipping vodka-laden fruit punch, chatting about dresses with Nessa and the other girls, and making one appearance on the dance floor after Graysen insisted that Hunter dance with her. Summer would give the magical entrance to prom a 9.5, the actual dance a 4.5, and the slow dance with Hunt a firm 6.7 only because he didn’t step on her feet and didn’t look at Molly dancing with Josh more than ten times. So when they finally crowned Rhett and Graysen prom king and queen, respectively—as if everyone didn’t already know they’d be the bejeweled monarchy of Mangham High—and Hunt downed the last of the contraband booze, Summer was happy to see the back end of “Arabian Nights.”
“Time to party,” Graysen crowed as they piled into the limo, each of them listing slightly more than when they had first emerged at the gym.
Summer’s thighs felt oddly heavy and warm. Her head swam a bit, and she had the absurd inclination to giggle. Maybe drinking vodka and beer and whatever else Hunt had in his liquor cabinet at the beach house wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Liquid courage, that’s what they called booze, and Summer understood why. She felt free . . . and pretty . . . and young. Ready to have some fun and be normal. Not nerdy and lonely and . . .
Rhett pulled Graysen into his lap and kissed her as the limo pulled away from the curb. Graysen wound her arms around Rhett and shifted so she fell onto the soft leather seat, pulling Rhett with her. They were all hands, legs, and lips.
Summer glanced over at Hunt. He cough-laughed before saying, “Get a room.”
Rhett and Graysen both laughed, but they didn’t stop making out.
Hunt shook his head, poured a shot of vodka, and tossed it back. Then he grabbed Summer’s hand and jerked her toward him. Not expecting him to pull her toward him, Summer sort of fell into him. Hunt smiled and said, “When in Rome.”
She didn’t have time to think before Hunt’s mouth covered hers. Hunt took advantage of the gasp she issued, his tongue invading as his hand came up to clasp her head and hold her to him.
Summer didn’t know what a good kiss was because she’d never had the pleasure . . . or the displeasure. Either one. But Hunt’s mouth on hers wasn’t unpleasant. He tasted like Big Red gum and medicine, and she liked the way he curled an arm around her, bringing her breasts to the hardness of his chest. Just like in the Jude Deveraux books she’d read. Skin on skin, lips on lips, desire curling around her. The whole thing was strangely intoxicating. Or maybe she was intoxicated from the spiked prom punch and it felt better than what it should.
Because in her awakened a hunger for something. For being normal. For kissing a guy. For Hunt McCroy.
The least likely boy.
“Well, look at that. Our good girl may not be so good after all,” Graysen said, interrupting Summer’s first kiss.
Hunt ripped his lips from hers. “Well, I’m just the guy to teach her how to be a little bad.”
“Yeah, you are,” Graysen said, reaching for a beer. “Hope you have more booze at your house. You only live once.”
Summer lifted her fingers to her lips. Her first kiss and it had been with the superpopular, not-so-nice star pitcher. Who would have thought Summer had it in her? Maybe Hunt was right. Maybe she needed a guy to teach her to be a little bad.
But then her gaze met Rhett’s. A question lingered in the depths of his baby blues. Did she want this?
Summer licked her lips and pressed the material of her dress to her thighs. Maybe she was in over her head? Kissing Hunt was a bad idea. Drinking too much was an even worse idea. She couldn’t do something stupid. She didn’t even like Hunt.
But just as she had that thought, Graysen slid back into Rhett’s lap and jerked his head toward hers.
Right.
Exactly so.
Summer placed her hand in Hunt’s and gave him a smile. He smiled back.
Exactly so.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November, present day
“Pass me that spool of ivory satin,” Summer said, pinching the base of the orchids she was making into a corsage. She hated making corsages because they took an enormous amount of time for such a small reward. Summer much preferred helping her sister create big, lush bouquets designed to grace pulpits or casket tops.
“So what’s he like?” Maisie asked, jabbing a wire between her lips and tossing the spool toward her older sister.
“Who?”
“You know damned well who,” Maisie muttered around the floral wire.
“Rhett? Oh, he’s fine.”
“I’ll say,” Maisie said, managing a smile around the wire. Or she had gas.
Maisie took the wire and wrapped it around the base of a white rose. Summer hated white roses. They made her think of death.
Summer’s sister may have been seven years her junior, but she didn’t look it. The recent divorce had weighed heavy on Maisie, and the young mother looked tired and worn. Which was why Summer was quick to pitch in when Maisie needed help. Her sister had someone who ran the front of the shop and handled deliveries, but when there were multiple big events like homecoming or a large funeral, she needed an extra set of hands. Summer wasn’t necessarily talented at creating floral displays, but she could trim stems and make bows.
“He’s not like he is on television,” Summer said, not wanting to talk about Rhett, mostly because,
like years before, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind, but if she avoided the fact that late night’s favorite son was staying next door, Maisie would be suspicious.
Yeah, he’d been on her mind too much. So what?
Lord, the sadness in his eyes haunted her, and, God help her, she wanted to make that better for him. Problem was, she didn’t know how, and she had no right to want anything when it came to Rhett. She’d learned that long ago. There had been something between them even back then, but it was not romantic in nature. More of an understanding, an acknowledgment that each could see through the bullshit life shoveled their way. Had nothing to do with the erratic beating of hearts or breathless kisses . . . at least not on Rhett’s behalf. “I mean, he’s charming and funny, but he’s not dazzling. Eh, I take that back. He’s dazzling but real. That’s it. Rhett’s still a golden boy, but not so shiny you can’t look at him.”
“Wow, you’ve really thought about this,” Maisie said, tossing a quizzical glance her way.
Crap. She’d overshared, and now Maisie might glimpse the former longing that had made a strong comeback. Fine. She could admit it to herself—she’d never really gotten over the crush on Rhett. He had always been her ideal, but she was also reasonable enough to understand that she’d built Rhett up in her head. Sure, he was a good guy and a Hollywood celebrity, but he was just a guy. He scratched himself, forgot to recycle, and probably didn’t tip the bag boy at the grocery. Everyone had flaws. “No. I’m just saying.”
“‘I’m just saying’ is everyone’s cop-out when they don’t want to admit something.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“That’s because I’m seeing one,” Maisie said with a grin. She then jabbed the rose into the large spray, making it look somehow perfect. Summer’s sister was definitely talented and had become the go-to florist in town. There were a few other florists, but none had as artistic an eye as Maisie. “Can you date your therapist? ’Cause I think Dr. Weaver is really doing it for me.”
“I think that’s against some law or something.”
