Even though she was still hurt and angry, her heart swelled when she read that. She pulled over to the side of the road, clutching the phone in her hand, as conflicting thoughts raced through her mind. Should she keep driving? Or should she go back to him? She felt torn between desire and pride. He loved her! On the other hand, she couldn’t understand why, if he really did, he always pushed her away.
Sadie’s engine rumbled quietly as Jessica sat still, gripping the leather-wrapped wheel. She needed time to think, time to process Connor’s inexplicable behavior. Feeling suddenly exhausted, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel, and as she did so she seemed to hear her mother’s voice. Sleep on it, darling, Clare Tuttle always said whenever Jessica was upset. Things are always clearer in the morning.
She sat up and gazed into the star-studded July sky. There was a strange fluttering feeling in her stomach. What was happening? Things were so weird with Connor, but she had the evidence of his love for her in her hand. And love meant everything, didn’t it? As she sat in Greer’s fancy convertible on the side of the empty road, she realized that—despite the tension and confusion he was causing her—she loved him, too.
And that’s what matters, she whispered. Everything else will work out just fine.
Before she pulled back onto the road to drive the rest of the way home, Jessica sent Connor a text. LOVE U 2, she wrote. WE’LL FIGURE THIS OUT.
She hoped he knew what “this” meant. Because she didn’t think she could take another round of rejection.
11
The Fourth of July passed uneventfully for the Tuttles this year, and the family’s traditional break from barbecuing left Greer with lots of time to sit on the beach and think about Hunter Brown.
Gazing at the ocean from her lounge chair was certainly beautiful, but it hadn’t yet given Greer the clarity she was looking for. Though Hunter claimed innocence and decency in all facets of his life, Greer remained unconvinced of his trustworthiness. After all, she’d thought Brady was the perfect guy, and look how that had turned out. (She was still sort of wishing for a giant storm that would render him green with seasickness and throw what’s-her-face overboard.)
Of course, that hadn’t prevented her from starting to spend a lot of time with Hunter. After their first tennis lesson, he’d talked her into getting a drink in the clubhouse, and her resistance to his charms had only gotten weaker ever since. And she had to admit, his affectionate text messages and the walks along the beach they’d taken had been sweet.
But Greer had never met a guy as cute as Hunter who didn’t come with big problems. The cutest guys were either (a) big-time players, (b) gay, or (c) some kind of handsome sociopath. Like that gorgeous ski instructor she’d met in the Swiss Alps, who turned out to be a pathological liar and occasional klepto who had a trunk full of ugly tourist souve-nirs he’d stolen from various gift shops. Thank goodness she’d found that out before she lost her head and hooked up with him.
But it remained to be seen exactly what was wrong with Hunter. And to figure it out, Greer Hallsey was a girl with a plan.
Step 1: Enlist Lara’s help (Jessica was too innocent for games such as these). Step 2: Place Hunter in enticing situation. Step 3: Confirm him as either (a) player, (b) gay, or (c) sociopath.
Greer was pretty sure that (b) wasn’t an issue, considering the eagerness with which he’d kissed her. But he could still be (c) and she was willing to bet Sadie the Lexus on (a).
Lara had been reluctant to assist Greer at first, claiming she didn’t like schemes. But Greer had bribed her by promising her the vintage Christian Lacroix dress that Greer had bought for a song (well, $600) at INA in SoHo.
Unable to resist a seventies gown as glamorous as that one, Lara had agreed, and now she was wearing Greer’s most see-through shirt and a micromini, complemented by enough makeup to walk the line between runway fashionable and downright slutty.
Greer, who was hiding behind an azalea bush near the Pebble Beach Athletic Club tennis courts, shoved her cousin forward. “There he is,” she whispered. “He’s in the green shirt. Now, go over there and tell him you want tennis lessons. Private tennis lessons. As in maybe he wants to come teach you in your bedroom or something.”
Lara turned back and rolled her eyes at Greer. “Please! That is ridiculous. But I’ll come up with something, trust me.” She started to walk away, swinging her hips suggestively. Then she turned around for one final glance at Greer. “By the way,” she added, “this is so horribly embarrassing that I’m going to need you to give me your little 1950s clutch for this, too.”
“Whatever!” Greer exclaimed. “Just go!”
She watched surreptitiously as Lara pranced over to Hunter, who looked up at her with obvious interest. Greer couldn’t hear what Lara was saying, but by the way Hunter seemed to be staring at her, she was pretty sure that it was highly suggestive.
Every time Hunter opened his mouth, Lara threw back her head and laughed as if he were the most brilliant wit she’d ever encountered. She touched his arm, too, and twirled her short hair around her fingers the way girls do when they like a boy. Greer was impressed; she hadn’t pegged Lara for a Class A flirt, but it turned out she was extremely good at it.
Lara bent down to scratch her ankle, ostentatiously showing Hunter her tan legs (tan thanks to nearly a whole bottle of Estée Lauder self-tanner, Greer thought wryly). Damn, she’s good!
Their conversation went on so long that Greer began to wonder if Lara had forgotten her assignment and was hitting on Hunter because she wanted him for herself. But after a few more minutes, Lara came waltzing back to the azalea bush with a satisfied smirk on her face. And Hunter watched her the whole way, looking highly interested.
The girls snuck around to the side of the clubhouse, where Greer quizzed Lara on Hunter’s behavior.
“You could just drown in his eyes,” Lara said dreamily, and Greer punched her (but not too hard).
“Hello!” she cried. “You’re supposed to be scoping him out for me, not for your own self!”
Lara laughed. “I’m just kidding. You know I like Marco. I mean, Drew. Oh, God, I mean—”
“Oh, whatever!” Greer interrupted. “He was hitting on you, wasn’t he?”
“Well,” Lara began.
“I most certainly was not,” said a voice, and Greer whirled around to see Hunter standing behind her, looking distinctly unamused.
“Uh-oh,” Lara whispered, her face going pale beneath the bronzer Greer had slathered on.
Greer’s first instinct was to run and hide in the azalea bush again. But that was hardly her style. She tossed her hair defiantly: Greer Hallsey would run from no man! Though she could feel the mortification building in each and every pore, she drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches.
“I saw the way you looked at her,” she accused. “You looked like some jackal eyeing his prey.”
“Interesting metaphor,” Hunter responded coolly.
“Um, I think I should get going,” Lara whispered, and then turned and fled as quickly as she could in the come-hither heels that Greer had made her wear. “Also, by the way, that’s a simile,” she called over her shoulder.
“Do you deny it?” Greer asked haughtily.
Hunter swung his tennis racquet casually at his side. “I was looking at her pretty closely; I’ll admit that. But it was only because I was trying to figure out where I’d seen her before.” He paused. “I’d just about put my finger on it when I saw your head peep out of the bush over there. Then I remembered that I saw you two walk into Chace’s party together. Really, Greer, is that the level you want to stoop to?”
Greer resented his holier-than-thou tone. Who did he think he was, talking to her like he was her high school principal? “I’m just calling it like I see it. You’re a player, and there’s no getting around it, so you might as well admit it.”
Hunter bristled and his blue eyes grew cold. “May I remind you that you’re the one who made the first mov
e at Chace’s party? And you’re the one who ran off afterward, even though I tried to make you stay? It’s like you were so sure I was going to blow you off that you felt the need to blow me off first.”
Though he had a point, Greer would be damned if she was going to admit it. “Maybe if the conversation would have been more scintillating, I would have stayed,” she quipped. Over Hunter’s shoulder, she saw Lara climb onto a bike and ride away. It occurred to her, much too late, obviously, that it would have been smart to enlist a girl who wasn’t her cousin in the Hunter Trap.
“You weren’t very interested in talking, as I recall,” Hunter answered.
Damn, Greer thought. He’s got another point. Since—for once in her life—she was unprepared with a snappy rejoinder, she simply gazed at him coolly. Usually guys crumbled in the face of her hazel-eyed stare.
But Hunter held his ground. “I’ll admit, I like to look at a pretty girl. Find me a guy who doesn’t. But you ought to be more understanding, Greer. From what I’ve heard you’re not that innocent yourself. I mean, seducing me at Chace’s wasn’t exactly a first-time thing for you, was it?”
Whoa, Greer thought. Is he calling me slutty? This is so not the direction I want the conversation to go. Her past was past for a reason. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.
Hunter glared at her. “You know what? I don’t need this hassle. I like you, Greer, but I’m not going to put up with your crap. I don’t do mind games.” Then he turned on his heel and stormed off.
Greer was left alone in the shadow of the Pebble Beach Athletic Club locker room. After standing there for a moment, still fuming, she pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes and stalked off in the other direction. She was furious, yes, but deep down in the pit of her stomach, she was also very sad.
12
Seagulls fluttered through the blue July sky as Lara and Marco sailed around the bay, one sailboat among dozens plying the calm waters. Clouds so white they seemed to glow passed by overhead, occasionally offering a moment of shade. Lara set down the zinc oxide she’d been reapplying to her still-ivory skin and picked up the operation manual she’d discovered underneath her seat cushion.
“Scupper, luffing, spar, jib—what do these words mean?” Lara asked, pointing to the book’s baffling pages. “It’s like a foreign language.”
“A scupper is a drain in the cockpit,” Marco said patiently as he expertly piloted them out of the mouth of the bay toward a small rocky island. “And luffing is what happens when a sail’s not secured correctly or when you head too far into the wind, and—”
“Oh, blah blah blah,” Lara interrupted playfully, leaning back against the cushions and enjoying the feel of the sun and the wind on her face. “I don’t really care, you know. Just like you don’t care that Earl calls corned beef on toast ‘shit on a shingle.’”
Marco laughed. “Touché!” He cranked the wheel to the left and the boat curved south to skirt the island, which, Lara could now see, was inhabited by a vast number of fluttering dark birds. They’d been sailing for three hours already, and it was almost time for Marco to pick up Marcela from her arts camp. (“If she brings me another potholder or God’s eye,” Marco had muttered, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”)
Lara had learned a little bit about sailing—Marco had let her steer for a while—but mostly she’d just enjoyed learning more about Marco. She discovered that he, too, had a soft spot for The Feelies and early R.E.M, and that he preferred independent films to studio blockbusters any day. He even knew a little bit about art (he loved Francis Bacon and Andy Warhol in particular), which she found very sexy. Drew had only listened to the latest music and had had little patience for museums.
In short, Marco was an ideal new guy for her. And needless to say, she still hadn’t mentioned anything to Marco about his immediate predecessor. Why rock the proverbial boat, when they were sailing along so smoothly?
It seemed only moments passed before Marco was bringing them back into the harbor and guiding them into the boat’s berth. Lara sighed. She wished that their date—she could call it that now, couldn’t she?—didn’t have to end. She could have spent the whole day floating around Penobscot Bay, watching the seagulls swoop and dive above her and listening to Marco tell her stories about backpacking in the mountains of Chile. And he, in turn, had obviously enjoyed her tales of the freaky inhabitants of her Chicago neighborhood, like the one about how her neighbor, a man who insisted on being called Mr. Bojangles, had once dressed up in a grass skirt and performed a hula dance on his fire escape. (To this day, nobody knew why.)
Lara stepped reluctantly onto the dock and briefly struggled for balance.
Marco laughed. “It takes a little while to get your land legs back,” he warned her. “Don’t fall into the water or anything.”
“If I do,” she asked flirtatiously, “will you jump in and save me?”
“Of course,” he replied gallantly. “I would never let a beautiful woman drown.”
Lara smiled to herself: He had called her beautiful!
He leaned in to kiss her good-bye, and she reached up to hug him tightly. “See you again soon, I hope?” he whispered, and she nodded. She definitely wanted to see him again soon.
The blissful glow she felt biking home from the harbor survived a near sideswipe by a woman in a convertible (Lara gave her the finger, of course) and the struggle to lock her bicycle to the half-dozen others parked by the side of the Tuttle beach house (the other bikes kept falling over onto her toes). Then she walked onto the big porch and felt her cheer get slammed away by a giant wave of shock.
There on the porch was a huge bouquet of yellow roses bearing a card with her name on it—and none other than Drew Tuttle peering out from behind them. Lara stumbled, and very nearly fell off the deck in surprise.
Drew rose, smiling. But Lara just stood there as guilt and nervousness—and yes, even a bit of happiness—roiled around in her gut like some kind of complicated emotional soup.
“I can’t…I can’t believe…What are you doing here?” she spluttered.
He walked toward her and folded her into a hug. “I missed you,” he said into her hair. “I missed you so much.” He squeezed her tightly, almost as if he was afraid she’d wriggle away.
She breathed in his familiar smell of Ivory soap and warm skin. She’d learned in science class once that the sense of smell was the most connected to memory, and with her face buried in Drew’s shirt, she knew that was true. Scenes of their relationship flashed before her eyes like a movie montage: their first date, the kisses they snuck in the back room of Ahoy, the Christmas they spent snowbound in Ithaca. She felt suddenly and unbelievably nostalgic for the relationship they once had. And she couldn’t deny that it felt good to be held in Drew’s arms again.
After a moment she stepped back and looked at him. His hair hung in the cute, shaggy way he liked to wear it, and his bright green eyes were full of affection.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I made a huge mistake.”
She didn’t say anything. She just nodded and waited for him to go on.
He held out his arms in supplication. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I must have been temporarily crazy or something. I mean, to not call you—and then to just decide to take that camp job. It was totally insane.”
She nodded again, still silent.
He went on. “Can I plead insanity and declare myself at the mercy of the beautiful judge?” A small, hopeful smile flickered over his face. “I’m willing to be assigned to weeks of hard labor, including back rubs and foot massages. I promise to become fully rehabilitated and pay my debt to society through constant dedication and service to Ms. Lara Pressman.”
Lara couldn’t help but smile, even if she wished he wouldn’t joke at a time like this. “Be serious,” she told him, trying to remain stern. “You just vanished. You basically broke up with me by disappearing.”
Drew sank back down onto one of the teak lounge chairs
and gestured for her to come sit with him. “I don’t know what got into me. I never meant to hurt you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Lara,” he added softly, his voice full of longing. “Please give me another shot.” His eyes were earnest and adoring.
Seeing him there, so familiar and beloved, made her realize just how much she’d missed him. It was more than she’d realized. As they gazed at each other, the hurt she’d felt began to evaporate like a drop of water in the sun. But even as he pulled her toward him and pressed her face into his neck, she couldn’t push Marco out of her mind.
“So you came all the way to Maine to tell me this?” she asked. “You should have just called me in June. That would have made a lot more sense.”
He traced his fingers lightly up and down her back and she shivered. “I came all the way to Maine to tell you that I know what I want now: I want us to be together. And that I think we should tell the rest of the family.”
At that, she sat upright with a start. What was she doing snuggling with him on the porch? What if Aunt Clare or someone came waltzing out and caught them?
She stood up and walked a few feet away, pretending to inspect the flowers Drew had brought her. She couldn’t possibly wrap her mind around telling the Tuttle family about dating Drew, when up until five minutes ago she’d been convinced that their relationship was completely over. “These are really pretty,” she said lamely.
“Seriously, Lara, listen,” he said. “I quit the camp job because I wanted to spend time with you. So here I am. Don’t you want to spend time with me?” He held out his arms, motioning for her to come back to him.
She pretended to be absorbed in the contemplation of the tightly curled rosebuds. She was so glad to see Drew; she really was—he meant so much to her! But then the little voice inside her head reminded her that Marco had begun to mean something to her, too.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said honestly. “And I felt really bad about how we left things.” She paused and gathered her courage for what she wanted to say next. “But I did some thinking, and now I’m pretty sure you were right to want to keep our relationship a secret.” She tried to ignore Drew’s look of surprise. “I mean, there are so many crazy family dynamics right now. Your mom and Aunt Trudy got in a fight yesterday about how to properly fold the guest room sheets, my stepdad is obsessing over this new grilling method he’s discovered, which is really annoying Uncle Carr, and Greer’s mom—well, let’s just say that she needs to be physically restrained anytime a single male comes within twenty feet of her.”
Girls in Love Page 7
