Girls in Love

by Hailey Abbott

  “That sounds like a very good plan,” Jessica said, and took another big bite.

  17

  Chace Warner certainly was enthusiastic about his birthday and about the country of France, Greer thought, eyeing the red-white-and-blue bunting draped over the front of his house, the HAPPY BIRTHDAY balloons tethered in great clumps here and there on the lawn, and the caterers wearing Louis XVI wigs. Who really celebrated Bastille Day, anyway?

  She reached out to a passing tray of vodka tonics and grabbed one. Greer had to hand it to Chace: His taste was gauche, but he’d spared no expense in making his birthday party one to remember.

  Naturally he tried to hit on her again, complimenting her on her Julie Haus romper and Joan & David heels (“You look like you just stepped off a runway,” he said, which was not a particularly original come-on line as far as Greer was concerned). And Greer, rather than cutting him down, politely laughed and excused herself. No sense in making the host feel bad, she thought. Chace might be a flawed person, but no one could say he wasn’t extremely generous with his food and drink. She would consider her friendliness to him as a kind of birthday present.

  Greer spotted Lara near the pool, engrossed in a conversation with a hot guy who looked like he might be Latino. ‘That must be the famous Marco, Greer thought, inspecting him closely. He had thick dark hair, strong brown arms, and a killer smile. In that instant, Greer understood Lara’s attraction to him completely. Greer didn’t think Jessica would get it, though, especially when she thought Lara was dating her brother. So she hoped for Lara’s sake that the younger girl never spotted them.

  She moved through the crowd, nodding hello to familiar faces. She saw a girl who worked at Ahoy with Lara, and the freckled twins whose father owned the movie theater. Without acknowledging it to herself, she was hoping to find Hunter somewhere in the crowd. They hadn’t talked since their fiery exchange on the tennis court, and Greer had spent more time thinking about him than she liked to admit.

  Probably her mother had been thinking about him, too, which was a mortifying thought. Thanks to Hunter’s flirtations, Cassandra probably believed he had a crush on her. And for all Greer knew, he did, and that instead of the “Take me home to Mom” person he claimed to be, Hunter was actually a “Take me home to your mom’s bed” kind of person.

  But she told herself that couldn’t be true, because if it were, Cassandra wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. And Cassandra hadn’t said anything, even though she and Greer had gone out to dinner together—something they never did in Manhattan—just last night. Instead her mother had spent most of the time drinking champagne and talking about some antiaging compound that apparently made mice live 200 percent longer.

  Greer took a big gulp of her vodka tonic and helped herself to a few chocolate-covered strawberries. She didn’t know why it was so hard to find a trustworthy guy—she thought her objective for the summer was a simple one. How wrong she was.

  Thinking about the goals she and her cousins had set—the list of which she still kept hidden in her purse—made Greer realize that she hadn’t seen Jessica at all tonight. Greer imagined that maybe she’d already managed to find Connor and patch things up with him, and now she was off achieving her summer goal with him. Naturally she approved, but if Jessica really was in some dark bedroom, surrendering her virginity to Connor, then it was a shame Greer had spent an hour getting Jessica ready for the party. She’d applied her makeup, fixed her hair, and dressed her in a fabulous peasant miniskirt that was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy. Lara had added a nice silver chain necklace (“From a church rummage sale! It was fifty cents,” she’d chirped), and Jessica had looked undeniably beautiful.

  Well, Greer thought, if Connor’s busy undoing all of our hard work, so be it. I hope they’re happy.

  She was contemplating the buffet table, which was stacked high with all sorts of goodies, when she saw Hunter over by the badminton net. She banished all thought of nourishment and went striding over to him, her hazel eyes blazing.

  He didn’t see her until she was right in front of him, waving her manicured finger in his face. “You have some nerve, Hunter Brown,” she spat. “Hitting on my mother like that!”

  Hunter abandoned his normally cool demeanor and moved her finger away brusquely. “You seem to like playing games so much, Greer,” he said snidely, “you inspired me to play one of my own.”

  “So you flirt with my mother just to piss me off?” she demanded.

  Hunter allowed himself a little smirk. “Something like that,” he said. “Though you know, your mom is pretty cute.”

  Greer was so annoyed that she was at an utter loss for words. This sudden muteness was very uncharacteristic of her, and it made her even angrier. She decided to go—to leave him standing like an idiot with his fake grin and his perfect teeth. And so she turned sharply away, dismissing him with a wave of her hand—and that was when one of the four-inch statement heels she was wearing snapped in two.

  She let out a little shriek as she fell, but before her body made contact with the bright green grass of Chace’s lawn, Hunter reached out and caught her in his arms.

  “Whoa, there,” he said into her ear. “Don’t ruin that hot outfit of yours.”

  Greer gazed up into his ice blue eyes. She felt relieved, turned on, and mad all at the same time. His arms were still around her, and she loved how they felt, even though she still wanted to push him away. Slowly she disentangled herself from him and reached down to remove the broken shoe.

  “Three hundred dollars and they’re about as sturdy as toothpicks,” she muttered angrily.

  Hunter chuckled. “That’s why you’ll only ever see me in flats,” he joked.

  She reached out and swatted his arm. “I’m still mad at you,” she said, “so don’t try to be funny and charming.”

  His grin vanished. “I’m still mad at you, then.” He picked up a beer from the grass and looked at it. “I think this is mine,” he said, and then took a sip.

  “Disgusting,” Greer said.

  “Do you still believe in cooties?” Hunter responded.

  Greer sniffed. “No, but I believe in cytomegalovirus and all the other horrible things you can contract by drinking someone else’s beverage.”

  But what about when you kiss someone? a voice in Greer’s head taunted.

  They simply looked at each other for a while, each daring the other to break the stare. Then Chace came toward them with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a hot dog in the other. “Lessss do birthday shotsss!” he bellowed drunkenly.

  Hunter laughed. “Not for me, I’m driving,” he said. “But thanks.”

  Greer shook her head. “I don’t do whiskey.” Hunter poked her. “But thanks,” she added, trying to sound sincere.

  “Whan sssome hot dog?” He held the frankfurter under Greer’s nose, which she wrinkled in distaste. She shook her head, barely refraining from adding, And I don’t do ground-up pig parts, either.

  “Ssssuit yerssself,” Chace slurred, and went off to find guests who were more enthusiastic about wieners and whiskey shots.

  She and Hunter were alone again, and the air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere and talk,” Hunter suggested.

  Greer shrugged as if she couldn’t care less what they did. “All right.”

  She followed him into Chace’s giant house, past the den full of kids dancing to Jay-Z, through the big gleaming kitchen, and up the creaky back stairs. She remembered walking up these very stairs the night she’d met Hunter. She’d been just trying to have a little fun that night—how was she to know it would all get so complicated?

  Upstairs they stopped in front of a familiar door. “Just to talk,” Hunter assured her, motioning for her to go inside.

  Greer saw the same gray quilt, the same silly William Wegman poster of two dogs posing by a patch of sunflowers. She went and sat down on the bed, and, after shutting the door behind him, Hunter came to
join her.

  “Still mad,” she told him, and turned away stubbornly.

  “Me, too,” he replied.

  They were quiet for a while, and then Greer felt Hunter’s gentle fingers on her neck. She closed her eyes as he began to rub the tense muscles there, and pretty soon she wasn’t thinking about how mad she was at all—she was thinking only of how good it felt.

  “Mmmm,” she said, without meaning to.

  She could almost hear Hunter smiling. “You like that?” he whispered. Then he bent his head and began to kiss her throat, and she let out a little moan of pleasure.

  She resisted for another few moments, and then she unclenched her fingers and let her hands run through his hair. She pulled his face up so she could kiss him. Their tongues met, and Hunter wrapped his arms tight around her waist.

  She couldn’t be mad at him, not when he made her feel like she was floating, just by kissing her.

  As he reached for the buttons of her romper, she told herself that all was forgiven. She felt her skin flush with heat and her heartbeat coming hard and fast in her chest. And when Chace’s birthday fireworks began to explode outside the window in all the colors of the rainbow, it was almost as if she’d summoned them herself, just by lying back in Hunter’s arms.

  18

  “‘Frankly Mr. Shankly, this position I’ve held…’” Lara sang, and then stopped. She waited to see if Marco knew which lines came next.

  “‘It pays my way and it destroys my soul,’” Marco replied effortlessly. “I’m telling you, I know 99 percent of the Smiths’ songs. You can’t defeat me in this game.”

  She sighed theatrically, fairly convinced that he was right. She’d tried every single Morrissey line she could remember, and Marco had known all of them. And the funny thing was, he said he didn’t even like the Smiths that much. He said he was more of a Rolling Stones/Clash/ Replacements kind of guy.

  They were sitting on a bench underneath a lilac tree in Chace Warner’s giant backyard, sipping beers and watching the tanned summer people mingle and chatter. Lara had directed Marco to this particular bench because she wanted to keep a low profile. After all, she didn’t want Jessica to see her flirting with Marco—and needless to say, she certainly didn’t want Drew to come upon the two of them. But he’d been asleep when she left the house, and his mom, Clare, said she’d be shocked if her son woke up long enough to kick off his shoes, let alone get up and go out to a party.

  So while Lara considered her position to be relatively safe, she didn’t really want to parade around holding Marco’s hand. There was no sense in tempting fate. Even sitting in this out-of-the-way place, her stomach still fluttered queasily with nerves.

  She glanced over at Marco’s profile. He hadn’t shaved that morning, so there was a dark, sexy shadow along his jawline. His pants were appealingly rumpled—he’d been sailing, he said, and hadn’t had time to change—and his feet were tan in their faded black flip-flops. As Greer would say, he looked positively edible.

  “I could probably stump you with Ashlee Simpson lyrics,” Lara teased, giving him a nudge.

  Marco laughed. “Hardly. For one thing, I’m sure you don’t know any of them yourself. And for another thing, doesn’t ol’ Ashlee do a good job of stumping herself? What about that time on Saturday Night Live—”

  “When she started to sing the wrong song,” Lara squealed. “How embarrassing would that be?”

  “Very,” Marco said. “It’s yet another reason I’ll never be a teen pop star.”

  Lara took a sip of her beer and decided that she was lucky her life was anonymous enough that there was very little chance of public humiliation. Sure, she’d made a fool of herself a few times—like the night at karaoke when she decided that she could channel Sir Mix-A-Lot doing “Baby Got Back.” Or the time she went to school wearing one brown boot and one black one because she’d been so tired when she got dressed in the morning that she couldn’t even see straight.

  But those were minor goofs, the kind of screwups that only she would remember. As far as cosmic mistakes went, it was so far, so good.

  But you’re tempting fate, she told herself, thinking of her dual dates. She was busy reassuring herself that everything would work out fine when her breath caught in her throat.

  She spotted Drew coming onto the deck, peering intently into the crowd.

  Clearly looking for her.

  Immediately her limbs began to tingle with adrenaline, and she didn’t know whether she ought to laugh, cry, or just run away entirely. Everything had suddenly gotten much more complicated.

  Warily, she stood up, gesturing vaguely toward the party crowd near the pool. “You know,” she said, hoping Marco couldn’t hear the rising panic in her voice. “I think we need more drinks. I’ll go get them.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Marco said, also rising.

  She shook her head firmly. “No, you stay here and relax. I’ll be back in a little bit. There are probably a few people I should say hi to.”

  Before he could protest, she walked quickly away, losing herself in the throng of people in front of the buffet. She grabbed a brownie—she was going to need a serious injection of sugar to buoy her spirits—and then went to join Drew on the deck.

  “I can’t believe you came!” she cried, pulling him back into the living room and out of Marco’s line of vision. “Your mom said you were in for the night.”

  Drew reached out and gave her a big hug. “I didn’t want to miss a chance to hang out with you,” he replied. “Or to miss this kid’s crazy party! I hear he’s going to have fireworks. Remember last year, on the Fourth of July, when Richard let us close early to watch the fireworks down on the pier?”

  Lara nodded mutely, remembering how they’d kissed as the sky exploded with sparkling colors above them. Everything had been so much simpler then, she thought. She and Drew hadn’t fought, and she’d never met a sweet, funny guy who shared a striking resemblance to Gael García Bernal.

  Drew said, “Come on, let’s go outside. I want to see who’s here.”

  “Oh, no one exciting,” Lara said breezily. “Why don’t we just sit down in here?” She pointed to a deep leather couch a few feet away. One end was empty; on the other end, a couple in matching Abercrombie T-shirts was doing some serious tongue-wrestling.

  “What, you don’t want to be seen with me or something?” Drew asked, only sounding half-joking.

  Lara forced out a laugh. “Don’t be silly! Of course I want to be seen with you. It’s just—”

  “Our parents aren’t here, you know,” Drew reminded her, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s one thing to be all strange and secretive around them, but here, at this frat guy’s house? I don’t get it.”

  Lara bit her lip, not sure how to respond. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I guess once you’re used to keeping something a secret, it’s hard to be open about it.”

  Drew did not seem convinced by this excuse, so she tried another tactic. “What if we went somewhere private for a little while?” she said as seductively as she could.

  But instead of nodding enthusiastically, Drew shot her a strange look. “You’re acting kind of weird,” he told her.

  She looked down at the ground in shame; she knew he was right. But she really did want to be alone with him, in part because she didn’t want him and Marco to meet, and in part because every time she saw Drew she was reminded of how much she cared for him. How sweet his kisses were. How much she loved gazing into those green, green eyes of his.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” As she hurried away, she turned back. “There’ll probably be a line, so if I take a while, don’t get nervous! I didn’t fall in or anything!” She hoped he would smile at her, but he just looked at her quizzically.

  She ducked farther into the house, then slipped out the front door, went around the side of Chace Warner’s garage, and jogged out to the backyard, where she r
eappeared in front of Marco, breathless and smiling nervously.

  Marco looked pointedly at her empty hands. “I thought you were bringing us drinks,” he said.

  Lara’s heart sank. She was such an idiot. She remembered now why she never lied—because she was horrible at it. “Um,” she said, hesitating. “Um, the line was really long, and I got impatient, and really, I think I’m buzzed already, aren’t you?”

  She smiled at him but Marco didn’t smile back. When he spoke, his voice had lost all trace of warmth. “If you don’t want to be seen with me, or if you don’t want me to meet your friends, then I don’t really know what you’re doing here with me at all.”

  Lara felt a pang of horror. Oh, no. She reached out to touch him but he scooted down the bench away from her. “It’s not that at all,” she said desperately.

  “Then what is it?” he asked.

  But she didn’t really have an answer for him. What could she say? Sorry, but my other sort-of boyfriend just showed up? She put her fingers on her temples and rubbed them. “I don’t think I feel well,” she whispered.

  Marco’s chivalrous manner returned immediately. “Are you okay? I’ll walk you home.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. You stay and enjoy the party. I’ll talk to you soon.” And with that, she turned around and left, leaving Marco on the bench under the lilac with no one to talk to and no fresh beer to drink.

  She found Drew where she’d left him in the living room. He was staring unseeingly at the TV, which was tuned, for some reason, to a cooking show.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  He turned to her. “Hey yourself.”

  She offered him a piece of the brownie—her second—that she’d swiped from the buffet table. He shook his head.

  “You know,” he said, “I really am sick of the secrecy. I think it’s time people knew.”

  Lara looked at him pleadingly. “Can we talk about this later?” she asked. “I actually don’t feel so great. It must have been a bad piece of sushi or something.”