My hand tingled, feeling the imprint of his fingers.
Damn, he was good.
I shook my head, reminded of Rule No.2 of the Playbook: Adulation and excessive flattery are tools commonly used by Players. Women are extremely susceptible to praise; therefore, Players use this technique to quickly break the ice and get their foot in the door. Players who are narcissists will even use this approach on random females in which they have no interest, all with the purpose of gathering admirers who can stroke their huge egos.
Yep, definitely a narcissist.
Sure, I knew Jessica and I had come up with all the rules in the Playbook, but still, they were pretty accurate. We had used our own observations of cause and effect to come up with them. Pretty scientific, for the most part.
I tried to say something, anything. Being rendered speechless by adulation would be a terrible offense to my independent womanhood and an affront to any G.A.P. member.
Blinking, I forced myself to focus. “Oh, the list is huge. You’ll run out of fingers shortly,” I said, feeling pretty good about myself. This comment alone would strike “modest” right out of his compendium.
He looked taken aback for a second, then his eyes lit up, like a flare that had brightened to become a beacon. A smile crept slowly onto his lips. “And clever,” he said, tapping his thumb.
“Look, I—”
“Alright, class, enough of that,” Cristina said.
I pulled away from Sebastian, avoiding his searching gaze. Thankfully, Jessica came to the rescue and squeezed between us, picking up the thread of some earlier conversation she’d been having with Sebastian.
“You know, I just remembered going to The Bongo Room once,” Jessica said.
“You did?” he asked politely, though I got the impression he was hiding some annoyance.
Jessica was unfazed. “Yes, it was during my first semester here. I drove to L.A. with some friends. I remember feeling intimidated by all the amazing couples dancing there. I got the impression they were pros.”
“Some of them are,” he said in a low voice, then put a finger to his lips to indicate they should be silent while the instructor spoke.
Cristina went over a few variations on the steps and some key reminders of the basics. She and Sebastian gave another short demonstration, including a few salsa moves to whet our appetites for the next class. They looked wonderful together, like one well-coordinated body instead of two separate ones.
When class ended, I walked over to Cristina, feeling I owed her a thank you. I waited until Sebastian moved to the side to chat with the other female students. Jessica tagged along, coming closer to Sebastian.
“Cristina, I wanted to thank for letting me try the class. I had fun,” I said.
Pulling her brown locks up in a ponytail, she turned to me. “You’re welcome. I hope you decide to come back. You would definitely gain some consistency and more confidence in your moves.”
“Well, I don’t think I can. You see—”
“Did I hear that right?” Sebastian asked, apologizing to the girls and breaking his conversation with them. “You’re not coming back?”
“Of course we are,” Jessica put in.
My view of Sebastian was suddenly obstructed as Jessica stepped in front of me. Moving to the side, he regained eye contact with me. For a moment, I forgot Jessica, until she squirmed with annoyance and turned to face me directly, making me feel extremely self-conscious.
“Right, Maddie?” Jessica asked.
I wasn’t going to let her drag me into her games this time. “You can, but my work load won’t really allow it.” Then, sounding as sincere as I could, I told Cristina, “I’m sorry.” Though the truth was that even if I could afford the class, I already knew it would be a bad idea for me to come back.
Rule No.10: Be honest with yourself. If you think you’re susceptible to a Player’s charms, avoid him at all costs.
“Yeah, Maddie works pretty hard, like, all the time,” Jessica put in with a dismissive tone, angling her body toward Sebastian. “So, how about trying out that club this weekend? I’d really love to give my newly acquired skills a try.” She moved her hips in a merengue-ish way.
Sebastian’s mouth opened and closed. Cristina looked back and forth between them, eyes widening in mild surprise. Sebastian looked to the floor and back up. It seemed to me he was trying to find an excuse, something to let Jessica down easy. Seconds seemed to tick by excruciating and slow while his pinched expression revealed the internal struggle. For a moment, he looked panicked, and then something like resignation settled on his features. He gave me a quick glance that appeared to be filled with regret.
Finally, he said, “I would love to.”
Jessica smiled with delight, but her pleasure died as soon as Cristina intervened, giving me the distinct impression that she was coming to Sebastian’s rescue.
“What a great idea!” Cristina enthused. “We should all go. Maddie, have you ever been to The Bongo Room?”
“Uh, no. I don’t usually visit clubs,” I said.
“Well, then you have to come to this one,” Cristina said. “I promise you it’s a fun place.”
“I think I’ll—”
Sebastian interrupted my protest. "Great, it’s settled then. We’re all going.” He smiled at me, green eyes twinkling. “Let me get your telephone numbers, and we’ll make plans.”
I tried to come up with an excuse, but my brain was too busy trying to figure out what had just happened. Much like Sebastian, I failed to concoct a reason as to why I couldn’t go to a club with them. Because what a fun thing that would be: Two people that didn’t want to be there, a friend staging a rescue, and a very pissed off Jessica.
Great!
After a few awkward goodbyes, Sebastian left with both our phone numbers. As Jessica and I exited the student center building, she huffed, shaking her head with incredulity.
“What a meddlesome bitch, huh?” she said.
“What?”
“That Cristina chick. I bet you she’s hung-up on Sebastian.”
I hadn’t gotten that impression, but I didn’t say anything. I knew better than to argue with Jessica.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she went on, “Sebastian has no interest in her. I can tell.”
From where I stood, Sebastian had no interest in Jessica either, but that was another thing I wasn’t going to say. It was odd, to say the least, but after the first impression he had seemed unaffected by my friend’s charms. Wait a minute. I scratched my head, pondering that. Guys always went for Jessica as soon as they met her. Something occurred to me. What if he was gay? If he was immune to Jessica, then it was very possible. And there were other signs. He danced beautifully. He had grace and manners. If he was gay, that would explain a lot.
Except I hadn’t gotten that vibe from him, and normally I was pretty good at sensing these things. So was Jessica. But what other explanation was there?
“Hey, are you listening?” Jessica gave me a little push as we walked toward our place.
“Sorry, I was thinking about my classes tomorrow.”
“You’re such a geek,” she laughed. “I was saying that you need to keep Cristina busy for me Friday night, so I can make my move on Sebastian.”
“Well, I was thinking I might catch a stomach bug this weekend. I really don’t want to go, Jessica.”
“Hmm . . .” Jessica considered the possibility. The sun was completely gone now, and the U.C. Irvine campus was bathed in shadows. Her blue eyes looked dark under the street lamps, but I could see the dogged intent in them. She had that determined look she always wore when she was getting ready for a kill.
“No, Maddie. You have to come,” she said. “Cristina’s gonna get in the way. I just know it. I need you there to help. I want to win the pot, and the more Plays I pull, the more entries I get.”
“Why? You don’t need the money.” Jessica’s parents were loaded. She didn’t need to win the pot. She had credit cards gal
ore. Three thousand dollars was nothing to her. She was used to spending more than that in a single weekend, shopping in L.A.
“It’s not about the money. I just like to win.” She put on a self-satisfied grin. “You’re coming, and you’re going to help keep Cristina out of my way,” she said categorically, then quoted from the playbook, “Rule Numero Doce in the Playbook: G.A.P. members must always help a sister in need.”
Chapter 5
The next day, I woke up at 6 a.m. and went for a morning run around campus. When I got back, Jessica was still sleeping. We shared a double room, splitting the rent in half, in the Middle Earth housing complex. One of the few themed dorms at U.C.I. Jessica could afford a single, but always said she hated being by herself. For my part, I was forced to share since my scholarship only gave me enough for that—not that I minded having Jessica as a roommate. We got along pretty well.
I took a quick shower in our tiny bathroom and got dressed in old, frayed jeans and a simple white t-shirt. I tiptoed into our dark bedroom (the heavy curtains were drawn shut) and went by my desk where I turned on my life-saving, single-serve coffee machine. I had put money away for months to buy this baby and still had to scrimp to afford the individual coffee packs, but it was well worth it.
Jessica’s radio alarm went off as I combed my long hair, waiting for my lifeblood. A song I couldn’t recognize played for a few seconds, then Jessica’s long arm flew out from under her covers and shut the music off.
I was pretty sure Jessica had an 8 a.m. class like me, but, after snatching my breakfast, I sneaked out silently without disturbing her. I had learned my lesson the hard way during our first semester at U.C.I. when I woke her one morning so she might get to class on time. She nearly bit my head off, saying she knew what she was doing, that it wasn’t any of my damn business how many times she pressed the snooze button. So much for trying to help.
I had started to suspect she scheduled early classes just so she had an excuse to miss them. To her, college was nothing but a big playground. Her future didn’t depend on it, not like mine did. If I failed, there was no one back home—or anywhere else, for that matter—who would help me.
Walking toward class, I munched on a cherry Pop-Tart and drank my coffee out of a stainless steel cup, a fairly cheap breakfast that almost kept me full until lunch time and helped me save the little spending cash my scholarship afforded.
I pulled out my schedule to double-check the building name and classroom number. This would be a big class in one of the auditoriums. English 210.
By the time I got there, five minutes early, the auditorium was full. The first week of school was like the first week during any given year. Everyone had resolutions, everyone was determined to give it their best—lose ten pounds, quit smoking, whatever. I hunted for an empty seat, knowing that in a couple of weeks half the class would drop out, while half of the rest would skip, relying on clandestine exam copies from previous semesters. I, for my part, was an idealist, and still believed that an education was the reason I was here. Well, it was either that or get a job stripping at a night club like Mom.
At the very end of the sixth row, I spotted two empty seats. I walked to the far wall, went up the steps and sat, leaving an empty seat between me and the next person. Hoping no one else took that spot, I pulled out a notebook and a pen. I was feeling very glad to have found such a perfect corner seat when someone tapped my shoulder.
“Do you mind if I sit next to you, Maddie?”
I blinked and looked up in slow motion. There was no way I could mistake that deep baritone, and even before I met those clear green eyes, I knew who it was.
“Sebastian . . . hi.”
“Hello,” he smiled.
I just sat there, looking up at his wet, shiny hair and clean-shaven face.
He nodded his head toward the empty seat.
“Um, sure.” I scooted over.
“I was sitting up there and saw you come in,” he said, indicating the upper rows in the auditorium. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s nice to see a familiar face in these huge classes.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” I tried to smile, but that’s hard to do when you’re biting your lower lip.
The professor came in and introduced himself. He passed around copies of the syllabus and explained the way we would be graded, which books we had to read and how many papers we had to write. I paid attention, ignoring Sebastian as best as I could. To his credit, he took notes and paid attention, too. When he’d first asked to sit next to me, I’d worried he might be a talker, but if he distracted me a few times during class, it wasn’t intentional. Unless he had applied cologne that morning with that specific purpose in mind.
God, he smelled good.
When class let out, we walked outside together. The California sun shone brightly, and under all that natural light Sebastian looked glorious. I raised my eyes to the sky, praying for a cold shower.
“So . . .” he began, turning to me.
“I’ve got another class,” I blurted out. “I’ll see you Thursday.” And with that, I left Sebastian standing in front of the building, an unfinished sentence on his lips.
***
After my biology class, I headed to work. I didn’t have a car, so I took a short ride on the bus. As part of my scholarship, I was required to work at UC Irvine Medical Center three times a week. It was an awesome deal, really, even if it was mandatory. The real-life experience I gained in the medical field was invaluable.
The best part of it was that I had a chance to work with kids. Freshman year had been amazing, working at the nursery, helping the staff nurses keep the newborns fed and clean. I had made a few friends and, most importantly, I had become convinced that my dream of being a pediatrician was right on track.
Another advantage of working there was that every year I got the chance to do something different. Today, I would be reassigned and, although I would miss working with the newborns, I was excited about getting some experience in a different area.
In the dressing room, I changed into fresh scrubs and stuffed my messenger bag inside one of the free lockers. As I tied my shoes back on, Lola came in, singing a soulful song.
“Hey, Maddie Girl,” she said with her usual good humor. She snapped on a ponytail, pulling all her tiny braids together.
“Hi, Lola. How was summer break for you?”
“It was hot and sandy and . . . hot,” she said, dropping her things on a bench between the two rows of lockers where I sat. She was from Florida. “How ’bout yours?”
“I stayed around and took two classes,” I said, reclining on my hands as I finished with my shoes.
“Girl, you must be outta your mind, taking classes when you should be enjoying yourself.” Lola was on scholarship, too, and even though she worried a lot about having fun all the time, she also studied hard to keep her free ride.
“I know.” But I needed those classes to get all my pre-med requirements, so I took them.
“So I take it you didn’t meet any cute guys?”
“Not during summer break,” I said without thinking about it.
“Ooh, so that’s gotta mean you just met one. It’s about damn time, girl.”
“No, I-I didn’t.”
She raised her eyebrow and put a hand on her hip.
Lola had this strange ability to pry things out of me. “Well, I did. There was this Latin dance class, and—”
“Oh my.” Lola fanned herself. “Latin dance, huh? That has to be hot! So you danced with him?”
“Some.” I shrugged, trying to act like it was no big deal.
Lola shook a finger in front of my face. “Don’t pretend with me, Maddie.” She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and examined my face. I shifted positions, feeling transparent under the inspection of her deep, brown eyes. “You like the guy,” she announced.
She pulled out her scrubs and laid them on the bench, nodding. “Some sex will do this girl some good,” Lola said to herself.
“
Hey, I’m sitting right here,” I protested. She had the weird habit of talking to herself while the people she was mumbling about were still in the room. “You’re crazy. I just met the guy. He might be cute, but I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Whatever you say, honey.” She didn’t sound like she believed me at all, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t know my history, so there was no way she could guess that I so wasn’t going to sleep with any guy, especially not one like Sebastian.
“I hope I get assigned to the nursery this time around,” Lola said, peeling her top off. She had beautiful chocolate skin and toned muscles. “I’m ready for something easy. I saw too much messed up shit in E.R. last year. I don’t think I’ll mind cleaning some crappy diapers and getting peed on.”
I laughed. “Yeah, the nursery is fun,” I said, hoping I didn’t get assigned to the E.R. team. I didn’t have the stomach for a gruesome wreck or gun-shot victims. Cuddly babies were more up my alley.
When Lola finished changing, we walked to the main office where our assignments were posted outside the front door. Lola walked up to the sheet of paper and ran her index finger down the names until she found hers.
“Damn it,” she said. “The old folks’ wing. I guess I’ll be changing diapers, after all—just the wrong, freakin’ variety.”
Her finger ran down the page a little further. “Here you are,” she said. “Madison Burch . . . pediatric oncology.” Lola turned and gave me a pained expression. “I’m sorry.” She put a hand on my shoulder.
Something heavy seemed to settle on my chest, but I refused to let it make itself comfortable. “Oh, I’ll be fine.” My voice snagged a little.
“Some sad shit goes on in there,” Lola said. “Don’t let it break you, kid.”
“I’ll be alright,” I said, taking a deep breath. If I wanted to be a doctor, this was part of it. It wasn’t all clouds and teddy bears.
The Guys Are Props Club Page 3
