Meanwhile the brown-haired guy—Tommi was pretty sure his name was Mike, or possibly Mark—poked her in the shoulder. “Seriously, you really need to educate yourself, dude,” he declared. “Because a girl as hot as you shouldn’t be so deluded about the basics of, you know, existential thought and stuff.”
“Shut up and get me another beer, you pretentious Ivy League asshole.” Tommi grinned as the guy laughed, saluted, then hurried off toward the keg in the corner. Okay, she was a little drunk. Maybe even more than a little. But she was having a blast.
The party was in full swing. The later it got, the more people turned up and crowded into the frat house. If the place was this packed now, Tommi couldn’t imagine how they’d cram everybody in during the school year.
She glanced around for her friends. Brooke was over by the doorway, flirting with a couple of guys. Court and Jon were dancing in front of one of the speakers. The others were nowhere to be seen.
Leaning back against the couch, Tommi closed her eyes for a second and hummed along with the hip-hop song that was playing. Despite all her earlier angst, she was glad she’d come on this trip. It was good to get away from her normal life once in a while, and this was about as far away as you could get. She’d almost forgotten how people outside of New York weren’t nearly as likely to recognize her last name or know much about her or her father. It was kind of cool to feel so anonymous. So free of other people’s expectations.
Mike-Mark came back with two overflowing cups. “Here you go, babe.” He handed one to her, then sucked the foam off the top of the other. “So anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, Kierkegaard …”
They were still arguing about philosophy or something close to it a few minutes later when Rashad appeared. “Yo, Tommi!” His voice was a little louder than normal; his brown eyes a little brighter. “S’up?”
“Dude.” Tommi struggled to sit up, spilling more beer onto herself in the process. The couch might be a homemade penicillin experiment, but damn, it was comfy. “Where you been?”
“Looking for you.” He grinned and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
Tommi stuck out her hand and let him drag her to her feet. “Hey, I was just going to ask her to dance,” Mike-Mark complained, his words slurring a little.
“You snooze, you lose, bro.” Rashad grinned at him, then half led, half dragged Tommi over to where people were dancing.
Just as they got there, the song changed. “Oh, man!” Tommi rolled her eyes. “Not this one again! This song’s everywhere these days.”
It was “Forgive Me,” of course. Rashad started humming along as he pulled her toward him. “Good tune,” he commented.
Tommi slid her arms up around his shoulders. “Forgive Me” wasn’t really a slow song, but hey, if he wanted to slow dance, that was fine with her. Her arms and legs felt kind of heavy and tired right now anyway.
Soon the two of them were swaying to their own beat. Rashad smelled good—a combination of aftershave, beer, and just a whiff of boy-sweat. Before she realized it, Tommi was burying her nose in his neck and giving a good sniff.
He seemed to like that, at least judging by the way his hands almost immediately slid down to cup her ass. Tommi giggled as he squeezed a bit, then tilted her face up toward him. Before she quite realized what was happening, his mouth locked onto hers, and they were making out. He was a good kisser, though Tommi felt a tiny twinge of guilt for a second.
She couldn’t quite remember why, though. And it seemed like way too much effort to figure it out. So she just closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment.
Chapter Eleven
Zara jerked awake as an angry buzz exploded in her left ear. “Shit,” she mumbled, grappling under her pillow for the alarm.
She shut it off and let her eyes drift shut again. Then she remembered why the alarm was under there. Muffled, so only she would hear it.
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and squinted at the windows. She hated getting up so freaking early. And this time it wasn’t even for anything fun, like a horse show.
She stood, groaned, and stretched, then grabbed her watch off her dresser. Six a.m. Ugh.
Padding over to the door, she peeked out into the hall. Her mother’s door was closed. No surprise there. They hadn’t gotten in until after three last night. Or this morning, technically. In any case, Gina would probably sleep until ten at least.
Still, Zara wasn’t taking any chances. She tiptoed down the hall into the guest room and grabbed the pillows and wig out from beneath the sheet, stuffing them back under the bed. She still could hardly believe that lame little trick had worked. Gina had peeked in there last night, whispering a cheery, tipsy “’Night, Stacie!” in the general direction of the lump in the bed.
Next Zara went into the guest bathroom and smeared a little toothpaste around in the sink. She kicked the bath mat askew and wet down one of the towels, leaving it draped over the shower rod.
“You know, I’m damn good at this,” she whispered, grinning sleepily at herself in the mirror. “I should probably be, like, a spy or something.”
She knew her mother probably wouldn’t even look in the guest bathroom. But you never could tell. The more convincing she made things, the easier it would be to skate through these next two days. She could only hope that Gina stuck to her plan to spend the afternoon and evening with some friends who lived way uptown. That would make one full day without Zara having to figure out what else “Stacie” could get up to, which would just leave tomorrow …
Zara sighed, rubbing her eyes to chase away the last of the sleep. Sneaking around like this was turning out to be a serious hassle. Definitely more trouble than her usual method of just doing whatever the hell she wanted and screw the consequences. For a second she wondered why she was bothering. It wasn’t as if she cared if Stacie got in trouble. Frankly, the girl deserved it.
But that wasn’t the point, and she knew it. If she didn’t pull this off, she could forget about having any fun for the rest of the summer. Gina would have some uptight Maria von Trapp type here before Zara could say “Hell no.”
I can do this, she told herself firmly, glaring at her reflection with renewed purpose. Gina’s easy to distract. Plus she’s got a million things going on this weekend as usual. I can totally do this.
Realizing that time was passing while she stood there giving herself a rah-rah pep talk, Zara headed back to her own room. She pulled on her riding clothes without bothering to shower. What was the point? She was just going to end up smelling like horse anyway. Besides, the car service she’d called yesterday was probably already waiting downstairs. The last thing she wanted was for the driver to get impatient and buzz her from the lobby. Gina was a light sleeper.
She tiptoed downstairs to the message center. Grabbing one of the notepads from the basket, she quickly scribbled a note:
Mom,
Stacie and I had to leave before you woke up—she’s driving me to the barn. We’ll grab some lunch up there and be back tonight.
See you,
Z
Soon she was slipping out the door, boots in hand. Yeah, she could do this. In forty-eight hours her mother would be on a plane back to Vancouver, and everything would go back to normal. Or at least as normal as Zara’s life ever got.
Kate drifted awake out of a confusing dream about Nat yelling at Jamie. She cracked one eye open and glanced to her left to see how long she had until the alarm went off. But instead of her familiar bedside table and blinking alarm clock, she saw nothing but a wall covered in pale green-and-cream-striped wallpaper. Huh?
She gasped and sat bolt upright in a panic. Only then did her brain catch up to her eyes. Oh, right. She was in Fitz’s guest room. She just sat there for a moment, feeling strange, as if she might still be dreaming. Could she really be living with her boyfriend right now?
Then she noticed the clock on the cherrywood dresser. It was almost six thirty. “Oh, no!” she gasped aloud. She usually tried to get t
o the barn by seven on Saturdays.
Grabbing her jeans off the cute little slipper chair where she’d dropped them last night, she yanked them on, then scrabbled in her duffel for a clean T-shirt. She ducked into the en suite bathroom just long enough to splash water on her face, pull her hair into a sloppy ponytail, and brush her teeth. Then she hurried for the door, wondering how long it would take her to drag Fitz out of bed.
The scents of fresh coffee and pancakes greeted her as she stepped into the hallway. Following her nose to the kitchen, she found Fitz standing at the stove, dressed in pajama pants and an oversized Knicks T-shirt. He was using a spatula to poke at several sizzling round blobs cooking on a large griddle pan.
He glanced up when he heard her enter. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a grin. “I remembered you like pancakes.”
“Huh?” Kate blinked at him, her mind already halfway to Pelham Lane.
“Pancakes.” He waved his spatula for emphasis, dribbling batter onto the floor. “You ordered them at the diner the other day, right?”
“Oh! Yeah, I love pancakes.” Kate sneaked a peek at her watch. “I’m not sure I have time to eat them right now, though. It’s a long drive up to the barn, and I’m supposed to—”
“Chill, I took care of it,” Fitz cut her off. “You left your phone in the den last night, so I used it to text Jamie that you’re running late today. He said no problem, come in whenever.” He shrugged. “Hope you don’t mind. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want everyone to know your business, so I pretended the texts were from you. You know.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Kate was touched and a little surprised that he’d thought of that. He wasn’t exactly the shy type, but he must have guessed that she wouldn’t be comfortable having people know that she was staying with him. Even Jamie. “Are you sure he’s not mad?”
“Are you kidding? He actually said, and I quote, ‘Take your time.’ And if Jamie says that, you know he means it.” Fitz slid the spatula under one of the browning pancakes and flipped it. It landed half over the edge of the griddle, but he grabbed it with his fingers and tossed it onto a plate sitting on the counter nearby. “Breakfast will be served in just a minute,” he told Kate. “Go sit down—I poured you some juice. There’s coffee too if you want it.”
“Thanks,” Kate said again, feeling herself relax at least a little. “Need any help?”
“Nope. Sit.” He pointed to the large marble-topped kitchen island, then turned to flip another pancake onto the plate.
Kate wandered over to the island and slid onto one of the stools set along the far side. Fitz had already set two places there, complete with cloth napkins, glasses of water and orange juice, and even a little vase with a flower in it. Taking a sip of her OJ, she leaned her chin on her hand, watching him cook.
Okay, it still felt kind of weird to be here. But she was starting to think that maybe she could get used to this.
“I’m never drinking again,” Abby moaned, hunching over her steaming cup of coffee.
Tommi took a bite of her bagel. She and her girlfriends were slumped at a table in a coffeeshop just off campus. “I know, right?” she said. “I lost count of how many beers I had.”
“Beers?” Court grinned, looking way too chipper for the amount of sleep they’d all had. “I lost count of how many cute college guys were drooling all over you, Tommi. Including the mega yummy Rashad, of course. I was half expecting to find you in his room this morning.”
“I’m surprised you could see what Tommi was doing while you were slobbering all over my cousin,” Brooke retorted with a smirk.
Tommi didn’t say anything, just smiled down into her latte. Yeah, she’d felt better. But a minor hangover was a small price to pay for last night. It had been a long time since she’d cut loose and just had fun like that. Way too long.
“Our Tommi was definitely the belle of the ball.” Abby stirred the fourth packet of sugar into her cappuccino. “Good thing Alex wasn’t around to see it.”
“Yeah, well.” Tommi shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. And this time the hangover had nothing to do with it. “So what are we going to do today, girls?”
Her friends traded an amused glance. “Okay, guess we’re changing the subject,” Mariah said. “Fair enough. Once we’ve got enough caffeine in us to feel semi-human again, what about hitting up the university bookstore? I promised my dad I’d bring him back a Penn T-shirt.”
As her friends started chatting about the day’s plans, Tommi remembered that she hadn’t checked her messages yet that morning. Or last night, either. She’d been too busy to think about it.
Pulling out her phone, she glanced at it. Two voice mails, both left fairly late last night, and half a dozen texts.
She scrolled through the texts first, stopping when she got to one from Alex. Short and sweet, just a cute little note saying he’d thought of her when he heard a certain song, yadda yadda.
Tommi bit her lip. They’d never talked about being exclusive or anything. Still, she had a feeling he’d be hurt if he knew about last night. She couldn’t quite dredge up much regret, though. Guilt? Sure, a little. Regret? Not really.
She skipped past the text without responding, scanning the others—just goofy or unimportant messages from various friends. Then she moved on to the voice mails. The first, to her surprise, was from Grant.
She just stared at his name on the screen for a second. Sure, they were friends. But not the type who talked all that much. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d started dating Zara a few weeks back. Why was he calling her now?
Then she shrugged, realizing there was one easy way to find out. She put the phone to her ear to listen.
“Hey, Tommi, it’s me, Grant. Sorry to bother you, uh, it’s just …”
His voice sort of trailed off for a second, mumbling incoherently. Tommi pressed the phone closer to her ear. He sounded weird. Drunk, maybe?
“… and uh, so the thing is, Zara just dumped me. At least I think she did. Mumble-mumble this weird text about seeing other people, or, uh. So anyway, got any idea what’s up with her? I tried to text her back but she didn’t answer.”
There was a loud sniffle. Then a pause, long enough that Tommi thought he was finished.
“Anyway,” he went on. “Uh, thanks. You know, if you can help. Bye.”
Tommi lowered the phone and stared at it, letting out a sigh. Abby glanced over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice muffled by a mouthful of cinnamon bagel. “You going to call Alex and tell him you’re leaving him for a hot college man?”
Tommi rolled her eyes. “Just checking my messages,” she said, trying to sound casual.
But the truth was, she was feeling tense. She definitely hadn’t wanted to get in the middle of this whole Grant-Zara thing.
She scrolled to the next voice mail. It was from someone named Adam Dane. That sounded vaguely familiar, though it took her a second to place it. Oh, right. Adam Dane was a hotshot young trainer who’d just moved to the New York area. His new facility was only a few miles from Pelham Lane, though Tommi didn’t really know him—she’d mostly just seen him at the shows.
“Hey, Tommi, this is Adam Dane,” the message began. “Ran into Jamie tonight at a dinner party. He was telling me about the jumper horse you’ve got for sale, and it sounds interesting. I was hoping I could bring a client of mine to see it tomorrow. Text me and let me know what time works for you.”
Tommi groaned, lowering the phone. Wasn’t she supposed to be on vacation? She so didn’t feel like dealing with business right now.
This time Brooke was the one who looked over. “What?” she asked.
“Just this guy wanting to look at Legs,” Tommi said. When her friends all stared at her, looking confused, Tommi smiled. “Legs is the name of the horse I’m selling,” she clarified. “This local trainer wants to come try him out today. Only duh, I’m not there.”
Court shrugged. “So blow it off.”
That
was tempting. But Tommi knew she couldn’t do it. Not if she wanted her father to take her seriously with this whole horse-training deal. Not if she wanted to take herself seriously.
“No biggie. I’ll just text him back,” she told her friends, her thumbs already flying over the keyboard as she composed a quick response, explaining that she was out of town but would be happy to set up an appointment when she got back to New York.
Chapter Twelve
“Hi, Zara! I was hoping you’d come out today.”
Zara winced. Summer. Of freaking course. She should have known a relaxing day at the barn was out of the question.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Zara kept walking, heading for the tack room. “Call the press.”
Summer trotted along behind her. “So you’ll never guess what I decided to get for my party,” she said. “A fortune-teller!” she added without so much as a two-second pause to actually let Zara guess. Not that Zara had intended to do so. “Won’t that be a blast?”
“I suppose. See you around, okay? Gotta get my riding stuff.” Zara ducked into the tack room, hoping Summer would take the hint.
No such luck.
“Anyway,” Summer said, stopping in the doorway, “I also talked my mom into letting me hire these shiatsu masseuses she uses sometimes for the party. They’re twins, and they just moved here from Japan like five years ago, but they treat all the important people in New York. There will be a little room set up near the ballroom with tables and aromatherapy and Japanese music and stuff, just like a real spa, and guests can just drop in for a free massage anytime they want. It’ll be amazing, don’t you think?”
“Stunning. Here, hold this.” Zara shoved her Antares at Summer. Summer looked startled. Then she glanced down at the saddle and smiled.
“This is a really nice saddle,” she said. “I was thinking about getting one just like it. If Mom and Daddy get me another hunter for my birthday, I might think about getting a custom saddle made for it.”
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