by Mara Jacobs
“Edgar has been known to…”
“Prey on the weak?”
Stick snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re hardly what I’d call weak.”
“To you. To Edgar I’m the daughter of a whore whose father would gladly pimp her out for the backing of a dirty old man.”
“Now, Jane—” Grayson started, but I cut him off.
“You know that’s true. Or mostly true. He handed me over to him without a moment’s thought, and I’m willing to bet that good old Edgar’s reputation for accosting girls is well-known in your circles.”
Grayson didn’t say anything. Stick was studying me, his brow furrowed.
“Anything could have happened to me if he hadn’t shown up,” I said, jabbing a thumb at Stick.
“Hardly,” Stick said, obviously not liking the label of hero I was kind of throwing at him. Yeah, it didn’t sit too well with me, either. “Another second and you would’ve had that perv on his knees, grabbing his gonads.”
That was probably true. But then—
“But then Edgar would have had it out for Jane. This way, you’re the one who interfered, Stick. And in Edgar’s eyes, Jane was interrupted from something she wanted.”
A chill went through me, an actual, physical chill.
“Christ, that’s fucked up,” Stick said, and Grayson nodded his agreement.
“Wait,” I said. “You said ‘meet in person,’ like you’d already met in some other way?”
“Yes. Stick and I have been…conversing on the phone for a few weeks now. He’s here tonight at my invitation.”
The way Stick raised a brow at Grayson’s explanation made me realize there was way more going on here than new phone buddies extending a wedding invite. Not that that, in and of itself, wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing imaginable.
Then it hit me. “He’s spying on Lily and Lucas for you.” A weird look passed between them. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Again with the looks, and I knew I’d nailed it. “Dude, that’s messed up,” I said to Stick. “He’s your best friend. He went to jail for you.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Stick said, taking a step closer to me. He was now closer to me, more on top of me than Edgar had been, but I felt none of the same feelings of fear and dread that I’d had then.
“Listen, here’s what’s going to happen,” Grayson said with the authority that came from years of telling political powerhouses exactly what to do. “You two are going to go back out the door you danced through, Jane. You’re going to dance your way out onto the floor. Like you’ve been dancing together this whole time. Closely. Like you want to be…dancing together. I want people wondering who Stick is to you, not where you were with Edgar for so long.”
“Jesus,” I whispered. Shit just got real.
“I know this has been a lot for you to deal with—this whole weekend. And especially finding out that your father is getting back into politics.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.
Stick tensed, and I had this weird moment where I wanted to reach out and hold Stick’s hand. But of course I didn’t, and the moment passed, thank God.
“And I know you don’t want any of this, Jane. That you abhor this kind of life, the spotlight. You’ve worked very hard to distance yourself from it. But we don’t always get to choose our destiny. Sometimes it chooses us.”
“What a load of shit,” Stick said. But Grayson was right in a way. Oh, all that lofty crap about destiny was just to stroke my ego, like he’d done to Edgar. But he was right about not having any choice.
I had deluded myself into thinking I could be someone else, somebody other than Jaybird.
But it looked like Jaybird was coming home to roost.
Chapter Seven
“So, just who the hell are you, Jane Winters?” Stick asked me while he held me in his arms and moved to the music.
Thankfully the band was playing a slow song as we made our way back onto the dance floor, and we were swallowed up by the very large crowd.
I’m a tall girl, but Stick was just the perfect height to dance with—I only had to raise my arm up a tiny bit to rest on his shoulder. His hand that held mine was cool and very rough. But strong. And it felt extremely good after having held that old buzzard’s hand.
Maybe too good.
Because Stick was a car thief. And what’s more, I was pretty sure he was kind of a head honcho. Lily’s guy Lucas had been arrested while stealing a car for Stick.
Granted, Stick had offered to turn himself in to free Lucas, but thankfully it hadn’t come to that and the charges against Lucas were dropped. Because of Grayson Spaulding’s power and my acquiescence to be a bridesmaid at this wedding.
A pawn in my father’s reintroduction to political life.
“Nobody,” I said, answering Stick’s question. “I’m nobody.”
“Not likely,” he said as he pulled me closer. It was to avoid a rather drunk couple that was veering toward us, but I noticed he didn’t loosen his hold on me once the couple had danced—stumbled—past us.
And God, I would never admit it to him (and barely to myself), but it felt very nice to be held so closely by Stick.
I’d never seen him with less clothes than he was wearing now, but he had what seemed like a very hot bod. Or at least the kind that appealed to me. It wasn’t as broad and muscular as Lucas, but tall and lean, almost rangy. And I could feel the strength of him in his grip on my hand, and throughout his back when I’d had my palm on it. And now, his shoulder under my hand…I could feel the muscles bunching as we would turn.
I could also feel the eyes upon us.
“Bullshit. Nobody.” He gave a soft snort. His eyes darted around the dance floor and beyond. We’d moved through the throng a bit and were now more centrally located, where the press could see us.
And they did. Flashbulbs—which had been perpetually flashing—were now concentrated solely on Stick and me. It was like a lightning storm directed right at me.
“Shhh. Easy,” Stick said, low and soft in my ear. He’d felt my body tense at the flashes.
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me even closer. And damn, but my hand slid up and around his neck.
He typically wore his longish hair loose. About chin length, it was wavy and a light brown, but with some natural highlights that women would pay top dollar for in a salon. Tonight he had it slicked back and in a small club of a ponytail, which just brushed the collar of his tux. And now just brushed the back of my hand as I laid it at the back of his neck.
“Wanna give ’em a show?” he whispered in my ear, then placed a soft, chaste kiss on my forehead.
I looked up at him, and his eyes dropped to my lips, relaying his idea to me. I weighed the options in my head—would it be prudent to have the press see me kiss a boy on the dance floor? A boy that wasn’t crusty Edgar Prescott?
No. It would be just jumping from the frying pan to the fire. If I was going to be thrown into this world—and it looked like I hadn’t really been given a choice—I was going to do it on my terms. Dictate as much as possible in a world where I had no power.
“Better not,” I said, meeting his eye. And then—and I swear it wasn’t my intention—my gaze dropped and I looked at his lips. He had a very nice mouth, with full lips. I didn’t know that I’d ever seen Stick smile. And just as I was thinking that thought, his mouth lifted into a wide—and oh-so naughty—grin. I looked up to his eyes, and they were staring down at me. Mischief and…something else, something very raw, shining through.
“When have you ever done the smart thing, Jane Winters?” he said as he bent and kissed me.
The flashbulbs ratcheted up to double time, and I closed my eyes to block them out. And, okay, yes, to better feel Stick’s kiss.
He tasted like champagne. And he smelled like fine wool and some expensive cologne. It was like kissing a rich Bribury boy. And Stick was most definitely not a Bribury boy.
Just as I was about to open my mouth to him, we were jostled by another couple. I opened my
eyes, slightly dazed, and looked around.
The couple that moved me out of my kissing haze was Grayson Spaulding and his wife. He gave me a pointed look.
Yep, into the fire.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said to Stick. He seemed a little dazed, too. And there hadn’t even been any tongue.
He took in the photographer frenzy and looked back to me. “No, probably not.” Then that grin came back and he added, “Wanna do it again?”
I barked out an unexpected laugh. And realized how good it felt to laugh. It’d easily been since before I left for break that I’d had a good laugh.
Not a lot of chuckles around my mom these days as she seethed about the idea of the Stratton family wedding, of which she would not be a part.
And that it was Stick of all people who had delivered my first laugh in…days?…weeks?
That thought pissed me off. I didn’t even like Stick. He was a car thief, for God’s sake. He was responsible for Lucas being arrested, which in turn broke up him and Lily. At least for a while. I did not want Stick to be the one to make me laugh.
And certainly not the one whose kiss made me just a bit too tingly.
Putting my armor back in place, but keeping my smile on for the photographers, I said, “So, does Lucas know you’re Grayson Spaulding’s spy? That you’re keeping an eye on him and Lily?”
Which still didn’t explain what he was doing here tonight, with no Lucas or Lily in sight.
“Lucas is aware of my…employment with Spaulding.”
That took me aback. Until… “Oh, you’re both playing him? Take his money, but report back to him only what Lucas wants him to know?” I kind of appreciated that—it was a move worthy of Grayson Spaulding himself.
“No, Jane,” he said, exasperation in his voice. The song ended, and couples filed off the dance floor, but Stick held me firmly in his arms and waited until the band struck up the next song, also a slow one.
He began moving me around the floor again as he said, “You’re the one who jumped to the ‘spying on Lucas and Lily’ conclusion. You’re way off base. Spaulding has accepted that Lily is dating Lucas. I don’t think he’s thrilled that his princess is dating a dropout townie…but he accepts it.”
“So what are you doing for Grayson, then?”
He looked away from me, not meeting my eye. He pretended he was looking at the other dancers back out on the floor, but I think he was just avoiding my gaze.
Finally a shrug, and a sigh, then he looked back down at me. “I’m doing various special projects for him.”
“Since when?”
“Since shortly after Lucas was arrested.”
I shook my head, confused. “I’m not getting it.”
Another shrug. “No reason why you need to. It doesn’t concern you.”
Well, now that just pissed me off. “And what special project needs to be done tonight? At my…Betsy’s wedding?” He noticed the stumble in my words (it was still hard to call Betsy my sister) and seemed to be mentally filing it away. Damn him. I’d be wise not to underestimate Stick.
“Does somebody here need a car stolen for them? Is that why you’re here? Call in a professional? There must be some primo cars in the lot tonight.”
“Get in the barbs now, and make up better ones than that lame-ass one. ’Cause I am…extricating myself from my former profession.”
“And does that extrication have a prison sentence attached to it?”
His mouth hitched up a smidge at the corner, like he was trying not to smile. And it made me try hard not to smile too. I did not want to share in private jokes with Stick.
“Just what the hell is your real name, anyway? Stick what? And what’s your first name?”
He allowed the grin that time. Of course he had—he knew he’d pissed me off. “It’s just Stick.”
“Like Cher? Yeah, you are kind of a diva.”
“Like the Rock.”
I snorted, and he twirled me in a bit of a dance move that made the skirt of my dress flare out in a soft swath of peach satin.
Much as I didn’t want to be a bridesmaid, I did have to admit that the dresses Betsy picked out were pretty sick.
A fitted bodice, and then the flared skirt. Tea length, with an overskirt of cream lace. It was almost like the thing was designed with my tall, but curvy, frame in mind.
I loved how I looked in it, only wishing that I was wearing it to an event I wanted to attend.
Stick twirled me again, the dress flaring once more. And I felt…nearly beautiful.
I know I’m not. Lily is beautiful. Syd, our other roommate, is too, in a nontraditional way. But not me. I’m not bad looking, and seem to get my share of attention (even from those who don’t know my backstory), but my mother says that comes from my “energy.” I roll my eyes when she tells me this, but it doesn’t mean that she’s wrong.
“Killer dress, by the way,” he said, as if he could read my mind. The song came to an end just as I spotted Montrose at a table with some of the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, presumably his friends from Brown. He was watching Stick and me dance with a serious expression on his face.
I broke from Stick and started walking that way, intending on asking Montrose to dance with me. The band was breaking and some old, jazzy big-band song came through the sound system, the DJ picking right up, allowing no lull.
Stick followed my eyes to Montrose’s table, and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s make that dress fly,” he said as he pulled me back into the thick of the dancers.
Who knew Stick Whatever would be such a good dancer? He twirled me and led me, and we did indeed make my dress fly. It was almost…joyful the way my body moved with the music. At one point, dancers even moved out of the way to watch Stick twirl me around the floor.
I laughed and caught him smiling, and everything—even Edgar Prescott’s hand on my boob—seemed a million miles away.
Until the music slowed and Stick pulled me back into his arms and I saw all the people sitting at tables along the dance floor edge. And was shocked to see Caroline Stratton and Grayson Spaulding sitting together, their heads close, talking. And looking straight at me.
“Oh, God. We probably shouldn’t have done that,” I said to Stick.
“What? The kiss? Or the kickass dancing?” There was a teasing in his voice and almost a lightness in his eyes when I looked up at him.
“Both. Grayson and Caroline are over there. And looks like they’re talking about me.”
He twirled me around so that he was looking at the tables. His eyes went right toward Caroline’s table. She must have caught him looking, because Stick gave a nod of acknowledgement in her direction.
“I don’t think they’re discussing you,” Stick said.
“I’m just surprised to see them together. From what I understand, they can’t stand each other.” It was kind of like they were both vying for my father back in the day, during the campaign. And from what I’d picked up over the years, it seemed like they blamed each other for my father succumbing to my mother’s…charms. Grayson faulting Caroline for her being what he felt was cold. And Caroline felt Grayson should have been aware of my father’s affair with my mother and nipped it in the bud. Or at least before my mother could get herself knocked up with me.
“Maybe they’re just putting it all behind them to rally around your father. Kind of like you are.”
“So you do know who I am?” I said, suspicion seeping through my voice.
“Who your father is? Yeah. How you came into being? Yep. I’ve got the background facts down.” He slowed, pulling me back into his arms, making me gasp in a girly way that I hated. Sliding his hand along my waist, he guided me toward the edge of the floor. “But who is Jane Winters?” He slid his hand down and squeezed my ass. Before I could swat at his hand, he released me and smiled. “I don’t have a fucking clue. Do you?”
He walked away, through the dancers, swallowed up by the tuxes and designer dresses.
&n
bsp; Chapter Eight
January sucked.
I mean, I know January sucks everywhere, but it particularly sucked for me at Bribury.
And it wasn’t even that we were having a bad winter. Comparatively it’d been pretty mild, hardly any snowfall at all, and when it did come it only stayed on the ground for a day or two before melting.
But Lily and Lucas were in love. And though I was happy for them, it also took my roommate away from the partying I wanted to do.
Oh, Lily tried not to be that girl. The one who dumps her friends for a new boyfriend. And Lucas worked nights, so during the week, Lily was free in the evenings.
But even when we did go to a party or something together, Lily wasn’t interested in any of the guys there.
I wasn’t quite ready yet to confess that I wasn’t either.
I thought about Montrose. Even put myself in his path a few times. He was teaching a few sessions, but they were all of the one class that I’d taken last semester.
The couple of times I would accidentally on purpose run into him, he would be polite, but still call me Ms. Winters like he’d done in class. He never mentioned seeing me at Betsy’s wedding.
The third time I saw him, he actually stopped and talked for a bit. He asked if I remembered what he’d said to me on my last day of his class.
I waved my mittened hand in the air and said, “Yeah, vaguely. Kind of how I should find myself and be true to her.”
That wasn’t exactly it. I, of course, knew every word he’d said. One: because he’d taken me aside, away from even Syd, who’d been asked to stay behind too, and I thought maybe my constant flirting was about to pay off. And two: because the words he said were ones I’d thought of nearly every day since.
“You’re so busy not being who you are, perfecting the persona you’ve got going on, that you might not be able to find yourself when you need to. Find her. Be her…and let the rest of the bullshit go.”
Yeah, I hated how he’d nailed me. And yet hadn’t really at all.
He’d nodded that day in the quad and said he remembered every word, and that now he was thinking that maybe his advice to me had not been the best.
