“In what way?” Drew asked, genuinely curious, not to mention relieved that the topic of conversation was, for once, not himself. Sitting there talking to Olivia felt so natural, like they’d known each other for years instead of just a few short days.
“Well, most of my friends ended up going to school out of state,” Olivia began with a sigh. “But, I don’t know . . . I grew up on the Upper West Side, and I just really never wanted to live anywhere else, you know?”
Drew nodded eagerly in agreement, mentally ticking off the plusses in Olivia’s favor: smart, beautiful, likes Woody Allen, and admits of her own free will that New York is really the only city worth living in! What more could he possibly want? But as Drew looked at her, noticing her absurdly full, bow-shaped upper lip as she picked up her glass and drained the remaining dregs of pale, golden liquid, Drew had to admit to himself that his attraction to Olivia also had something to do with the fact that she had absolutely nothing to do with Meadowlark, his social circle, or his life up until now.
“So, in a weird way, I guess I’ve had to start all over again,” Olivia said quietly, running her hand over the tablecloth, smoothing the material against her palm. “Which is totally bizarre, considering I grew up here!” She laughed, running a hand through her hair self-consciously, her cheeks and throat flushing in the wake of her sudden confession. “If you want the truth,” she said soberly, serious now, her violet eyes meeting his and holding them steadily, “I guess I’ve just been a little lonely lately.”
Drew looked at the way Olivia’s dark hair fell around her heart-shaped face in soft waves, at the naked pain in her violet eyes, and felt a surge of connection between them. “I know what that’s like,” Drew answered after a long moment. “I mean, lately I’ve been feeling like I need to start all over again, too—and it’s been kind of hard.” Drew swallowed and looked away, mentally willing himself not to get emotional.
“Maybe . . .” Olivia said after a pause, looking down at her hands, “we could start over together?” The last word came out as a question, the inflection in her voice rising high and unsure at the end of the sentence.
“Do you want some more champagne?” Drew asked, leaning toward Olivia so that she could hear him above the string quartet decked out in tuxedos, who were planted firmly in the far corner of the room and had just then begun to play. He placed his hand gently atop her thigh, the warmth from her leg seeping into his hand, giving him a flesh-induced contact high that was suddenly bordering on severe.
“Always,” Olivia said, smiling warmly, her violet eyes sparkling mischievously, her dark hair hanging in soft waves that rippled down her back and over the soft fabric of the free-flowing ivory gown she wore. Drew didn’t know what these types of dresses were called, exactly—all he did know was that the perfectly draped silky material looked like it had been ripped off a Greek statue at the Met and tailored to fit Olivia’s body specifically.
Drew got up, pushing in his chair and heading over to the bar at the far end of the room, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew now, as if there had ever really been a doubt in his mind, that if he really wanted to keep things going with this girl he was going to have to tell her he had lied to her—not to mention the truth about the fact that he was still in high school. He’d invited her to the Holiday Gala, for God’s sake! Considering the fact that his entire school would most likely be in attendance, it was a move that not only bordered on stupid, it was positively suicidal.
“Hey, Drew,” a tentative voice said at his back. Drew turned around to see Casey standing there, her yellow silky hair falling onto her shoulders, the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he’d always loved clearly visible on her translucent skin, a cobalt blue dress made of some satiny material that reminded him, bizarrely, of wrapping paper draped across her body, falling to her knees. Drew noticed that she was blushing furiously, her face rapidly turning a shade of red that looked almost painful.
“Hey,” he said, with a nervous smile. “Good to see you.” Drew leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders, wondering if at any moment she was going to reach out and slap him—not that he’d really blame her if she actually did. “You’re here with Darin?” he asked, scanning the crowd for Hollingsworth’s skinny frame.
“Yeah,” Casey answered, almost apologetically, blushing harder. “I’m just grabbing us some drinks.”
“Me, too,” Drew said, gesturing toward the bar with one hand, a tiny spark of jealousy detonating in his chest, which he promptly attempted to squash with irrefutable logic. Hollingsworth’s a good guy, he told himself, hoping if he said it enough, he’d stop wanting to rip his head from his shoulders every time he saw them together. Besides, you had your shot with her and you blew it. As usual. There was an awkward silence as they looked at one another, millions of unasked and unanswered questions floating around in Casey’s gray eyes.
“You’re here with . . .” Casey asked, gesturing with her hand to Olivia—who was still back at the table—her voice trailing off into silence.
“I just met her a few days ago,” Drew said offhandedly, not really wanting to get into it. “I tried to call you the other night,” he said, changing the subject and taking a deep breath.
“I know,” Casey said quietly, biting her bottom lip. “But I . . .”
“It’s cool,” Drew interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish. “I mean, I probably wouldn’t talk to me either if I were you.”
“It’s not that,” Casey said, her brow creased with confusion. “I just don’t understand . . . what happened. I mean, you just ran out that night at Sophie’s party, and I really haven’t heard from you since.”
“I know,” Drew said with a sigh, knowing that if he didn’t apologize to her right then, in person, he just wasn’t going to be able to live with it. “Things at home have been pretty rough, and I’ve been acting like an asshole. I’m really, really sorry I left that night, and I’m even sorrier that I screwed up things with us so badly.”
Casey smiled faintly, her gray eyes suddenly misty with emotion. “Thanks,” she said quietly, looking away. “I really needed to hear that.” Drew looked down at his own empty hands, unsure what to say or do next. “Anyway,” Casey went on, clearing her throat while looking back at Drew and smiling. “I should probably get back.”
“Me, too,” Drew said, relieved that he’d finally apologized. It felt like a two-thousand-ton boulder had just been removed from his back. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” Casey answered, turning around to walk away, and stopping to glance back at him over her shoulder, her gray eyes still filled with questions Drew knew he wasn’t capable of answering right now—as much as he might’ve liked to.
As he stood there, watching her walk away from him and toward another guy, he realized that maybe lying had worked for his parents all these years, but Drew now knew that he couldn’t agree to that kind of don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in his own romantic relationships. He’d already pretty much destroyed his chances with both Mad and Casey, and he was damned if the same thing was going to happen with Olivia. He wanted to get to know her—without lies and deceit getting in the way and forcing a wedge between them the way it had with his own parents. Most of all, he didn’t want to be that guy—the guy who lied just so he could hook up with some random girl, who didn’t even question whether or not sleeping around constituted a kind of betrayal. Regardless of how his parents couched it, or whatever bizarre rules they’d put into place in order to hold the torn fabric of their marriage together, Drew knew that it was history. And the only thing he was sure of right now was that he didn’t want to be that guy—ever again.
Drew took two gently frothing champagne flutes from a tuxedoed, slightly disheveled hipster bartender, a pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his brown slightly spiky hair shining in the overhead lighting, and downed one glass quickly before grabbing a replace
ment.
“How’s the champagne?” the bartender inquired in a friendly monotone.
“It’s great,” Drew answered immediately, without even stopping to wonder why he was being asked such a completely inane question.
“You hated it,” the bartender deadpanned, a slight smile tilting his lips up at one corner.
“No, it was fine,” Drew said, bemused by the whole encounter, which was getting more surreal by the moment.
“You totally hated it,” the bartender answered without hesitation, chuckling to himself as he began filling empty champagne flutes with the frothy, golden liquid.
Drew shook his head from side to side as he walked away, amazed by the complete randomness of Manhattan, how even the bartenders were constantly auditioning for God knew what. He slowly began pushing through the crowd and back to the table, trying to work up his courage. Just man up and explain, he thought, trying to convince himself, but his words, no matter how forcefully he repeated them, felt hollow and flimsy—even from the protected confines of his own head. If she really likes you, she’ll understand. But would she? Or would she just get mad and stomp off in a huff? Lately, it seemed like way too much of that kind of stuff had been happening in his world, and he was, all at once, so very tired of it. Drew walked determinedly back toward the table, bracing himself for what he now knew he had to do, his heart racing crazily. As he handed the glass to Olivia, she looked up at him and smiled, just as the quartet broke into a strings-only version of “White Christmas.”
“Wanna dance?” she asked, raising an eyebrow coquett ishly.
Drew smiled, tilting his head back and draining his glass in one prolonged swallow, and thumped it back on the table. “Hell yeah,” he said, reaching out and taking her small, soft hand in his, and leading her to the packed dance floor, where he was immediately enveloped in clouds of heavy, opulent perfumes that smelled like the incense that had drifted through the halls of the cold, stone churches he’d visited in Rome last summer on a weekend trip—sweet, rich, and slightly spicy, like the scent of skin itself.
Drew leaned into Olivia’s slim frame as she wound her arms around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes. He found himself mesmerized by their violet depths, unable to look away. If he was going to tell her, he was going to have to do it now.
“So . . .” Drew said carefully, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he concentrated his gaze over her shoulder and at the front entrance. “There’s something I really need to tell you.”
“You’re married?” Olivia deadpanned, her rose-colored lips turning up in a small smile.
“God forbid,” Drew scoffed, taking a deep breath and meeting her gaze before he completely lost what was left of his courage. Suck it up, he told himself, and just tell her. If she runs, then she runs, and you’ll pick up the pieces and move on, the same way you always do . . . Except it wouldn’t be the same, would it? Because he’d know that he’d hurt her, that he’d blown a chance at something special—for the third time in less than two months.
“So what is it?” Olivia asked, crinkling her brow and staring at him with an expression that was equal parts expectation and trepidation, the fear clearly winning out at the end, clouding her lovely violet eyes and making the hairs on Drew’s arms stand up on end. “You can tell me,” Olivia said gently, “whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll understand.”
Drew looked at her expectant face, her long, white arms wrapped around his neck, her sweet, floral perfume filling his senses, and knew right then and there that he just couldn’t do it, that the words, no matter how badly he wanted them to come out, just weren’t ready. Out of the corner of his eyes, Drew watched as Madison and Sophie walked through the front entrance, Madison’s gaze scanning the dance floor and coming to rest on Drew and Olivia, her green eyes narrowing murderously.
“Olivia, I really like you,” Drew said weakly, dropping his gaze to the floor, red-faced and completely frustrated with himself. When exactly had he become such a spineless liar? If this wasn’t the person he wanted to be then why did he feel so powerless to change things? If he didn’t tell her now, he knew Madison would take great and calculated pleasure in doing so. But somehow, the threat of this wasn’t quite enough to get him to open his mouth and speak. He just wanted one perfect moment, one moment that wasn’t ruined completely. All he really wanted was to dance with this girl, uninterrupted. Then maybe he could figure out what to do next.
Olivia giggled softly with pleasure and surprise, leaning a little closer and tightening her hold around his neck. “I like you, too,” she answered back as she touched her lips to his. The moment her mouth began to open under his, the room, the terrible Christmas music, the feeling that had followed Drew everywhere lately—a combination of despair and a shaking nervousness—began to slowly ebb away, the panic and uncertainty of the last month evaporating in the heat of her kiss.
what comes around goes around
Madison Macallister stepped into the shockingly white room, Sophie trailing behind her like an apparition in a Stella McCartney gold, knee-length cocktail dress, her honey-colored hair twisted into a seashell whorl at the back of her neck. Madison looked down appreciatively at her own red satin Gucci halter dress that tied around the neck, exposing a deep but tasteful keyhole of flesh, and that flared out festively around her knees. Her newly painted, cherry-red pedicure sparkled from the confines of her gold Dior sandals encrusted with rows of red Swarovski crystals. Madison looked around the crowded room, taking in the aluminum trees, the enormous ice sculpture looming over the front of the room, her green eyes squinting slightly in the glare. The Guggenheim was so . . . white. You practically had to wear sunglasses just to deal with the goddamn brightness that radiated in waves from the pristine interior. And don’t even get her started on the so-called “art” that hung on the walls . . .
“Hey,” Sophie whispered excitedly in her ear, pointing one French-manicured index finger toward the far corner of the dance floor. “Isn’t that Drew over there?”
Madison’s gaze followed the trajectory of Sophie’s finger, her green eyes narrowing further now in anger, as she caught sight of a suited Drew wrapped in what looked like a very intense embrace with some girl she’d never laid eyes on before in her life. The girl’s hair fell down her back in loose waves, and Madison watched, incredulous, as Drew lifted his lips from hers and reached up to smooth her dark locks back from her face. A wave of anger mixed with jealousy so intense that she almost moaned aloud rushed through Madison’s body, gluing her sandals to the floor, her feet suddenly unable to carry her forward.
“No. He. DIDN’T!” Sophie exclaimed, her cotton candy- colored mouth falling open in a wide O. “Who the hell is he with, anyway?” Sophie hissed hotly in her ear, the clean, cit rusy scent of her Missoni perfume suddenly bringing on an enormous headache that felt like a pile driver slamming into Madison’s skull, her stomach tumbling and turning beneath her Gucci dress.
Whatever, she told herself, willing her feet to move forward as she tossed her hair back from her shoulders. Drew can date whoever he wants—and obviously that’s exactly what he’s doing. And two can definitely play that game, Mad told herself in a voice that was slightly more confident than she really felt. God, why couldn’t she just get the hell over him once and for all? And why did she suddenly have the sneaking suspicion that Drew was really losing it? This kind of totally random behavior wasn’t like him at all. Well, at least not that she knew of . . . But in any case, it was obvious that the guy she thought she knew was long gone.
“I have no idea,” she answered in her best I-could-give-a-flying-fuck tone of voice. “But I definitely need a drink.”
“For realz,” Sophie agreed with a roll of her bottle-green eyes. “Jesus,” she said thoughtfully with a small giggle, “I thought I was hallucinating there for a minute!”
As they made their way through the crowded room, Madison caught sight of Casey standing over by the edge of the dance floor wit
h Darin. Casey was wearing Phoebe’s cobalt blue Marni dress that was so totally two years ago, and laughing with the eternally irritating Emo boy, Mr. Hollingsworth, whose poster-child, relief-fund physique was tucked into the skinniest Gucci suit Mad had ever seen, a white Sex Pistols T-shirt peeking out from beneath the tight black blazer, black Converse high-tops on his feet.
“Shouldn’t you be home putting coal in everyone’s stocking?” Madison asked sarcastically as they approached. “Or writing Conor Oberst your millionth fan e-mail?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Darin answered with an amused grin, feigning surprise. “I didn’t recognize you without the latte in your hand.” Sophie burst out laughing, bringing one hand up to her mouth in order to hide her grin. Madison glared at Darin, shooting him a tight smile that said “that’s about as much of your shit as I’m prepared to take” written all over it. Darin looked over at Sophie and tilted his head upward in greeting. “What’s up, Sophs?”
“Not much,” Sophie answered after she’d gotten a hold of herself, craning her neck up as far as it could go so she could scan the crowd, the square-cut diamond studs in her ears sparkling in the light like melted ice cubes. “Have you guys seen Pheebs?”
“I think she’s with Jared over there,” Darin said, pointing in the general direction of the ice sculpture that was, despite the relentless blasts of air-conditioning chilling the room, rapidly beginning to melt. “I’m surprised you guys are all here. Isn’t the big premiere tonight?”
“Don’t remind me,” Madison snapped. “I’m TiVoing it, of course, but it won’t be the same as watching it live.”
“Oh, of course not,” Darin said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, his disdain clearly palpable.
“Glad we’re all getting along so well.” Casey laughed uncomfortably, putting one hand on Darin’s arm as if to say “chill out.” “C’mon,” she said, tugging on Darin’s sleeve as the string quartet finally stopped playing, and the DJ who’d been setting up at the front of the room for the better part of the last hour began to spin a hypnotic house track. “Let’s all go dance.”
Elite 03 Simply Irresistible Page 17
