B00AAOCX2E EBOK (13 page)

His gaze met mine for the briefest second before moving on, as if I didn’t exist. It was no secret he disapproved of my and Chelsea’s friendship and living arrangement. I was the antithesis of everything he viewed as a proper woman; strong, outspoken, and full of opinions. He worried that my big mouth and attitude – or my feminist bullshit, as I once overheard him call it – would rub off on her. I wished it would, if only so she’d start standing up for herself.

I really didn’t know what she saw in him.

I focused on Chelsea, noting the happy glow on her face. “You found out about Winter Queen?” I guessed. After spending the afternoon recording next week’s dry tracks and sweepers for the station, I’d come home to find her all tied up in knots about not having heard if she made the cut yet.

Chelsea danced in her seat. “I made the top five!”

“Congratulations!” I said.

Amery echoed me, raising her half-empty cup in salute. Some of the beer spilled over the rim of her cup, dripped down her wrist and forearm, and fell into the valley between her perky breasts. She looked down with her mouth agape, patted it dry with her sleeve, then shrugged and gave up. It’s how I knew she was beyond drunk. Normally, she’d scream about ruining her beautiful top.

I brought my beer to my mouth, then stopped and peered into the cup when I saw the top three inches was pure foam. “Aww, massive fail, Ian. I could stuff a pillow with all this fluff.”

“Here, have mine,” Chelsea said, handing me her full cup. “I don’t even like beer.”

“Thanks.” That solved my beer issue, but I was still silently cussing Ian out. Was his bimbo really so captivating that he couldn’t concentrate on pouring a simple beer? She hadn’t looked all that special to me. Sure, she was curvy and pretty, like they all were, but there had been a vapid look on her face, and Ian couldn’t stand airheads. So what was so damn great about her that he had to run off with her immediately after thinking about kissing me? It was rude and insulting.

I huffed and knocked back the rest of the beer.

“What’s next?” Amery asked.

“Now, I start campaigning, write my speech and plan my skit.”

“Any idea what you’re doing?” I asked. Winter Week was always held at the end of February to align with our Founder’s Day celebration. Instead of a pageant, Winter Queen contestants prepared a skit, which they then performed for the students and alumni in attendance. Every year the performances got more and more elaborate and outlandish. Chelsea was going to have to come up with something really creative to win.

Chelsea shook her head. “Not a clue.”

Amery held up her beer. “Well, let us know what you need, girlfriend. We are here for—oh! Look, there’s Casey and that girl!”

Chelsea and I followed her point to where the small brunette looked to be totally engrossed in what Casey was saying. “Ooh, look at that body language,” I said, noting the way her body was free of non-verbal barriers.

“Yeah, and as long as he doesn’t ask her to dance, he’ll be in good shape. That would be…whoo.” Amery grimaced.

I smiled. Casey danced with his whole body, jerking and spinning around like one of those drumming monkeys. It wasn’t pretty.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I checked the time. I hoped the others would be ready to go soon.

“My tummy is rumbling,” Amery announced, right on cue. “Is anyone else hungry?”

“A little, but it’s not like we’re in any shape to drive, and our D.D. has abandoned us for big boobs and a bleach job.”

“Whose car did you come in?” Chelsea asked. Amery waved her hand. “I could drive. I’m getting a little tired, anyway. Just let me go tell Parker.” She stood and left.

“She means ask him,” Amery hissed in her drunken stage-whisper.

I pushed myself up and held out my hands to balance myself. “Should we tell the guys we’re leaving?”

Amery frowned. “I don’t want to ruin Casey’s chances.”

“He’d be worried if you left without telling him.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “That puts you on Ian detail.”

I sighed, still feeling that slow burn in my chest. I really, really hated talking to Ian when he was charming one of his skags, and it would be doubly awkward after that moment upstairs that I just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

Ian would happily jump in to cockblock if he were in my shoes. Maybe it was time to repay the favor, to give him a dose of his own medicine. But how? It couldn’t be anything too mean. I frowned as I slogged through the fog in my brain, trying to come up with something that would scare Barbie off. “Hey, let me see your purse.”

Amery shot me a confused look, but handed it over. “I’m not driving. You don’t have to confiscate my keys.”

“I’m not conf…confiscating your keys.” I stumbled over the word. All the beer was catching up to me and my tongue was numb. The room started listing on its side, and I held out a hand to steady myself. “Whoa.” I laughed at myself. Pursing my lips together in determination, I rifled inside Amery’s purse for her makeup pouch. “I’ll pay you back,” I told her, hoping it wouldn’t cost me as much as getting my car fixed had. She didn’t buy the cheap stuff.

I set off to look for Ian. It took a minute, but I finally tracked him down on the opposite end of the dance floor, where he and Barbie were hanging out. Her back was against the wall, and Ian leaned over her with one arm braced above her head. His long fingers stroked her bare stomach as he whispered in her ear.

Okay, enough of that.
I strode forward, tapping him on the shoulder. “We’re ready to leave.”

Ian held up a finger to Desiree and turned to face me. The look of dismissive annoyance she shot my way made me want to pluck her false lashes out one by one.

“Already?” he asked.

I tore my eyes from the Barbie and nodded. “Yeah, we’re tired.” I moved my tongue around, trying to get it to work correctly. It felt like I was trying to talk around a mouthful of marbles.

“Just give me five minutes, and then I’ll be ready, okay?” He flashed me a smile.

I stared up into his green eyes and gave him a simpering look. “Wow, five minutes? Is that all it takes? And I always heard you had loads of stamina.”

His brows drew together. “Very funny.”

I shrugged. “I thought it was.”

“How drunk are you, exactly?”

“Not nearly enough,” I said, “since
someone,
” I jabbed my finger at his chest “can’t pour a beer for shit.”

His mouth thinned. “Sounds to me like you’ve had plenty. Come on. Let’s just go.”

He reached for me, but I evaded his grasp, not at all liking the patronizing look on his face. It said I was drunk and irrational. Well, screw that noise! “No, I don’t want
you
to drive me home. I don’t want anything from
you
.” I poked his chest again. “Chelsea’s driving. You can stay here all night, for all I care, and kiss whoever you want or screw whoever you want, and you won’t have to worry about little ole’ drunk me. I didn’t even want you to come in the first place.”

“What’s with you? You’re acting nuts.”

I groaned. “That’s
soooo
typical. A woman asserts her independence and a man just writes her off as crazy.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Ian Hollister. I know what I’m saying. Oh, and take all this crap back. I’m sick of carrying it around for you.” I pulled out the makeup I’d taken from Amery’s bag – eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick – and shoved the items into the pocket of his shirt. “If you wanna do the drag thing, I’m cool with that, but I’m not gonna carry it around for you. Get your own purse, okay? And just remember what Amery said about wearing this lipstick with anything pink. It’ll totally wash you out.”

Desiree’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’.

“Excuse me,” Ian said to Desiree. He grabbed my bicep and pulled me a few feet away. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“What? Oh, you can dish it, but not take it, huh?”

“What are you
talking
about?” he asked.

“It’s payback. You wanna cockblock me, I’ll cockblock you.”

“And that’s the best you can do? Lame.” His looked at something over my shoulder, and I turned to see my friends were waiting for me.

“I’ve got her,” Chelsea told him.

Ian nodded and looked at my face. “Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I watched him walk back to Desiree and wave his hand. “Don’t mind her.”

“It’s okay,” Desiree chirped, flipping her hair. “You know, I think guys who wear makeup can be kind of hot.”

Oy-my-fricken’-vey.

A sharp tug on my hair roused me the following morning. Determined to ignore it, I batted at my hair and rolled away, only to be rewarded by a soft thwap of a paw in the middle of my forehead. I pulled Nonni Rossini’s patchwork quilt over my head and mumbled, “Go away.”

The quilt wasn’t quite long enough. Pulling it up left my feet exposed, and within a few seconds, a sandpaper tongue licked the ticklish undersides of my feet.

Pandora’s message was loud and clear:
I’m going to keep tormenting you until you feed me.

Dry-sobbing in frustration, I rolled onto my back and lifted my head to glare at the cat at the foot of the bed. “You can be a real pain, you know that?”

Pandora let out an indifferent meow and leapt to the floor. She padded towards the bathroom and turned back at the door to make sure I was following. Her tail flicked with impatience.

“Yeah, yeah, I got the message.” I sighed and forced myself into a sitting position, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

My head exploded. I clenched my eyes shut and clutched the sides of my head. When the worst of the pain passed, I pushed myself into an upright position and shuffled towards the bathroom. “No, Mom, I don’t care if you feel like you’ve been run over by a Mack truck, as long as I get my stinking breakfast,” I grumbled, stomping my feet. Not that I could blame Pandora for wanting to be fed. After all, what did cats know about weekends, or the aches and pains associated with hangovers?

I pulled out the bag of dry food from the cabinet under the sink and poured it into Pandora’s ceramic bowl. I filled the adjacent bowl with water. A tiny lapping sound filled the bathroom as I put the food away and opened the medicine cabinet. I grabbed my bottle of Ibuprofen and shook two of the pills into my palm, and then got two B-Complex Vitamins.

With droopy eyes, I left the room and shuffled my way into the kitchen. I passed Amery on the way, who lay in a tangled lump on the sofa. We had decided it would be more practical for her to stay the night than to have Chelsea drive her across town.

I filled a glass with tap water and swallowed the pills, praying they kicked in soon. Both my head and the knuckles on my right hand throbbed with every beat of my pulse.

I looked down at my slightly swollen knuckles and sighed, wishing the alcohol had wiped out my memories of the whole craptastic night. Unfortunately, my memories were crystal clear, and I was more than a little disgusted with myself.

Yeah, Graydon was the opportunist ass I’d pegged him as upon our first meeting, but I felt guilty about the way things went down. I’d been the one who went upstairs with him, the one who flirted with him and let him kiss me, all because I was a petty, sore loser and wanted to get back at Ian. Sure, Graydon had said some pretty shitty things, but he hadn’t been wrong about me being a tease. And now, because I couldn’t handle a little name calling, he had a busted nose and I had a red, puffy hand.

And then there was that whole thing with Ian afterwards…

I buried my face in my palms and shook my head, not wanting to examine it…not wanting to think about that almost-kiss…or that flash of desire I swear I saw in his eyes…and definitely not wanting to examine why him hooking up with Desiree afterwards got me so worked up.

Stop! Just stop. It was nothing.

I slapped my hands on the counter, then cried out when fresh agony washed over my hand.

I cringed when I heard Amery shift on the couch, having momentarily forgotten she was there. She went still again a second later.

Topping off my glass, I padded into the living room to retrieve my copy of Cosmo from the coffee table. It was one of the only magazines I read religiously as part of my research. Sure, the sex-tips were generally ridiculous and sometimes even impossible, but there was always a good amount of usable information. Plus, I used the more ridiculous content to fuel ideas for the “edutainment” aspect of the show.

I had just started reading a hilarious letter from a girl who had her vibrator whipped by airport security when Chelsea walked through the door.

“Morning,” she said, all brightness and smiles.

My finger flew to my lips and I pointed in the direction of the couch.

“She’s still asleep?” She shook her head and placed several grocery bags on the counter.

Closing the magazine, I crossed my legs in front of me and leaned down to pick up Pandora, who purred in contentment at my feet. I stroked the cat’s fur with a smile, then looked up at Chelsea. “How long have you been up?”

“Since seven.” Chelsea grinned and leaned closer. “Amery’s snoring woke me.”

We giggled. Though she was quiet now, Amery was known for sawing major logs in her sleep.

“Shh,” I said, holding my hand to my mouth, but that only intensified our laughter.

Amery’s indignant, sleep-chocked voice came from the couch. “I do not snore.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Amery, if you say so.”

Amery groaned and sat up, rubbing her hands over her face. “What time is it?”

Chelsea glanced at the microwave display. “A quarter to ten.”

Amery groaned again, and raked her hands through her disheveled hair. It was so unfair that she still managed to look gorgeous after a night of heavy drinking and sleep. “I feel like ass.”

“That’s bound to happen when you drink half your body mass in cheap beer. Ow!” I drew my hand back when Pandora’s teeth sank into my thumb. “What was that for?” The cat jumped to the floor and wandered away with her tail straight in the air. What a grump! Bringing my thumb to my mouth, I got up to fetch Amery some water. “Want some Advil?”