Heart Thaw (19 page)

“Nah.” Jeremy shakes his head. “My roommate stayed with us. He swiped a key from the maid and we got a copy from the hardware store.”

Jeremy’s too drunk to look embarrassed by this bit of information, but I feel intense shame on his behalf. This is beyond sad.

“The beer was fine. And I haven’t seen my sister. I should go find her. Have you seen her?” I ask, trying to lead him back to the packed main portion of the house.

But he’s like a terrier chasing a rat down a hole. He’s going to get us into this damn office and nothing I say or do will distract him.

“Ella?” He squints. “She still dating that sexy pin-up looking girl? The one who dated Hallman?”

“Antonia? She doesn’t date guys,” I tell him.

“Yep. Antonia, that’s her name. John Vincent’s older sister.” He sways on his feet and tries to slide the key in the lock again, managing to scrape the wood of the door. “Shit,” he mutters, then looks back at me with a soupy expression. “Yeah, Antonia was
definitely
banging Hallman. Maybe she’s into girls now, but she and Hallman got caught doing it at High Point Monument. I remember because Timothy Dankowitz’s uncle busted them first day on the force.” He finally gets the key in. “Tada!”

The door swings open and the office is revealed.

It’s like I would imagine any pretentious man’s McMansion office. The shelving is dark wood lined with books. There’s a huge leather chair behind a shiny desk, and two smaller leather chairs in front of it. When Jeremy first boosted me through the window, I thought it would have the papery smell of books. It has the stale smell of clinging cigar smoke, and I can imagine Mr. Stinson lighting up a stogie while Jeremy fumes and paces outside the door, dying for just a waft of the smell of his father’s cigar.

“What is it about this place that always made you want in so badly, Jer?” I ask, walking over to the bookshelf.

I have to laugh a little when I notice the regal looking “leather bound” books are mostly out of date encyclopedias. I guess that’s how you fill fancy bookshelves when you don’t really care about reading all that much.

“My father is pretty much the smartest man I know. But he always looked at me like I was some kind of joke, no matter how hard I tried to impress him,” Jeremy says, sounding more sober than he has since he put his arm around me. He goes behind the desk and leans back in the leather chair, kicking his feet up on the desktop. “How do I look?”

I take a seat across from him and frown.

“Like a guy way smarter than his father gives him credit for. And one who doesn’t need his dad’s approval,” I say softly.

Jeremy drops his feet to the floor and his head to his hands.

“But I
want
it.”

“I bet you have a way better chance of getting it if you stop trying so hard,” I offer. “He’s the kind of guy who loves to leave people hanging.”

Far from being the smartest man I know, Mr. Stinson is hands down the most arrogant. And I’ve had some pretty full-of-themselves professors. He’s also extremely insecure, which explains his need to constantly ridicule Jeremy. It irritated me enough in high school, but now that we’re grown, it just seems pathetic on both their parts.

“I guess I can try,” Jeremy says, shaking the key in his palm like it’s some magical object. “You want some scotch?”

I sigh. “No, thank you. I need to find Ella.”

“Wait.” He roots around in his father’s liquor cabinet. “He has some port. Do you like port?”

I snort. “I’m not an eighty year old English man.” I glance down the hall, where the party is in rage-like swing. What I want is to see Trent. The one person I need to avoid. I take a deep breath and nod to Jeremy. “You know what, I’m actually feeling an ancient Brit vibe. I’ll have some.”

He takes a tumbler in his shaky hands and pours way more than I than I want. It has a sticky, cloying quality that coats my tongue and throat, and I drink it fast because I don’t like it and want it to be over with.

“Pretty good, right?” Jeremy asks, gulping down his own drink.

“It was nice, thanks. I’m gonna head back.”

I stand out of the comfort of the leather chair and put the cup down on the desk, but Jeremy grabs my wrist before I can make an escape.

“C’mon, don’t go yet.” He stands up and pulls me closer to him, until we’re standing chest to chest. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

He pulls his vowels long, but can’t avoid slurring anyway.

“Missed me?” I cock an eyebrow at him and pull back. “I’d bet my life savings you hadn’t given me a single thought until you saw me walk through the door.”

“Then you’d be a very poor woman, because that’s so wrong.” He reaches a hand up and brushes back a piece of hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes. “I’ve thought about you a lot Sadie. I’ve had so many regrets. Things I wish I’d never done.”

I should leave. I know this is all some kind of demented foreplay for Jeremy, probably a segue to reintroducing the “open relationships” concept I shot down years ago. But he’s waxing nostalgic about regrets, and that’s a topic I feel semi-professional in.

I slide onto the desk, sitting in front of him, and push him back into the leather chair. He puts one hand on my knee, but I pick it up by his thumb and let it drop in his lap.

“I think that might be a bad way to think about things, Jer. Isn’t it better that you did stuff? Even if it didn’t turn out the way you wanted?”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“Not when you did stuff like I did. Stupid stuff. It could affect my career in politics.”

I bite my tongue. The Stinsons have been active in local politics since Jeremy was in diapers, and they fancy themselves the Kennedys of Vernon, NJ. It would be hilarious if they didn’t believe it so earnestly.

“You’re twenty-one. I doubt there’s a politician on the planet who was some pure vessel at twenty-one,” I assure him, leaning back on my hands to look at the sky shining through the arches of the floor to ceiling windows.

The stars are dense and thick as swirls of cream in the black sky.

“I had someone else take my final econ class for me.” Jeremy’s voice is hushed.

I sit up straight and stare at him.

“Um, that’s a really stupid move no matter what, but isn’t Harristown a really small campus?”

He nods, his face miserable.

“The guy kinda looked like me?” he says uncertainly.

“You have to be kidding me. The professor didn’t notice?” I ask, shocked by each new detail.

“Well, he hadn’t had me in class since freshman year—”

“Wait, you did this in a class where you’d
already had
the professor?” I gasp.

“It was a huge lecture freshman year. There’s no way he recognized me. I don’t think.” Jeremey knocks his head back against the chair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“I have to agree,” I say, trying not to sound like a patronizing ass.

This is very typical of the Jeremy I simultaneously loved and couldn’t stand in high school: on one hand, he’s brilliant, motivated, and incredibly kind; on the other he’s a scheming entitled brat who doesn’t think the rules apply to him.

It’s incredible how many versions of Jeremy I’ve run into. And how they tend to get worse with every guy I’m attracted to. Jace was like a more cutthroat, snarkier version of Jeremy. And, though he was always a little bit of an elitist, Jeremy adored my mother and sister. That’s probably why we dated for two years, which was about a year and a half longer than I was really interested in him.

“I’m a legacy at Harristown, so I think my father could smooth it over if he really needed to. But I don’t want that. I don’t want him to feel like he has to do that kind of crap for me.” He licks his lips and puts his hands back on my knees. “I was feeling like such shit until I saw you, Sadie.”

“What does seeing me have to do with anything?” I ask, wiggling my knees back and forth to knock his hands off.

He slides his hands off my knees and to the sides of my thighs and works his thumbs along the skin exposed by this ridiculously short skirt.

“You believed in me. Even in high school, you believed in me, and you always encouraged me to stand up to my father. You were pretty much the only person who’s ever thought I wasn’t a complete asshole, Sadie,” he says, leaning too close.

I lean back, but short of falling backward off the desk, I don’t know how to move away from him.

I don’t bother to tell Jeremy that, by the end, I
did
think he was a complete asshole.

“Jer, I get that things are rough. But this will all pass. Maybe you can speak to an advisor?” His face looks so stricken, I rush to say, “Or not. Maybe it will blow over and there won’t be a problem.”

I remember the hours I spent slaving over my classes, and his move comes off as even more dick. And now he’s crying softly. Not because he feels bad about what he did, of course. He’s crying like a baby because he’s scared shitless to get caught and never get his invite to smoke cigars like a big important man with his daddy in this stupid encyclopedia-filled office.

“I feel like such a failure,” he sobs, nestling close to my neck.

I pat his head and push him back—gently but firmly.

“I get it. I do. There’s this perception that we go off to college and do everything perfectly. That everything falls into place somehow or something. But it’s not like that.”

“It’s not,” he says, rubbing his face against my shoulder. “God, you smell so damn good, Sadie.”

His lips brush over my skin. I back up and press his head away.

“Whoa. Slow down, Jeremy.”

“Babe, c’mon,” he says, his voice pulling in that whiny way he never understood was such a huge turnoff even when I
was
interested in sex with him.

“Nope. Sorry, that ship sailed a long time ago.”

I squirm away, managing to knock him just enough off balance that I can slide off the desk and make my way out.

“It sailed? So why did you show up here, dressed like that, and come back here alone with me? Cause it feels more like that ship might have docked. Hear me out,” he demands.

He’s well on his way to trashed and not worth my breath. But I want to answer him. Or, more accurately, I want to tell someone what I feel, and I can’t tell anyone I actually care about, so I decide I’ll just blurt it out to Jeremy.

“I didn’t know where I was going tonight. Just that my sister wanted me to come. And she picked my outfit, which isn’t me at all. But I didn’t change. I didn’t because I know damn well how sexy I look. I know I’m turning you on, but this,” I gesture at the dress that’s hugging my every curve, “has nothing to do with you. I’m wearing this for a guy I love and can’t have.”

“Okay.” Jeremy presses his eyebrows together. “But you
can
have me. Right here, right now. And it would feel so good. The way it used to feel back when we were in high school. Don’t you remember that?” He walks over to me, but I manage to sidestep him because he’s too drunk to follow a straight line. “Damnit, Sadie, stop being such a fucking tease.”

I’m about to tell him how sorry I truly am for what a sad little turd he’s turned into. He never had all that much backbone to begin with, but at least he used to have a little pride.

I don’t get to say a word, because Trent is stalking into the room, beelining it for Jeremy, and closing a hand over his throat. A strangled gasp tears from Jeremy’s throat.

“Trent!” I put a hand on the arm that he’s using to hold Jeremey on his toes with. “It’s fine. He’s drunk. And a huge ass. I’m fine.”

“Apologize to her,” he growls, not looking at me.

“Sorry, Sadie,” Jeremy squeaks. Trent drops him, and he just stays sprawled on the floor, crying softly.

“Jeremy? Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“Just go the fuck away, Sadie. Fuck off,” he says in a cracked voice.

Trent starts toward him again, but I shake my head.

“No. Leave it. He just needs to be left alone. Come on.”

We walk out of the office, which looks even more pretentious and ridiculous in light of what just went down in it.

“How did you ever date that asshole?” Trent asks, his mouth set in a sneer.

“He looked amazing in a lacrosse uniform,” I say, the sixteen-year-old buried in me still kind of hot for that memory of young love. Trent glances my way, and I shrug. “I was in eleventh grade. Stop judging. I hear you dated some shady characters yourself.”

We’re in the dark back hallway that separates Jeremy’s father’s office from the rest of the house. The chaos of the party is a few steps away, but the sounds and distractions are dulled back here in this little tunnel of privacy.

Trent stops and puts his hands on my shoulders, drags his fingers down my arms, and presses me against the wall. “I was just wasting time until you noticed me.”

“About that,” I whisper, wanting so badly to forget words and just get lost in his touch again. “We can’t do this.”

“Let’s talk about that. About why we can’t,” he says, pulling my hands up from my sides and kissing my fingertips with soft, slow kisses. “You’re warm. Hot, actually.”