Making Out (15 page)

She looked at him questioningly.

Luke laughed at the expression on her face. “Not a private room,” he said. He was searching through the crowds in the lobby for someone, she wasn't sure who. “A bunch of guys . . .”

Before he could finish, someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Evan, a tall, skinny guy with an intellectual face. Marianna didn't really know him, but he was one of Luke's friends.

“Get your butt up to 1657,” Evan said. “The party's about to start.”

“After-party,” Luke explained to Marianna. “We all chipped in on a suite.”

A suite? Suite meant more than one room. Maybe she and Luke could spend some time alone in one of the bedrooms . . . if there was more than one.

This was weird, she thought. Two seconds ago, she was dragging her heels about going upstairs. Now she was trying to maneuver him into one of the bedrooms before it was too late.

Okay, so she was like just about every other privileged private school kid. She wanted whatever she couldn't have. So what else was new?

“Luke! Upstairs!” someone else called, pointing.

Marianna glanced at a big grandfather clock standing in the lobby. It was just about to strike midnight. Pumpkin hour. She was supposed to be home in exactly thirty-one minutes. If she was even a few minutes late, her dad would get nuclear.

Luke still had her hand, and he was moving back toward the bank of elevators again. Marianna hadn't told him about her curfew yet—and now didn't seem like the time. Not until she checked out the party, anyway.

Maybe her dad would buy it if she told him that she really really tried to get home on time, but Heather was nowhere to be found?

Yeah. Right.

But who cared? This was her one and only senior prom, and the after-party was where it all happened. She wasn't going to miss out on any of it.

They pushed into the crowded elevator, which was jammed with at least ten other people, mostly prom-goers, including Bradley and Marco, two of Lisa Marie's “dates.”

Whatever happened to Lisa Marie, anyway? Marianna wondered.

Maybe when they got to the suite, Marianna would call her cell, and check in. After that, she and Luke could cuddle on a sofa, or somewhere else . . .

The smell of beer and whiskey filled the stuffy elevator and prickled Marianna's nose. Yeah—they weren't the only ones who had started early.

“This is going to be an awesome party, dude,” someone standing next to Luke said. “Have you seen the suite yet?”

“No,” Luke said. “We haven't been up there yet.”

Half the people in the elevator got off on the sixteenth floor and followed Luke and Marianna down the hallway to a room at the end.

Wow. How many people were invited to this party, anyway? She hoped it wasn't
too
crowded. Nothing like a loud, drunken crowd to kill a romantic mood . . .

“I hope I'm lucky tonight,” Luke said as he pushed open the door to the suite.

“Well . . .” Marianna started to say.

But as the door opened, she caught a glimpse of a big round table set up in the middle of the living room, covered in green felt and poker chips. John was sitting in a prime seat, shuffling cards. About twenty-five people were crowded around, jammed into every corner of the suite.

Lucky? She thought he meant . . .

But no.

John waved them into the room.

“Okay, gentlemen!” John announced. “Open your wallets. The poker game is about to begin.”

 

 

 

 

“Poker?” Marianna took in the scene, trying to figure out whether Luke knew about this in advance.

The suite wasn't as big as she'd hoped, although it was nicely decorated in colorful, modern furnishings. But people were jammed everywhere—standing in the small entryway near the minifridge, lounging all over the chairs and sofas in the living room, crammed into the little hallway that led off to the bedroom and bathroom on the side. She and Luke had to squeeze through the crowd to even get into the room, pushing past couples who were already making out, or sharing a cigarette, or just getting wasted on tiny little bottles of Jack Daniel's from the minibar.

“It's a tradition,” Luke explained, still holding her hand as he tried to find a seat at the poker table. “A bunch of seniors started it a few years ago—prom night poker. John said we've gotta carry it on.”

John had shoved the coffee table aside to make room for his portable poker table, and someone had brought extra chairs up from the ballroom downstairs. You could barely walk, with all the extra furniture.

“Are you going to play?”

“Get your butt over here, Perchick!” Uri called.

Luke didn't answer either of them, but he let go of Marianna's hand and took a seat at the table.

O-kay. Not quite the scenario she had in mind, but it was pretty cool anyway, she decided. Now that Luke was there, the table was almost full. Uri, Evan, Vlad, John, Ramone, and Marco had all taken their jackets off and were throwing out money to buy stacks of chips. A bunch of people—mostly singles—were hanging around the edges, perched on the sofas or standing to watch.

This is like a movie,
Marianna thought, feeling excited. Like Monte Carlo or some decadent L.A. Oscar night party. The guys looked amazing in their tuxes, and they were playing their roles to the hilt. John started passing around cigars, and spewing out all kinds of poker terms like
flop
and
river
and
kickers
.

Marco tossed a huge wad of money on the table, just to show off.

“Oooh, high roller,” some girl mocked him.

“Big wad, small balls,” someone else cracked.

“You want to try them?” Marco shot back.

The room was too noisy for Marianna's taste, but there was something crazy and thrilling about the atmosphere. Everyone seemed to be in the mood to take a risk. Two girls and two guys she hardly knew were playing beer blow in a corner, laughing hysterically every time they saw an ace. At the rate they were chugging beers, they were going to be trashed in about five minutes.

So what was she supposed to do? Hang over Luke's shoulder like something out of
Pretty Woman
and bring him luck?

Okay . . . she could do that.

“Hey, stranger.” Lisa Marie came out of the bathroom and gave Marianna a quick hug.

“Hi!” It felt like forever since she'd seen Lisa Marie. “Are you okay?”

Lisa Marie nodded. “Is this an unbelievable night or what?”

“Totally.” Marianna wished they could grab a little privacy. She wanted to tell Lisa Marie about the blueberry pancakes and the Lincoln Bedroom and how deeply she was starting to feel about Luke, but not with that geek Tom Zappato leering and listening to every word they said.

She pulled Lisa Marie back into the bathroom and closed the door.

“So what do you think of Luke?” Marianna asked Lisa Marie.

“What do
you
think? Isn't that more the point?” Lisa Marie said.

“I'm so into him.” She couldn't hide the truth.

“Yeah. You look it. You guys were missing half the night.” She smiled and raised one eyebrow. “Anything I should know?”

Marianna shook her head. This still wasn't private enough. Details about what an amazing kisser he was would have to wait. She couldn't do it justice with two people pounding on the bathroom door to get in.

“Tell me about your night. What's it like having five hot guys as dates?” she asked.

“It's a little tricky, but I'm handling it,” Lisa Marie said. “I kinda wish it was just one person, though.”

“Drew?”

Lisa Marie nodded.

“I saw him out there.” Marianna nodded toward the living room.

“Yeah, with his arms wrapped around Sara-frigging-Franklin!” She looked pissed.

Marianna didn't know what to say. What did Lisa Marie expect, when she was “handling” five guys at once?

“I think he was just talking to her,” Marianna offered.

Someone pounded on the door again.
Shit.

“We'd better get out of here,” Marianna said.

“Okay.” Lisa Marie glanced at her wrist, but she wasn't wearing a watch. “Hey, have you seen . . .”

“Heather!” Marianna realized it at the same time. “Not in hours. We should call her.”

“Open up, or I'm going to pee on the rug!” a girl's voice cried from outside.

Marianna opened the door and Tara, Ramone's ex-girlfriend, burst in. She was ready to lose it.

“Knock yourself out,” Lisa Marie said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Marianna stepped into the bedroom, which for some reason was the least crowded spot. Only about four people were hanging out, drinking, chatting, and watching the Game Show channel.

She pulled out her cell phone and saw that she'd missed four text messages. Even with her cell set to ring loud, she hadn't heard it once.

She dialed Heather's cell. “Where are you?”

“Where the hell are
you
? I've been looking everywhere.” Heather sounded slightly upset. “I promised your dad to have you home on time—remember?”

Her dad? Marianna had forgotten all about him. Hah!

“Screw it, I'm not leaving now,” Marianna said. “Come upstairs. We're in a suite, a bunch of people are having a party and playing poker.” She turned to someone nearby. “What room is this?” she asked.

“Room 1657.”

“Okay. See you in a few,” Heather said and clicked off.

Marianna made her way back to the living room. The poker table was full—a few girls had joined the game—but she found a spot on the edge of a sofa arm and sat by Luke's side. He handed her a glass of Red Bull and vodka and she took a big swig.

If Daddy could only see me now,
she thought with a mixture of guilt and pride.

That's what a good dose of Red Bull and vodka will do for a girl.

 

 

 

 

“Burn that card, Uri, I've got some action going, and I don't care if Evan did just cripple the deck.”

John was babbling nonstop, slinging poker lingo right and left, when Lisa Marie came out of the bathroom. He called out to her the instant he caught her eye.

“Hey, where'd you go? I need you here for good luck.”

“Ignore him.” Ramone motioned for Lisa Marie to come over to his side of the table instead.

John patted a seat right behind his chair. “No, no. She's my lucky charm for this hand; I'm feeling it.”

“You're going to need
some
kind of luck, the way you've been losing tonight,” Vlad needled John.

“Oh, shut up and deal the river card,” one of the girls at the table said.

Lisa Marie grabbed another bottle of beer—what was this, her fifth? sixth?—and went to sit behind John, since that was the only seat open. She passed behind Ramone's chair on the way.

Was this really happening? Were guys fighting over her now? She couldn't help smiling inside, although she knew better than to let her happiness show.

She put a bored expression on her face and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. It tickled the skin on her bare back.

Okay, I still look hot,
she thought, remembering how amazing she looked in the slinky black dress. Maybe if she sat there with her back to Li'l D, acting cool, playing the part of John's and Ramone's lucky bitch, Li'l D would get jealous and notice. Maybe then he'd want to talk to her.

All it would take was one look from him, and she'd gladly dump the other four . . .

“Awww, you're killing me,” Ramone complained when she didn't sit on his side of the table. He was drunker than he had been the last time Lisa Marie danced with him an hour ago. She was a little more buzzed, too.

“Play nice. There's enough of me to go around,” she said, trying to calm things down.

“Woo-hoo,” Marco snapped sarcastically. “You think?”

Ouch. There was something decidedly cruel in his tone, but Lisa Marie couldn't think of a snappy retort. She sat silent, watching the hand play out.

“All right! The river hit me!” John yelled. “Okay, baby! We won!”

John turned and tried to kiss her on the cheek but pretty much missed. She was sitting farther away than he thought.

“Oh, for God's sake, keep it down,” Rebecca called from the corner of the room. “You're not on
Celebrity Poker Showdown
, you know.”

As John raked in a pile of money, Ramone threw his cards across the table, hard.

“You gave away my hand, didn't you?” he said, staring at Lisa Marie.

“What?” Was he insane? That was a terrible thing to say.

“You told him what I had. You saw my cards.” He repeated the accusation loudly.

“You're an asshole, Ramone,” Lisa Marie snapped. “You probably would've lost with five aces and ten queens.”

Suddenly everyone was quiet, except for the TV blaring in the bedroom. Lisa Marie could feel the tension in the room.

“Chill, Ramone,” Luke said. “You got a bad hand, that's all.”

“Yeah,” someone else said. “Don't bet with your dick next time.”

Several guys snickered, and then someone said derisively, “Ten queens?”

Oh, please—did they
really
think she didn't know there weren't ten queens in a deck? Fine. Let them think what they wanted. Raising her voice had raised the stakes, and it worked. Ramone was obviously pissed, but at least he backed down.