Making Out (20 page)

“Unlike Teeny Tiny D, who she's got the hots for,” Ramone said jealously.

So that was it. Ramone was jealous of Li'l D. Maybe the others were, too? Well, who wouldn't be?

“Hey, I have an idea,” John said. “Let's let her choose.”

“Choose what?” She said it with as much hostility and edge as she could muster.

“Choose which one of us you want to be with,” John said. He eyed her up and down, drinking in each curve and bump in her slinky satin number. “I mean, a body like that wasn't made to be wasted.”

“Take a cold shower,” Lisa Marie said to John, and then directed the rest of her comments to all of them. “Maybe you'd
all
like that. All four of you bunched up together in the shower? That must be what rocks your boat.”

Marco shook his head and laughed. “You'll have to do better than that,” he said. “Homophobe-bating? With St. Claire's guys? You must be kidding. We're an enlightened, tolerant, love-thy-neighbor bunch if ever you saw one.”

“Oh, right. I just love all the enlightened things that have come out of your mouth tonight,” she snapped at Marco.

“How about a few enlightened things going into yours?” John joked.

“Okay, that's it.” Lisa Marie started to search the room for her bag. “I'm out of here.”

Marco blocked her way. “No you're not.”

Her heart raced even faster. Was he serious? Was this going to get as ugly as it felt?

She tried not to look scared and simply pivoted around to go another direction. But this time John put himself in her path.

“I say we play a game of poker to see who gets to go first with her,” he said.

Ramone laughed hard. Too hard.

Every fiber of her being told her to get out now.

“I'm calling a cab,” Lisa Marie said.

“No way.” Marco dashed to snatch away the cordless phone from the hotel desk.

He held it high over her head, then tossed it to John, who laughed and flipped it to Ramone. For an instant, Lisa Marie did what she'd always done in grade school at times like this: turned one way, then the other, trying to grab the object away, always a moment too late.

Monkey in the middle.

“Woo-hoo! Look at her jump!” John mocked.

She stared at John, who was looking at her like he didn't intend this game to stop.

Panicked and fighting against the fear, she held very still and looked hard around the room for her bag. If she could get to her cell phone . . .

It was under the coffee table. She lunged for it quickly, but John was faster. He grabbed her around the waist. One hand went higher, groping her chest.

“Whoa,” Bradley said. “That's not okay.”

“Oh, shut up, Bradley,” John snapped. “We're not hurting her.”

“Get some balls, Bradley,” Ramone sneered.

“Get your hands off me!” Lisa Marie screamed. She spun and twisted, trying to get away from John, but now Ramone was pulling her toward him, too.

“Hey!” Bradley's voice was loud and sharp and forceful. Everyone froze at the sound of it. “Leave her alone!”

“Yeah, right,” John laughed.

Bradley lunged at John and shoved his shoulder hard, pushing him aside. “I mean it!” Bradley shouted. “Let her go or I'll call 911!”

Ramone stopped trying to grope her, and John let go, too. They both stood still, but they were scowling furiously.

“Okay, man,” John spat the words at Bradley with hot anger. “But get her out of here.”

Lisa Marie was shaking inside. Trembling, she bent down to pick up her little evening bag, extremely aware that her dress was very low cut in back, and they were still all watching her ass. Right that minute, she didn't feel like the best-dressed girl at the ball. Not by a long shot.

When she stood up, Bradley walked over and put a comforting hand on her arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get some fresh air.”

Thank God,
Lisa Marie thought. She wanted to hug him for being there and helping her out of this mess, but she definitely didn't want to give him any wrong signals. They'd had enough misunderstandings for one night.

Her legs were still trembling and shaky, partly from the adrenaline rush and partly because she was dizzy and still more or less trashed. She took Bradley's arm for support, and they silently marched out of the suite.

Her mind was fuzzy on the way to the elevator. What had just happened? How did it get so out of control? Were they really going to . . . to . . . attack her? Or were they just playing a sick, ugly game to scare her shitless—which, by the way, had worked.

Bradley pushed the down button. “You want to go hang in the lobby?”

Lisa Marie shook her head. Not the lobby. It was so public, and she was on the verge of tears. She definitely didn't want to be seen there looking wasted and falling apart on Bradley's shoulder.

“Just take me home,” she said in a weak voice.

“I can't,” Bradley said. “I didn't drive. I came with some other guys.”

Shit. Now what? She tried to think, but her head was still spinning. She just didn't want to be seen looking like this. Like she imagined she looked.

“Can we just go somewhere private?” she asked. Then maybe she could call Heather or something, and figure out how to get home.

“Yeah.”

When the doors opened on the lobby, a bunch of St. Claire's kids pushed into the elevator, staring as Lisa Marie got out.

I must look a wreck,
she thought, quickly turning away from them toward a deserted hallway that led to some empty, unoccupied ballrooms. All she wanted right now was to hide somewhere, cover her face, and cry. Or sleep.

But definitely hide.

“Let's go in here,” she said, leaning against the ballroom door and pushing it open with her backside.

It was a ballroom as big as the one the prom had been held in, but it felt totally different. No decorations, no mood lighting, no dance floor or disco ball. Just a few stacks of metal hotel banquet chairs off in one corner, and a baby grand piano in the other, covered with a canvas tarp. A few dim lights on the perimeter walls gave the room an eerie, abandoned feel.

At least it was quiet. And private. No one was going to come barging in on them here.

Bradley hadn't said much since they left the room, and Lisa Marie was glad. She didn't know what to say. She was too embarrassed about everything that had happened, and furious at the same time. Plus she felt too shaky to make small talk.

“You want to sit down?” he said, nodding toward the stacks of chairs.

Lisa Marie nodded.

Bradley hoisted two chairs off the stacks and set them side by side, in the darkest corner.

That was nice, Lisa Marie thought. He was really taking care of her. The dark felt soothing, protective. She dropped her bag on the floor, sat down on one of the chairs, and put her face in her hands.

“Hey,” Bradley said, sitting beside her and putting a gentle arm around her shoulder. “Don't cry. Those guys are jerks.”

“I'm not crying,” she said, looking up. “I'm just . . . wrecked.”

He pulled her closer.

“It's okay,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss.

Lisa Marie pulled back. “Hey.” He was being sweet, but she was definitely not in the mood.

“What?” Bradley snapped. His arm was still around her, and she felt his hand tighten.

“Sorry . . . I just . . . I don't feel like . . .”

“Christ!” Bradley said. “You're the one who wanted to go somewhere private!”

Oh God,
Lisa Marie thought.
Had he misunderstood? Again?
Instantly, she felt guilty. This had to be her fault, if guys kept getting the wrong idea. Didn't it?

She tried to clear it up quickly. “Sorry,” she repeated. “I just wanted to come in here to get away from the crowds. I didn't mean . . .”

“I thought you'd be grateful,” Bradley said angrily.

She stared at him, outraged. Was he kidding? He thought she
owed
him?

“Ramone was right,” Bradley said. “You're a cock tease.”

He grabbed her with both hands and leaned close, pressing his tongue into her mouth.

Stop it!
Lisa Marie wanted to shout, trying to pull away from him.

But he was strong. And forceful. He groped her chest, then threw one leg over top of hers, making it very clear he didn't intend to stop there.

 

 

 

 

Marianna dove for her evening bag, which was buried under a pile of shoes and various discarded items of Luke's clothing on the floor of the limo.

Wow, she thought. She hadn't even noticed that Luke took off his shirt.

The sound of her cell phone was faint, like it was some distant voice she'd forgotten all about. Where was the damned bag? Somehow, it had slipped under the front seat, under Luke's tux jacket. When she finally retrieved it and checked caller ID, she was astonished to see it wasn't her dad.

“That's weird. It's Todd.” She gave Luke a puzzled glance as she flipped the phone open to answer. “Todd? What's up?”

“Hey, Marianna.” His voice sounded nervous, tense. “Is Lisa Marie with you?”

Marianna rolled her eyes. It wasn't like Todd to turn into Stalker Boy, but emotions tended to run high on prom night. Maybe he'd been drinking too much . . .

“Listen, Todd, you've got to chill about her. You can't do this. Back off and let her have a life. You
dumped
her, remember?”

She was trying to be patient and understanding with the guy, but God—he had just interrupted the most important event of her life.

“No, no, that's not it,” Todd struggled to explain. “I'm worried about her. I think she might be in trouble.”

Marianna pursed her lips and took a minute to evaluate. Was it a ploy? He sounded pretty upset.

“What kind of trouble?”

“She was up in the suite with a bunch of guys,” Todd said carefully, logically, like he didn't want to jump to any conclusions but he couldn't ignore a preponderance of the evidence. “I think she was one of the last girls there. Anyway, I just heard some guys in the elevator saying that John and Ramone were going to have a little fun with her.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah. It sounded ugly. They were saying John wanted to get back at her for playing them or something.”

Marianna started putting on her shoes as fast as she could.

“Get dressed,” she whispered to Luke, covering the phone. Then back into the phone she said, “Did you go up to the suite?”

“I can't remember what room it was.” Todd sounded embarrassed. “That's why I called.”

“Luke, what room was the party in?” Marianna asked.

“Huh?”

Now that her eyes were open and she was sitting up and adrenaline was racing through her body, Marianna noticed that Luke looked fairly blotto. His eyelids drooped, and he sort of swayed as he tried to put on his shirt.

“Lisa Marie's in trouble,” Marianna said. “What room was the party in?”

“Um . . . 1567? Something like that.”

That sounded right. Something like that. “Try 1567,” she told Todd. “Or 1675. Hurry! We'll meet you up there.”

Her mind was a blur, trying to function in the harsh present instead of the intimate haze she and Luke had just been lost in.

She closed her phone, noticing as she did that she had five “missed calls.” So her dad had been calling after all. Probably while she was at the party, which was such crazy chaos. No wonder she didn't hear the phone ring.

He probably
did
have the police looking for her right now.

Luke was slow putting on and tying his shoes, trying to find the studs for his shirt, tucking the shirttails into his pants. He didn't want to go up to the hotel lobby in his bare chest, and she couldn't blame him for that, but this was an emergency.

God knows what they were doing to Lisa Marie . . .

Marianna needed help zipping up the back of her dress. It was awkward, sitting sideways and half kneeling on the floor of the car so Luke could do it. She wished he'd hurry up. She wished he weren't so clumsy with it. She almost wished her mother was there to zip it instead.

Finally they tumbled out of the Lincoln Bedroom and stumbled through the parking garage to the elevator.

Luke pushed the button over and over. The elevator didn't come.

“Shit! Should we take the stairs?” She looked around for them, trying to figure out how many levels down they were from the lobby.

“What did Todd say?” Luke asked, bleary-eyed.

“He said Lisa Marie was in trouble!” Marianna snapped, taking her anxiety out on him.

Luke was so sweet, he didn't even show an ounce of anger. He just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “This is probably faster.”

Just then, the elevator doors opened. They raced back and dashed in just before the doors closed again.

In the elevator, Marianna took out her cell phone to call Heather. Not that Heather could help—she was God knows where, at a party halfway across town. But when the chips were down, Heather had always been their rock. She was the one Marianna and Lisa Marie could count on.

Her hands shook as she dialed the number. “Come on, Heather. Pick up.”

What could she be doing that was so important she wouldn't answer her phone?

It rang five times, then the voice mail clicked in.