by Vanessa Page
After that, the flow of guests picks up, and then slows to a veritable trickle. Eventually, all of the names on the guest list are crossed off, and I set the clipboard on the folding table. I drop to a seat in one of the folding chairs behind the table and pull out my phone to check the time. 8:47 p.m.
Abby and Nina definitely forgot about me. But, I’m not as bothered by the thought as I maybe should be. Out here, I’m not expected to engage with any of the prospective donors except to give them directions to the event room. And I’ve already completed that task. Maybe I can just sit unnoticed until the event is over. Then I can rush through cleanup with Abby and split.
And then Jace strolls through the doors, and blows my plan up completely. He looks incredible in a full suit, or tux, or whatever. I really can’t tell the difference and honestly couldn’t care less. Besides, the guy could be walking around bare assed and would still look amazing.
And now, I’m thinking about him naked as he crosses the small atrium toward me. Never have I been more glad to have the span of entire table between me and another person than I am at this moment.
When he stops across the table from me, I have to stretch my neck at an almost impossible angle to look him in the eye, and I wish I’d had the forethought to get to my feet when he first entered. If I stand now, it will look like I’m only doing it because of him.
“You’re late,” I say because I can’t think of anything better. I drop my gaze and straighten my neck to avoid potential injury, and regret it immediately. My seated position puts me at eye-level with his crotch, and my eyes are drawn there by magnetic force. I clear my throat and let my gaze fall to the tabletop, scrape my fingernails against the faux wood surface.
“My job isn’t till the end, so technically I’m early.” His voice is deep and rich and holds a note of amusement. He slips his hands into his pockets, drawing my attention back to his pants.
I look purposefully back up at his face. “But aren’t you supposed to attend the event, too, not just clean it up.”
He shrugs. “I suppose. Better late than never, I guess.” He motions toward the discarded clipboard. “All the guests show up?”
“Every last one.”
He nods. “So, there’s no reason for you to hide out here, then, right?”
Busted.
“I’m not hiding.”
“Of course not,” he responds, but his tone says he knows I’m lying. Then he does that thing where he holds out his elbow and waits for me to take his arm. “Shall we?”
Barely five days ago he couldn’t get out of the small auditorium and away from me fast enough. Now, he wants me to walk in with him? “You’re not avoiding me anymore?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I deserve that.”
And I’m going to let him have it. “Yeah, you do.”
“I could tell you I had a midterm, and it wouldn’t be a lie,” he begins, then drops his arm to his side and draws a deep breath before pressing on, “But the truth is, I was uncomfortable. I meant what I said when I told you I’m not the relationship kinda guy. My last relationship ended kinda messy, and it’s not an experience I’m in a hurry to repeat.”
If anyone gets a messy breakup, it’s me, but that doesn’t explain his mixed signals. “Okay, but why flirt with me and then disappear? Why not just keep it caszh and friendly?”
“You’re right,” he answers, but still offers no explanation. The horse is dead. Continuing to beat it will get me nowhere. So, I let the subject drop.
I stand, straighten my dress, and round the table, and wait for him to offer his arm again. He doesn’t disappoint. With soft movements, I slide my hand onto his arm and let him lead me into the charity dinner, even more confused than I was before he arrived.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jace
I was purposely late to the charity dinner in an effort to avoid running into Krystal, but there she was at the welcome table, right where I expected to see Nina. My sweet, unassuming, completely platonic friend, Nina. The sight of Krystal sitting there, looking so much like a dear caught in headlights, almost sends me running the other direction. Not because I don’t want to be around her, but because of the immediate desire to be nearer to her that hits me at just the sight of her. The feeling is uncomfortable, to say the least.
But I steel my spine and escort her into the event room, doing my best to ignore the fresh tropical scent of her shampoo and all the images it conjures of her on the beach, in a bikini. Lust is like a fist clenched around my stomach. Or my balls, I can’t tell. My attraction to Krystal is a whole-body experience, and it’s sucking up all the air between us.
As soon as we step into the room, the soft sound of a slow song drifts to us from the speakers near the DJ table. It’s too slow, too intimate, evoking images of slow dancing, our bodies pressed together chest to breast instead of shoulder to shoulder. I withdraw my arm from her hold and take a step away. “I should go check in with RJ, let him know I’m here.”
She blinks up at me in surprise, then looks out across the room, searching. “Oh, yeah, and there’s Abby over there. I should go talk to her.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond before skittering away toward her friend. Finally able to breathe again in her absence, I suck in a steadying breath and go in search of RJ.
I find him at the auction table consulting over a stack of clipboards with Brian and Andy. The silent auction must be over already, and they must be preparing to announce the winners.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” I greet, and he looks up at me, then down at his watch.
“‘Bout time you showed up. I was beginning to think you were skipping out on us.”
“You know that’s not my style. I was just being fashionably late.” I flash him an award-winning smile, and he rolls his eyes.
“Well, as penance, you can be the one to announce the auction winners.” He thrusts a blue plastic clipboard at me. On it is a printed list of auction items, and next to each item is the name of a winner inked in RJ’s handwriting. He has surprisingly pretty handwriting for a guy who’s more likely to make “your mom” jokes than know what a calligraphy pen is.
“No problem,” I tell him. “You don’t mind if I name myself as the winner on a few of these, do you?”
RJ sighs and grabs the clipboard back. “Never mind, just go clean something.” He waves his hand dismissively and takes off for the DJ table at a swift pace. He speaks to the DJ for a moment, then picks up a microphone and turns to face the guests as the music fades into silence.
“Good evening! Is everyone ready to hear who’s won these great auction items?” His answer comes in the form of soft applause. “Fantastic! So, I’ll start with my favorite item on the list, a day trip on a one-hundred-foot yacht, graciously donated by Reverie Yacht Tours. This tour package includes a six-hour trip for eight aboard one of Reverie’s platinum yachts, a gourmet lunch prepared by Reverie’s top chefs, and an open bar in the yacht’s lounge.” RJ pauses to allow for more applause, then says, “And the winners of this fantasy day trip are, Mr. Ethan Hardwick and Ms. Laura Stanton-Hardwick.” The guests applaud again, and RJ moves on to the next item on the list. Then the next, and the next, until he’s moved all the way down the list. Eventually, he says, “And finally, our last item up for action tonight, a four-day, three-night stay at a gorgeous five-bedroom lake house in the beautiful Easton Lake estates, just an hour’s drive from here, donated by Mrs. Leonore Mitzis. And the winner of this getaway at a gorgeous locale is our very own, Brian Holtzman.”
I’m more than a little surprised. I knew Brian came from money, but didn’t realize he was wealthy enough to drop a bundle on a big-ticket auction item. Good for him!
RJ continues, “Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight and for your donations, and congratulations. Those of you who won items, please see Nina—raise your hand Nina”—she obeys, raising a slender arm and stepping out of the corner in the back of the room where she’d been holding up the wall—“on you
r way out when you leave tonight, and she will provide you with information on how to claim your prizes. Have a great evening, and stay safe!” RJ steps back over to the DJ table and sets the microphone down. A moment later, the music starts back up.
Brian appears next to me as RJ approaches. “I figured the lake house stay would be a fun reward for all of our hard work on this dinner. The club deserves a little R&R for our trouble, yeah?”
“For sure, man. Excellent idea, thanks!” I tell him, already picturing myself taking a few days off, getting away. Getting away from campus and from Krystal, who seems to be popping up everywhere these days.
“Count me in,” RJ announces, reaching out a hand to give Brian a high-five and full handshake, following by a snap and a finger gun. “We’ll need to get a pet sitter, though. I assume no dogs allowed?” RJ gives a pointed look at Abigail who has just walked up on the conversation.
“Har har.” She stops in front of him and glares. “Better a dog than a pig.”
RJ fluffs his dark hair in a preening gesture. “At least pigs are smart.”
“I mean, they’re supposed to be but…” Abigail looks RJ up and down as if measuring his intelligence right now, then she shrugs, “there’s always one outlier that doesn’t quite fit the mold.”
“Honey,” RJ leans in close to her as if disclosing a secret, “I broke the mold.”
She leans away from him and scrunches her nose. “More like you’re growing mold. Ew, when’s the last time you showered?”
“The last time I was around you. Had to wash off the stink.” RJ sniffs himself. “It just wafts off you and permeates everything.”
Abigail flicks him off and turns to Brian. “Whatever it is he doesn’t want me to do, count me in.”
Brian proceeds to fill Abigail in on the lake house treat, to which she responds, “We’ll be there,” before sticking out her tongue at RJ.
“Don’t show it unless you plan to use it,” he tells her.
Brian steps between them, facing Abigail. “We?”
She blinks at his interruption from her weird staring contest with RJ. “Yeah, me and Krystal. She helped. She gets to come, too, right?”
“Oh, right,” Brian responds in a tone that clearly says he hadn’t planned on inviting her. “Of course she can come.”
And my heart sinks.
“Great, text me the details.” She gives RJ a double bird before flouncing away, taking my hope for four blissfully Krystal-free days with her.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Brian. “Man, I don’t think it’s a good idea for Krystal to come along. I really think it should just be drama club folk.”
Brian raises an eyebrow, urging me to continue without actually saying anything.
“Listen man, she seems sweet, but that girl is pure crazy,” I feel a little guilty for speaking the words outlaid, even though I’ve thought them more times than I can count. It still feels like I’m betraying her, somehow, by telling someone else about her propensity for erratic behavior.
“I’m sure she’s not that bad,” RJ pipes up. “She was fine at the meeting, and has been fine all night. Plus, she’s easy to look at.”
I tamp down the wave of annoyance that threatens to flood me at the thought of RJ looking at Krystal, unwilling to explore what would make me feel any sort of protectiveness over her.
“Bro, the first time I met her, she was standing outside the frat house screaming bloody murder because her boyfriend dumped her.”
“That was her?” RJ’s eyebrows are practically in his perfectly quaffed hairline. Even Brian, who never thinks ill of anyone looks surprised by this news.
“The very same,” I confirm gravely. “Krystal Matthews is 100 percent drama llama, man.”
I hear a gasp from over my shoulder at the same time RJ says, “Oh shit.”
Before I even turn around, I know what I’m going to find. Krystal. I spin slowly, wishing for all the world that I were a coward and could just flee the room instead of turning to face the aftermath of what I just said. When our eyes connect hers are watery with unshed tears, and my heart clenches immediately. I did that. Even if I had been hoping to convince my friends not to include her in our little getaway, I could have been nicer about it, more tactful. Instead, I spoke callously, and now she’s on the verge of crying.
“Krystal…” I say, and reach my hand toward her, but I don’t know where to go from there. Do I apologize?
It doesn’t matter because she doesn’t give me the opportunity. Instead, she turns on her heels, and does exactly what I had wanted to do; she runs from the room.
CHAPTER NINE
Krystal
One full week after the charity dinner from hell, I’m standing next to Abby and Miranda and an impressive collection of suitcases on the curb of the parking lot closest to our dorm. The woman clearly has magic powers because she somehow convinced me to come along on this stupid trip to this equally stupid lake house. She seems certain Jace isn’t going to be there, and is adamant that I deserve to go. The only reason she was successful in talking me into it is because Jameson invited Miranda along, and she was most definitely not a part of Drama Club.
I realize, the moment Jameson’s SV pulls to a stop at the curb Abby was talking out of her ass when she told me Jace wasn’t coming, and Miranda was complicit in the lie. Because there he is, taking up vital real estate in the backseat.
Jameson climbs out of the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the vehicle, gives Miranda a sweet, but awkward, kiss on the cheek. “Hello, beautiful,” he greets her. Then to us, “Ladies.”
I nod, even though he hasn’t looked away from Miranda.
“Sup,” Abby answers him.
Finally, he tears his gaze away from Miranda’s face and reaches for our suitcases. “You all ready for a vacay weekend?” He sounds like a game show host, trying to get the audience pumped.
Abby, Miranda, and I all lean in to help with the luggage as Jameson hangs the strap of a duffle crossways over his body. Then he grabs the handles of two rolling suitcases.
“Definitely,” Miranda breathes excitedly.
“Sure,” Abby answers.
I stay silent, doing my best to avoid glaring at Jace through the lightly tinted back window. Not that it would make a difference, his head is turned so far in the opposite direction, I’m surprised his neck isn’t cramping up.
When all of our bags are packed solidly in the trunk, Jameson goes to the front passenger door and opens it, revealing a shocked, and a little grumpy-looking, RJ. “Hey, why don’t you let Miranda ride up here,” Jameson suggests, but the recommendation is clearly more than just a friendly idea.
RJ shakes his head. “No way. I’m not riding back there with her. She’ll probably bite my head off praying-mantis style.”
Abby sneers at him. “You’re safe. They only do that after sex, and I’d sooner rip my own head off than go anywhere near your micropenis.”
“Thank goodness.” RJ breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief, then says to Jameson. “I’m still not riding back there with her, brother.”
Miranda places a soft hand on Jameson’s arm. “It’s fine. I don’t mind riding in the back.”
“Are you sure?” Jameson looks unconvinced.
“Positive.” She pulls the back door open, and RJ doesn’t waste a second pulling his door closed again, as if he’s afraid Miranda might change her mind and he’s hoping to use the closed door as protection.
Abby slides into the backseat and glides across the bench to park next to Jace. “Hey.”
He looks like a deer caught in headlights, but at least he has manners enough to respond with, “Hey.”
“So how are we doing this?” Miranda asks, motioning to the one remaining seat and then to the two of us still standing outside the car.
Abby looks at us, looks at the empty seat, looks at Jace, then back to me. I swear I see mischief in her eyes when she says, “Simple. You sit. Krys is the smallest, so obviousl
y, she should ride across our laps.”
“All of you?” My voice comes out far squeakier than I intended.”
Abby smiles teasingly. “You’re small, Krys, but even your slight weight is enough to make a person’s legs go numb on an hour-long car trip.”
I try to argue, but the words won’t come. So, I turn to Miranda for help, implore her with my eyes for backup.
She shrugs and climbs into the SUV. “She’s right, babe, an hour is a long time to carry an extra hundred pounds in your lap. It’s better if you stretch out sideways and disperse it.”
Maybe it’s not too late to back out. I look longingly back at the dorms. But my clothes and toiletries and makeup are all already packed away in the back of the SUV, and I hate making a scene. “Fine,” I capitulate and climb in. A chorus of grunts and groans ensues—only a small number of which are from me—as I struggle to get situated. I opt for placing my but in between Miranda and Abby’s legs and stretching my legs across Abby and Jace’s lap. I’m pretty sure, at some point, the heal of my sneaker accidentally connects with Jace’s junk. If his grimace and the resulting grunt are any indication, but he doesn’t complain.
When we’re all settled, Miranda clips her seatbelt around us both. Jameson closes the door behind me and goes to the driver’s seat. And then we’re off.
The door is hard on my back, the handle poking into my ribcage until it’s almost numb, and the awkward way I’m leaning backward is wreaking havoc on my spine. We’re barely twenty minutes away from campus before I can’t sit still and begin near constant attempt to find a better position in which to spend the rest of the drive.
Miranda lets out a pained curse. “Krys, I love you, but I can’t spend the next forty-five minutes with you moving around like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say with genuine remorse. “I just can’t get comfortable. I have to lean too far back to have something to rest against and it’s killing me. Never mind the door handle.”