by Tara Brown
Chapter Twenty
The Wizard of Lies
Sami
He kings his man, giving me the shitty grin I adore.
“Whatever, I’m rusty. We haven’t played in a while.” I roll my eyes.
“You lose poorly, just in case you were ever wondering.”
“I beat you at chess, that’s the harder game.”
“If that helps you sleep at night.” He laughs and makes his move.
“It does.” I reach forward and pinch his arm, pulling the hair a bit.
“Ow!” He chuckles harder.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as my stomach rumbles for the tenth time.
“I bet there’s lasagna, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know.” I get up, pulling on my robe over the shorts and tee shirt in case anyone is still up downstairs.
“Well, let’s go see.” He lifts me into his arms and flings me over his shoulder as I squeal.
“Put me down!”
He slaps me on the butt once hard and places me down, spinning me like we’re dancing. “You’re prettier like this,” he says when I stop spinning.
“Like what?”
“You barely have any makeup on and your hair’s all messy and your clothes are frumpy.” He lowers his lips to mine. “And you’re smiling.”
I squeeze his hand and turn back for the bedroom.
“Round two already? You don’t want food first?” He jokes but I drag him to the bathroom. When I flick on the light he grimaces. “That’s bright.”
“I want you to get the full behind-the-curtain effect.” I snicker, pulling my hair up into a messy bun. I grab a cotton pad and pump it into the top of the makeup remover. “You boys are so gullible.” I run the pad over my entire face, dirtying it and getting a new one. I leave it face up on the counter so he can see the horror show. I scrub the mascara, peeling my false lashes off.
“Jesus!” He jumps back.
“Right.” I fling the eyelash on the counter next to the black-and-blue streaked pad, next to the foundation-covered one. On pad three it starts coming up clear so I rinse my face, wash it, and spritz with toner. I finish with lotion and a sigh. “That feels better.”
His expression is a mix of horror and confusion. “Oh my God.”
“Still think I’m prettier like this?” I laugh, glancing at the red blotchy skin I have due to the scrubbing.
“Uhhh, yeah?” It comes out as more of a question.
“I’m seriously feeling tricked, not just by you, but like every girl I’ve ever met.”
“The girls who look like they’re wearing the least are wearing the most.” I wink. “Now you’ve seen behind the curtain. There’s no wizard, it’s all fake.”
“I feel sick.” He jokes and swings an arm over my shoulders. “Now I really need some lasagna.”
“No, Beast, you need me to do your makeup tomorrow so you look regular.”
“What is with this ‘Beast’ nonsense?” He nudges me.
“You’re a beast, we both know it.”
“I know no such thing.” He pulls me in tighter. “Unless that means you’re Belle, then I guess it makes sense.”
“Honestly, if anyone was going to be Belle it would be Nat. She’s such a nerd.”
“She is kind of a Belle, isn’t she?” He chuckles. “You’re my Belle though.”
“I’m more of a Rapunzel, but like the one from Tangled.”
“You hit people with frying pans?”
“No. I’m always worried about my parents and their reactions, and then I do irrational things to spite and vex them and later worry about winning them back. It’s confusing for me to want to rebel but want their approval at the same time.”
“Do I ever know this story.” He leads me to the kitchen and spins me again, this time so I land in a seat at the bar.
“Okay, let’s see what we have to munch on.” He opens the fridge, nodding. “Impressive.” He pulls out the lasagna, the weird sex cheesecake dessert he made that was delicious, and a large slab-of-wood cheeseboard.
“Your fridge must look the same?”
“It is, but it’s more like party food in case my parents surprise attack the house. Caviar and champagne and weird buffalo cheese.”
“Gross. I hate buffalo cheese. It’s so slimy.”
“Me too. My gran, the one who’s the fan of fridges that are stocked to the point of disgusting, would like this one. She’d approve. Her pantry is terrifying. But she never has to worry about not having food. It doesn’t matter if the entire state shows up for a meal, she’s got it.” He puts the pasta in the microwave and then places the cheese board next to me with the box of crackers Cecilia left on the counter. “Why do I get the impression you don’t know where the food is?” He lifts a hand. “Wait. I think I’m good at this. Your chef leaves the crackers out for you when she makes a cheeseboard, so of course you never have to look for them. No wait—normally she gets up and makes you the food at all hours of the night, and this board of food was just a convenience for her, not you. You don’t even heat up your own leftovers, do you?”
I lift an eyebrow, forcing a sneer.
“So she gets up, rifles the fridge for the premade snacks, feeds you, and then Nadia tucks you into bed?” He gives me the grin I love. “How right am I?”
“Whatever.” I snap my eyelids down and look to the right.
“You are a princess, we both know it.”
“And you’re a beast.” I grin back, batting my eyelashes.
“And if I’m being totally honest, I can’t believe the difference in your face without makeup.” He looks stunned.
“Oh my God, that’s rude.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. You’re still pretty, just a different kind. Usually, you’re like an Austen Powers Fembot. Very Stepford-pretty. A little too perfect is what I mean. So this is a better look. You look like someone I could be friends with. Actually, your friendship with Natalie makes more sense now. You’re a human being.”
“Wow!” I sit back on the barstool.
“Even Christmas morning you had makeup on.” He tilts his head. “I mean, that is some hardcore makeup-ing.”
“You’re a dick. You don’t get any cheeseboard now.” I pull it to me, and point at the fridge. “Grab the red pepper jelly though please. Cecilia must have forgotten that.”
He narrows his gaze. “I’m not getting the jelly.”
I get up and walk to the fridge, watching him the entire time. He reaches for the cheese and meat. I swat at him.
He turns, grabbing me and forcing a stinky kiss on my cheek.
“I hate you!” I fake cry, wiping my face.
He pins my arms, kissing the other side, breathing the prosciutto on me in exaggerated words, “Whaaaaaat? Are you okayyyyyyy?”
“You’re the meanest boy in the whole world.”
“Oh, you mean beast-like?” He laughs and kisses my pouting lip.
“No. I take it back. Beasts are nice. You’re a Gaston.” I struggle to get free and grab the red pepper jelly.
“Admit it, you always had a small Gaston fantasy.” He snickers as he gets the lasagna out and passes me a fork. We eat from the dish like I do at Nat’s. Me, sitting on the counter in my shorts, tee shirt, and robe; and him, in his pajama pants but bare chested. He brought an overnight bag this time. He tells me stories about normal-people things, his cheeks puffed up with food as he waves his arms around and his still mildly puffy eyes widen.
It’s the best date night ever.
The fight in the limo is forgotten in the admission we both sort of suck sometimes.
When we head back upstairs he clings to me, kissing my neck and whispering, “I’m sorry about the limo. I never thought about it the way you do. It makes me sick to think about it.”
“It’s not okay, but I forgive you.”
“And although it’s also not okay, I forgive you for basically lying with your Christmas morning makeup. So we’re good then.”
I slug him in the stomach getting a grunt from him. “Not even close.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Boxing Day party, literally
Matt
“Mr. Brady is here, sir. You were aware he was arriving this evening for the hockey party tonight?”
“Shit! I completely forgot. Is he in the guestroom?” I smack myself in the forehead. I’m exhausted from having sex multiple times and I still smell like Sami. I’m not ready for Brady, but luckily he’s the easiest guest ever.
“He is. He’s taking a nap.”
“Perfect. I’m going to do the same. We have that party tonight. If he wakes up before me just tell him I said, ‘mi casa es su casa.’”
“Very good, sir,” Benson mutters drolly and leaves the room. “And you might consider a shower. The sparkles in your hair may be a bit much for a hockey party.”
I scowl. “Sparkles?” But Benson is gone. When I get to my room I sigh, seeing the glitter all through my hair. “I washed it all off,” I mock her and move my hair around to find half of me drag queened in there.
But I’m too tired for a shower and head for my bed.
It’s massive without her here. It’s cold and empty. Last night was amazing and filled with chess and checkers and sex and laughs and snacks. Razzing her about the makeup got me a full makeover. She drag queened me like RuPaul, even doing my hair, hence the glitter.
It started as her saying she could get rid of the bruising so I would appear normal. I accepted her challenge and ended up a woman. A not-so-attractive woman. She laughed and told me I looked like Wesley Snipes in To Wong Foo. She offered dresses but I took the high road, knowing nothing she had would fit and I’d end up a sausage in a casing.
If I was going to be in drag I was going to be hot. Wesley Snipes or not.
I close my eyes, grinning and remembering the entirety of what we squeezed into such a small amount of time.
She isn’t at all what I thought and everything I had hoped. And in the end I was the bigger disappointment. I always assumed the Southern influence in my life made me a better person than the East Siders. But I was wrong. And she was the better person by forgiving me of that foolishness.
Seeing her face in the limo nearly killed me. I hadn’t thought about it, even when Charles recommended the Bentley. I told him no because the tint isn’t dark enough. I’m still kicking myself for it all. I sigh and realize that if I don’t get any sleep during my nap it’ll be because of guilt.
But I do sleep, and dream.
When I wake up to the alarm on my phone, I’m more exhausted than when I started.
“Brimley!” Brady’s voice echoes in the room, but I don’t see him, making me blink a couple of times to ensure he’s really calling me. “Brimley!”
“Yeah?” My throat is scratchy and my voice groggy.
“You alone?”
“Yeah.”
He comes in, flicking on the light like a dick. “Of course you’re alone. Benson told me about your slumber party. Is it your turn to wear the Secret Sisterhood pants or did you actually nail that chick?” He winces. “Dude, your face.”
“You’re the only Secret Sister I have.” I lift my fists in the air and bump the sides of them at him, like Ross on Friends.
“The fight didn’t look that serious on TV. Are you getting more delicate in your old age?”
“Yes. I am.”
He laughs at the admission and heads back out the door. “I’ll be downstairs with Benson, getting more dirt while you get the glitter out of your hair, Nancy.”
“Save me some tea,” I shout after him, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and stretching my neck and arms. Brady is about the only person who can hang with Benson and get conversation out of him. He’s humble and funny and easygoing. He doesn’t have a chip on his shoulder, and he absolutely refuses to be waited on by Benson. If he makes a mess, he cleans it up. If he needs a ride he borrows a car and refuses to allow Charles to drive him anywhere, something Charles isn’t a fan of. Brady’s the true definition of salt of the earth. Typical Providence boy.
He loves hockey, but like me, he knows he needs to finish his degree. When we played at Michigan together, I thought he’d draft before I did. He’s not rich and he needs the money. But his focus is more on finishing his schooling. He’s a smart guy.
If Benson knew about the Clinton though, that would be the end of the friendship. He was a big Clinton supporter back in the day. And he honestly believed the whole dress thing was a setup.
When I’m dressed, I head downstairs, sending Sami a quick text to tell her I’m going to just hang with Brady tonight, and she and I can hang tomorrow. I beg her forgiveness on the matter and explain that I will miss her all night long.
Brady is mid story when I walk into the kitchen, his arms are flailing and Benson is laughing, actually laughing. It’s a quiet, reserved laugh but funny nonetheless.
“So the fish jumps in the boat and my brother falls in the water,” Brady says half in tears.
I’ve clearly missed something key to the story but the two of them are dying.
“Oh”—Benson wipes his eyes—“that’s an amusing story. I would have paid good money to see that.”
“It was one of those moments where if you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t believe it.” Brady stands up, finishes the last of his tea and carries his cup to the dishwasher like a good boy. When he turns around he smiles wide. “Sleeping beauty, you’re awake!”
Benson turns around, greeting me pretty much the same. “Up from your nap and ready to go to your party, sleepyhead?”
“No. I don’t even want to go. I love the coach and the team but I’m sacked. I just want to sit around and eat chocolate and watch movies.”
“Pull your tampon out, man!” Brady makes a face of disgust. “Let’s go before your ball gown turns back into a pumpkin.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Thanks for tea, Benson.”
“No, thank you. The conversation was stimulating, as usual.” He stands and nods politely. “Enjoy the evening.”
“Thanks, don’t wait up.”
“I never do.” He lies with a chuckle as we head to the foyer.
“It’s a team Christmas gathering. We won’t be late, bro,” I say it as more of a wish than a fact.
“Please.” Brady scoffs. “Clearly, you don’t remember the parties in Michigan. I slept at Coach’s house for two days trying to recover. My liver felt bruised. I haven’t even drank much since that night.”
“You’re a lightweight and you banged Coach’s sister. The liver bruising might have been from the punch to the guts you got.”
“She got the Clinton, it’s not the same thing as banging. And I woke up to her smoking my peace pipe. I had to let her finish. It’s bad for the ducts to stop part way.”
“You’re an animal, Blow Job.”
“It’s science.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I shake my head at him as he gets the door.
We jump, finding Sami behind it with her hand up to knock. “Oh hey.” She glances back and forth from me to Brady, like she’s confused. “Hi.”
“Hey.” My cheeks flush so I glance down, not really sure I’m ready for the Sami thing to be common knowledge and just a fact of life. Me and Sami Ford. The cameramen who caught us the day before got a shitty shot of me with my head down and a lot of swelling. My own grandmother wouldn’t have known me in that photo.
But if my friends start seeing this—friends like Brady or Carson—it will get around fast.
“I’m Sami.” She awkwardly offers her hand to Brady after a moment of me pondering if I did send the text telling her I was busy tonight or if she ignored it.
“Shithead here seems to have forgotten his manners. I’m Brady Coldwell. Nice to meet you, Sami.” He doesn’t make it weird at all. “You coming to the party with us?”
“Us?” She continues to stare at me. “
I don’t think I am.” She stares at me for a second and then turns to leave. “It was nice meeting you, Brady.”
“Wait!” I finally spring to life, not sure how I should be or what we are. I give Brady the look. He nods back at the door and steps inside, closing it.
“What?” she snaps, pressing her lips together right after, like she is regretting her reaction.
“Didn’t you get the message I sent, telling you I was busy tonight?”
Her brow furrows but the blank stare in her eyes suggests she might not have seen it.
“I sent a text that Brady showed up and I forgot.” I pull my phone out, cringing when I realize I sent Laramie the text and not her at all. And his response was that I needed to get my dick back from her, strap it back on, and get my sexy ass to the party. “Shit! I didn’t send you that message.”
“Getting girls mixed up?” She doesn’t sound like she’s joking even though she’s smiling.
“No, I was just waking up and I thought you were the last person I texted but it was him. And now he thinks I’m not coming and has sent a couple of messages and a weird picture of the coach’s red face.” I step toward her, putting my phone away. “Anyway, I’m so sorry. I invited Brady before you and I agreed to dinner, and I forgot about him completely because we were having such a great time and then he showed up and now—”
“What are you doing?” She steps back, cutting me off with her words and her body. Her face is hardened in a way I don’t think I like. Whatever she’s thinking is bad, for both of us. She has the self-destruct face on full blast.
“Explaining.” I tread carefully.
“Why?” She scoffs. “We’re just friends, Matt. That’s all. We aren’t exclusive and we don’t explain ourselves, not to friends. It’s fine. Have fun.” She turns and walks away.
“Don’t do that. Don’t make it like it isn’t something more than friends. I don’t want to be friends.”
“So you want to date, like in the real world?”
“No. I just thought—”
“Well, I wouldn’t call us much more than fuck buddies.” She laughs bitterly. “Or rather, puck buddies.” She shakes her head and steps into the elevator. “It’s cool. Text me next week some time, and if I have a chance we can hang out where no one can see either of us.” She says it just as the door closes.