In some of the yards there were people out barbecuing or pumping beer from iced kegs on the front porch. Mardi Gras flags flapped in the wind, and wreaths of purple, green, and gold adorned front doors. As we passed by, the revelers smiled and called out, “Hi, y’all!” or “What will you give me for these beads?” and we waved back, grinning. It was like a citywide frat party.
When we got back to the apartment house, Dana and Addison climbed into Dana’s gold Mercedes sedan, a hand-me-down from her mother.
“A Mercedes, huh? We’re styling,” Addison said as he climbed in.
“My parents wanted me to have a safe car,” Dana explained, blushing.
Addison raised his stack of empty plastic cups he’d collected at the parades in a mock toast. Nick and I stood on the front porch and watched them drive off.
“Just how drunk is he?” I asked Nick.
“Pretty drunk,” Nick said.
“So drunk that he’d hit on Dana?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. Dana’s cute. Why would someone have to be drunk to hit on her?”
“She’s a baby,” I said.
“No, she’s not. She may be young, but she’s an adult. And she’s capable of taking care of herself,” Nick said.
But, still, I watched as they drove off down Magazine Street, and I offered up a little prayer to the hook-up gods that Addison would have the sense to abstain.
“Happy Fat Tuesday,” Nick said, as he waltzed into my kitchen, unannounced. He collapsed into one of my ladder-back kitchen chairs.
Nick looked awful—his skin had a greenish tinge, and his beard was stubbly. His normally brilliant blue eyes were bloodshot. And he smelled dreadful, like a bar at closing time. Stale cigarette smoke and fumes of liquor rose up from him. It was what Pigpen from Peanuts would look like if he were twenty years older and coming off a bender.
“Good God, what happened to you? And where have you been? I haven’t seen you in days,” I said.
“Coffee…I…need…coffee…,” Nick said, leaning dramatically on the table. “I am so hungover. I’m never going to drink again.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of Mardi Gras? A day of debauchery before the Lenten fast?” I said.
“Stop using big words and pour me some damned coffee.”
“This isn’t a diner,” I said pointedly, but he looked so woebegone, I finally took pity on him and poured a cup. “You didn’t answer my question: Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“All over. I think I’ve been drunk for three straight days,” Nick said. “Can I have some milk?”
I stared at him until he hauled himself up out of the chair and retrieved the milk out of the refrigerator. “Saturday night we went down to the Quarter. Sunday we went to some parades, and then Jon Barry—you know, that guy who was in our section last semester?—had a party. And then yesterday we pretty much spent the whole day in the Quarter,” Nick said. “What have you been doing?”
“Studying,” I said briefly. I’d burned out on Mardi Gras pretty quickly. Once I saw two moms get into a fistfight over a strand of green metallic beads at one of the parades on Saturday, I knew I’d had enough.
“Are you going out today?” Nick asked. I shook my head. “Good, let’s hang out.”
“I have to work,” I protested.
“No one works on Fat Tuesday. Not even you,” Nick said.
I hesitated. I was tempted. Studying while everyone else was out having fun was starting to make me seriously cranky. “What do you want to do?”
“I have some videos. Come down and watch them with me. You know you want to,” Nick said, smiling.
“What movies do you have?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Nick said, perking up. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“Star Wars?” I asked flatly.
“And The Empire Strikes Back. And Return of the Jedi. Even though Jedi sucks. But still, if you’re going to watch the Holy Trilogy, you have to include it,” Nick enthused. “It’ll be a triple feature.”
“I’m going back upstairs to work on my Contracts Two outline,” I said.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Nick said. “I don’t want to watch them alone, and I’m too hungover to study today.”
“But I’m going out of town tomorrow,” I said.
“Oh, right, your big trip to the Keys. I forgot about that. Just stay for the first movie. And after that, if you want to go back and study, I won’t try to stop you.”
I thought it through. It was true, no one else had spent the weekend handcuffed to their desk. Not even Dana, who, Nick reported, was going out with the rest of the gang to the Quarter that afternoon.
“Really?” I asked, surprised. Dana didn’t usually go out on a normal Saturday night, much less on the Superbowl of party days.
“Yeah. And…I know something else, which you probably don’t want to hear,” Nick said.
“What?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested. “Now you have to tell me.”
“I think Addison and Dana hooked up,” Nick said.
I gaped at him. “Did he tell you?”
“No. I just know he hooked up with someone this weekend, and he wouldn’t tell me who it was. So it must have been Dana. Who else could it be?” Nick said.
I sat there, huddled on his sofa under his plaid comforter—Fat Tuesday was another chilly, windy day—trying to absorb this information.
“Wow,” I finally said. “I hope he doesn’t end up hurting her.”
“And that’s not the only shit that went down this weekend,” Nick said.
“What else happened?”
“I heard Jacob and Lexi broke up.”
“Really?”
“Jen told me that when she and Lexi were coming down to meet us in the Quarter yesterday, they bumped into Jacob, and he was out with another woman,” Nick said.
“Maybe it was just his sister.”
“Not unless he kisses his sister. With tongue,” Nick said.
“No!” I gasped.
“Yup. Jen said Lexi was pissed.”
“I’d be furious too,” I said. Then I thought of something. “Maybe that’s who Addison hooked up with. Lexi always flirts with him when she’s mad at Jacob, and you said he didn’t want to say who he was with.”
But Nick shook his head. “Whoever Add hooked up with, it happened on Sunday night, before Lexi saw Jacob out with the other chick. And she spent all of last night hanging out with Scott Brown from school.” Nick smiled. “You know, that guy who thinks you like him.”
“Stupid Jen. I can’t believe she told him I was interested in him,” I growled. “Do you know that he actually patted my ass the other day? I couldn’t believe it. I was just checking my mail folder at school, minding my own business, and boom—my ass gets grabbed.”
“That’s just Scott. He’s even grabbed my ass a few times. Anyway, I think Lexi’s taken him off your hands. He seemed pretty starstruck at the attention she was giving him. And before I left, I saw them swapping spit.”
I eyed him. “‘Swapping spit’? What are we, back in the ninth grade again?”
Nick grinned. “Yeah, pretty much. Hadn’t you noticed? Come on, let’s start watching the movies, before it gets too late.”
We ate buttered microwave popcorn and leftover pizza while we watched Star Wars.
“It’s freezing in here,” I complained as the final credits rolled. I’d draped the comforter around my shoulders like a shawl and wrapped the edges around me, trying to seal in my body heat.
“You’re supposed to be the Yankee,” Nick said. “The one who weathered snowstorms for nine months of the year.”
“Yeah, but we have insulation in our houses up there. We might as well have the doors and windows open in here, for all the good they’re doing us.”
“Can I have a corner of that comforter?” Nick asked.
“No,” I said.
/> “Come on, Kate, I’m freezing my ’nads off.”
“That’s a lovely image,” I said. “Okay, here, take this half.”
“You’re going to have to move closer,” Nick said.
I slid to the center cushion and, pulling the comforter down off my shoulders, spread half of it over Nick.
“Ahhh. That’s better,” he said.
“For you. Now I’m freezing,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself, shivering. “Don’t you have the heat on?”
“It’s on high, but those window units don’t do a damned thing. Come here,” Nick said, stretching his arm out, inviting me to cuddle in. I looked at him. “No funny business, I promise. This is strictly for survival,” he said.
The wind began howling again, and rain splattered against the door. I couldn’t believe anyone would actually want to be down in the Quarter in this weather, even if they were warmed by an excessive amount of alcohol. I leaned back into Nick’s arms, resting my back against his chest, and pulled the comforter up to my chin.
“Better?” Nick asked.
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Go ahead and start the second movie.”
Nick hit the play button, and the prologue to The Empire Strikes Back began scrolling up the screen. I could feel the tension starting to leak from my body as I relaxed back against Nick, warmed by his body and the heavy comforter. I started to blink drowsily sometime around the point where Luke meets Yoda, and by the time Han and Leia reached Cloud City, I slid easily into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
I woke up to someone stroking my arm. Fingers trailed down the soft skin of my inner arm, the same way my friends and I used to do it when we were in middle school and trying to give each other the shivers. I opened my eyes and looked up into Nick’s. If he had smiled or made a joke or did his awful Yoda impersonation, the fragile connection would have broken. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward, and as he did, I lifted my face to his, and we kissed.
Nick’s lips were soft, almost hesitant as they brushed against mine, and so I was the one who leaned toward him, running the edge of my tongue over the inside of his lower lip. Nick’s left hand cupped the side of my face as his right hand moved under my sweatshirt to cover my breast, first gently brushing against me and then flickering a finger over my nipple, pinching at the delicate pink skin. The touch widened its path, circling around to cover all of the soft flesh before moving downward.
My breath quickened with excitement as Nick’s fingers pushed under the waistband of my sweatpants and peeled back the hem of my panties. He pushed down, thrusting into the soft wetness. As his hands moved against me, stroking and touching, I lost myself in the swirling sensation. At one point I gasped, breaking off our kiss, and I pulled back to look into Nick’s face, searching for a confirmation that we really wanted to do this. His eyes were glittering and unreadable.
Wordlessly, Nick stood. He leaned down and pulled off my sweatpants and panties. I lay limply back, my head propped up against a throw pillow, and watched as Nick unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to the ground with a soft rustle of fabric. And then all at once, he was on me, inside me, pushing toward me. We kissed again, and Nick’s lips pressed down on mine, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. I wrapped my legs around his, pulling him closer to me.
And then suddenly I thought of Graham—safe, reliable Graham, who I’d just spoken to last night. His allergies were bothering him, and he’d been planning on going to bed early in the hopes of warding off a sinus infection. And just before we hung up, he’d said, “Only two days until I get to see you.” His voice had been so warm and comforting, I wanted to wrap myself up in it. And it was at that moment, when Graham’s face was floating through my thoughts, that Nick suddenly stiffened, gasped, and pushed into me one last time, before collapsing down on top of me.
We lay there, hot and sticky, while I waited for Nick to catch his breath. Finally, when I couldn’t bear it anymore, I closed my thighs, pushing him away, up out of me, and he pulled back, holding himself up in a push-up position and looking down at me hazily. Sweat was beaded up on his forehead.
“Wow,” Nick said, panting slightly.
I didn’t say anything. I just wanted things to be normal between us—but how could they ever be again? Now, every time I saw Nick, I’d think: He was inside me.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked. He reached down, touching me again.
“Stop,” I said tersely, batting his hand away.
“It’s just, I know you didn’t…I want you to…,” he said. He was still breathing heavily, and I was suddenly struck with how ludicrous we must look. Both of us half dressed, our hair mussed. I was still wearing my sweat socks, although the right one was half off. The room smelled thickly, pungently of sex.
“It’s okay. Just…don’t,” I said, and I pushed myself up, propping myself on my arms and then pulling my legs out from either side of him. I grabbed my sweatpants.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I said, and walked shakily back to Nick’s bathroom, turning the old-fashioned latch on the door. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, and my hair was standing up in furious messy curls. The mascara I’d put on that morning had smudged around my eyes, and I looked strung out and hungover, even though I was neither. I remembered my college friend and his story of spitting at himself in the mirror, and I understood how he had felt—and just how much you could despise yourself.
I’d cheated on Graham, and I wasn’t even drunk. Not that alcohol would make it acceptable, but at least it would be an excuse. And not only had I cheated, I’d slept with Nick, the biggest scammer I knew. Jesus, how many women had he hooked up with just this year? And here I was—stupid, foolish me—just another notch in his bedpost.
One thing was for certain: I had to get out of here. I had to get into my own space, breathe my own air.
Pack for my trip to Key West.
My trip with Graham.
“What have I done?” I said out loud.
I quickly dressed and then splashed cold water over my face. I used Nick’s comb, sitting neatly in a glass jar at the edge of the sink, to untangle my hair. I could hear Nick outside, his footsteps creaking against the floorboards, the dishes clanking in the kitchen sink, the sound of water running. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
He was in the kitchen. As I walked through the living room, I saw that he’d already set the couch back to rights—straightening the cushions, busing our dishes away. Nick’s apartment was set up the same as mine, with his office and bedroom in the front two rooms, the living room and kitchen at the back. Four small rooms, stacked up in a row. I paused at the door to the kitchen and watched Nick. His back was to me, and he was washing out the popcorn bowl and rinsing the tomato sauce off the plates, then carefully stacking them on a dish rack at the edge of the sink.
“Hey, do you want to get some takeout? I’m pizza-ed out,” Nick said.
“No…I should get going,” I said. My voice sounded thin and artificial, the way it does on my answering machine.
Nick shut the water off and turned to look at me. “Why?”
I nodded. “I have to pack.”
“For what?”
“My trip. Remember?”
“Wait…you’re not still going to Key West?” Nick’s voice was incredulous, and he frowned at me, disbelief flushing over his face.
“I have to go,” I said, which was probably not the strongest argument I could have made, I realized too late.
Nick’s face changed. His eyes hardened, his jaw tightened. He looked at me coolly and shrugged.
“Well…have a good trip,” he said.
“Nick,” I began, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I swallowed, hard, trying to push down the ache that had started throbbing in my throat.
“Bye,” I said quietly. And I left.
Chapter Nineteen
It took me most of my childhood to figure out that I had rotten luck. For a long time I thought I just suffered from t
he same growing pains all girls have to deal with, even when faced with the steady stream of incidents that proved me wrong.
So what if the clasp on my very first bra broke right in the middle of our square-dancing unit in gym class? Embarrassing, yes—particularly since the elastic snapped with a loud, audible ping right when I was dancing with Jason Baum, who later lied when he told everyone that he’d used the opportunity to feel me up—but not unheard of.
When I lost the election for high-school freshman-class vice president by one measly vote, I sucked it up and tried to be a gracious loser. Even though I knew that the Wells twins—Jessica and Jacqueline—would have voted for me if they’d been in school that day. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that they both had to have their tonsils out. At the same time. On election day.
No, it wasn’t until my junior year in high school, when I came down with the triple whammy of mononucleosis, strep throat, and bronchitis two days before the junior prom, that I realized something else might be going on. Bad juju, black kismet, whatever you wanted to call it, it all came down to one sour truth: I was really freaking unlucky.
But I couldn’t help but think there were even larger karmic issues than my congenital bad luck at play when my trip to Key West began with the airline losing my luggage and the car-rental company running out of cars. And then, after we’d finally found a sketchy independent company that agreed to rent us an ancient, sputtering Taurus, the car blew a tire thirty minutes after we left the Miami airport right in the middle of a downpour.
The universe was sending me a message: I was on its shit list for sleeping with Nick.
“It’s all my fault,” I said miserably, standing behind Graham in the rain as he changed the tire. He was getting covered with grease, and we were both drenched.
“Shit!” Graham yelped as he scraped his knuckles against the hubcap. A bright line of scarlet sprang up from the scratch.
“See? It’s my bad luck. I’m cursed. It’s probably not even safe for you to be near me.”
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