Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  My father owns a bagel shop in Cranston. It had been his father’s before him, and I truly think my dad would’ve preferred to make a career in something more lucrative. But his loyalty to his family-owned business is strong and passionate. I only hope he doesn’t feel the need to pass it on to me because, quite frankly, I have no inclination to run it.

  Dad met Louise when I was fifteen. She had become a regular customer at the bagel shop, and he had finally asked her out to dinner. They continued to date, and when her youngest son graduated high school two years later, they married. I figured it was because we lived in a two bedroom apartment over the bagel shop, and there wouldn’t have been enough room for her son, Phil.

  I graduated from high school at eighteen and, with the winnings from the Ms. Rhode Island competition, I enrolled the following fall at Ratliff. The rest you already know, except the fact that I love my father like crazy.

  Louise? Not so much.

  “Hey, hey,” Eva calls out, as she sticks her head into our apartment, “Is it all clear? Did the super stud head back to Springfield?”

  “Be nice,” I chide, turning the page in my text book to look over the highlighted areas. “And yes, all is clear. He’s on his way back to Springfield. He’ll be back a week from Friday though.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Seriously, Eva, can’t you at least pretend to like your best friend’s boyfriend? Jeez.”

  She plops down next to me on the sofa and wraps her arm around my neck, pulling me close. “I’m sorry,” she says, putting on a sad face. She plants a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek. “Who am I to criticize the man that brings my very best friend to such climatic, glass shattering, earth moving orgasms?”

  “Puleeze,” I reply, trying not to smile.

  “So he hasn’t figured out yet that you’re faking it, huh?”

  Rewind…what?

  “I mean, for fuck’s sake, how big of a douche is he?”

  I’m speechless. All I can do is glare at her.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she says, grinning like an idiot. “You know, you never fooled me with that ‘cat-in-heat’ wailing bit. I mean, seriously?”

  “Oh whatever,” I say, trying to appear unaffected by her declaration. “You know I don’t like talking about personal shit.”

  She leans back against the pillows and flips me off. “I’ll tell you how you can make it up to me,” she says, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

  This can’t possibly be good.

  “Just hear me out,” she says, “I talked Max into letting us off Friday because there is a major – I mean fucking major mixer at the Gamma Delta sorority house that night!”

  Good Lord. She’s practically foaming at the mouth. There has to be more. “I think it’s Delta Gamma,” I correct, “and why would you do that without checking with me first? That’s my income you’re fucking with here.”

  “Relax,” she replies, waving me off, “Sara and Dawn are taking our Friday shifts and we’re covering their Sunday afternoon shifts. See? I have everything taken care of and…you’re welcome.”

  Sometimes I’m very tempted to strangle my best friend with her own bra! It never occurs to her that I have shit to do for classes and tutoring lesson plans to complete over the weekend! I’m about to tell her just that when she blurts out the real reason why this party is so damn important to her.”

  “The word on the street is that Marcus Holt will be there! Do you realize this is the closest I will have been to him since I sat in the Visitor’s Section at the game between Hardwick and Cornell last season?”

  Her eyes are bright with excitement, but hell, you know me, sometimes I just can’t help myself from being a downer. “Not to mention you drove five hours to get there,” I reply. “And the word on the street? Are you serious?”

  “Oh, you should talk,” she chides.

  “Never mind. I meant to tell you that he actually came into Big Daddy’s last Friday night. I had their table.”

  Her eyes widen and then she gets a totally pissed off look on her face. “And you didn’t fucking tell me this?” she hisses, eyes narrowed, and suddenly it dawns on me that Eva has the evil wench thing going on big time.

  It’s actually kind of scary.

  “I think I just did, and seriously, Eva, you know I like to prep on Sunday’s for the following week. If I work that day, I won’t get shit done. That’s why I don’t like working on school nights, remember?”

  “Oh. My. God. You did not just say that,” she yelps, clutching the couch pillow and attempting to suffocate me with it. “Holy fuck, Peyton, we’re not in junior fucking high school!” She dissolves into a fit of laughter.

  “Okay, okay,” I reply, “I know that sounds lame, but seriously, I have a lot to catch up on. I’ve been doing some tutoring for some extra bucks,” I admit.

  “What tutoring? Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “As if I have to report my every move to you,” I tease. “Besides that, don’t we have to be in a sorority to attend one of these shindigs?”

  “Seriously, Peyton? Shindigs? Are you from the fucking sixties?”

  I laugh because she’s right. I only have Dad to blame for that. “Answer the question.”

  “We’ve got a pass,” she explains, “I helped Frannie Newsome, one of our customers at Big Daddy’s. She owes me. We’re in.”

  “Helped her how?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer.

  “I was her alibi for getting busted by her boyfriend when she claimed she was staying in to study and he showed up. She sent him to me and I…”

  I hold up my hand stopping her. “I don’t even want to hear the rest of that,” I reply. “I’ll go with you because I know you want to scope out Marcus, but once you two make contact, I’m gone, got it?”

  “Well,” she replies lazily, “I mean come on, Pey. Just because I spot him there is no guarantee we’ll…make contact, you know?”

  I give her my sternest look possible. “Enough of this shit, Eva. You’ve crushed on him since sophomore year and you don’t even go to the same freaking school! You give me shit about Stu? Well, I’m giving you shit about staying on the sidelines and not making your intentions known!”

  Her jaw drops and she immediately bends over trying to stifle her laughter. I’m puzzled. Hell, I’m pissed. It is the truth and she needs to get a freaking grip!

  “What?”

  She finally catches her breath and looks back up at me. “You had me, babe. You had me right up until you said making my intentions known.” She dissolves once again in laughter and I’m not making any bones about the fact that I’m pissed. Why would she zone in on my choice of words rather than the intent behind them?

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes, “I totally get what you meant. I shouldn’t have laughed. In fact, I love it that you’re an old soul.”

  Old soul?

  “Thank you,” I say, because I’m fairly certain she meant that as a compliment.

  “So, you will?”

  “On one condition. I’m leaving at eleven whether you’ve staked your claim or not,” I warn. “I’m driving, so if you stay, you’ll need to find another ride home.”

  “Yay!” she shrieks, hugging me. “We’re gonna have a blast this weekend!”

  Friday evening I’m back in Cambridge, parking my 2008 Classic VW Bug at the curb outside the large, colonial sorority house with the Greek emblem that is translated into Delta Gamma.

  Eva and I get out and climb the dozen or so concrete steps to the front porch, both of us trying like hell to pull our skirts down so we’re not showing off our lady bits to those outside. It’s a cool, crisp evening in late September, and we both have tight sweaters on and bras that push up our girls, which makes me regret my wardrobe choice. After all, I’m not here looking for love in all the wrong places. I have a man.

  We hear the low cat whistles as we reach our destination. Thank God Eva has balls. Mine seem to be missing, which is
not unusual when I feel like I’m out of my element. Like right now.

  “Yo, she says, “Frannie Newsome gave us a holler. She inside?”

  “Go on in, babe,” a dark haired totally shitfaced frat boy instructs. “I think she’s in there bobbing for…well, something,” he finishes laughing at himself.

  We open the door and the room, as large as it is, is crammed wall-to-wall with people. Music blaring, the sound of drunken banter, and women draped all over guys. Yeah, definitely not my scene.

  I see that Eva is scanning the room and when her head stops and locks on a group of people. “Fuck, there he is,” she turns and whispers loudly, mouthing the words, and pointing a finger so only I can see it.

  I glance over to where a group of two guys and three girls are standing, drinking beer, and conversing loudly. Obviously, they’ve been at it for a while by the sound of their loud laughter. I recognize Marcus right away and, as I continue to watch, I see that the other guy is none other than Weston Matthews.

  Hmm. Imagine that.

  “Oh shit,” I reply turning away quickly, as he looks over and his gaze meets mine.

  “What?” Eva asks.

  “He’s with Weston,” I hiss.

  “So?” she replies, quirking a brow. “For shit’s sake, they’re best friends. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Apparently not,” I snap and then watch as Eva’s eyes widen.

  “He’s coming over here!”

  “Marcus?”

  “No. Weston.”

  I feel his presence behind me and the look of awe on Eva’s face confirms it. I know the look. Eva is turning into that giddy virgin persona though God knows she parted with that shit years ago.

  “Hey, Peyton,” I hear from behind me, as his hand brushes across my back. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a sorority chick.”

  I turn to face him, regarding him coolly. He’s changed his clothes and shaved since I saw him this afternoon on campus. Maybe that’s a sign he’s scouting for sorority pussy. Not nearly as disheveled as he was a week ago when he came into Big Daddy’s, although he wears that look well too.

  “Hold on,” I say, pursing my lips, and tapping my index finger against the lower one. “Don’t tell me…Wesley?” I ask innocently. I can feel Eva next to me, stifling a laugh.

  “Weston,” he replies, “and I’m totally wounded that you didn’t remember. Did you get my…apology?”

  “I got your generous tip,” I reply. “Was that your way of apologizing for being such an asshole to me?”

  He smirks and shakes his head, his blue eyes piercing mine. “I admitted that on my note I left on one of the bills. I guess you didn’t see it. I was out of line, no excuses.”

  “Excuses not accepted,” I remark. “As for your apology? Well, that I will take under consideration.” I give him a quick smile, because that’s really all he deserves at the moment. He was an ass that night, and it will take more than a big tip and his sexy charm to change my opinion of him. Besides that, I know exactly how guys like Weston Matthews roll. Perhaps I can have some fun with this.

  “Excellent,” he replies. “Can I get you and your friend a drink?”

  I feel Eva nudge me, and I remember my manners and introduce her to Weston. “Eva’s a huge hockey fan,” I explain to Weston, “she especially likes defensive players.”

  “And you?” he asks, looking over her as he shakes her hand.

  “Not so much,” I admit.

  “She just doesn’t like the physical aspect of it,” Eva pipes up as if apologizing. “She doesn’t appreciate the skill and agility of the sport.”

  Oh. Please.

  “It’s not that,” I explain, “I simply don’t see the point.”

  “The point of hockey or all sports?”

  “Yes,” I answer, appearing bored with the conversation already. Yeah, I can be an ass myself. I’m allowed.

  Weston chuckles. “Got it. Drinks, ladies?”

  “I’ll have a beer,” Eva pipes up. “Why don’t you invite Marcus to hang?”

  I don’t think Weston misses my elbowing her in the side as I continue to watch his lovely face, a fake smile painted on my lips.

  “Beer or wine?” he asks.

  “Beer,” we both say at once.

  Once he’s out of earshot I turn to Eva. “Why in the hell are you encouraging him to stick around?”

  “It’s obvious he likes you, Pey – and, besides, he’s the bait for Marcus to join us.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, I see. Well, did it even occur to you, Eva, that I have a boyfriend and that said boyfriend would not appreciate me being out and about drinking with other guys?”

  “Oh shit. It’s not as if you’re flirting with him, trust me,” she says, giving me an eye roll now. “My God, can you be any more arctic than you are right now?”

  “I’m not into those types, Eva. You know that and again---I. Have. A. Boyfriend.”

  “Funny you keep mentioning that. Who are you trying to convince here?”

  I start to say something but she shushes me. “Here they come. Please do this for me. Just be civil for twenty minutes, just for twenty fucking minutes, okay?”

  She’s fucking pleading now.

  Fuck my life.

  Chapter 6

  “Well, well, well. Who would have thought I’d run into the hot little minx from Big Daddy’s at a mixer? Excuse me, at a fratsor?” Weston thought as he spotted her from across the room. This day was certainly turning out better than he expected. The only issue right now was that for some fucked up reason, Leanne was eyeballing him from across the room and staring a hole through Peyton.

  What was up with that shit?

  Weston handed each of them a cold Michelob Light, thinking most chicks seem to prefer that brand. “Here you go, ladies. Enjoy.”

  Marcus came up behind him and immediately, he noticed Eva’s eyes flicker over to him, sizing him up as if he was prey to be pounced upon. She definitely wanted to pounce. Weston was a master at reading body language---especially with chicks. It was just one of his many gifts. And Eva’s body language towards his best friend was loud and clear: she was a damn sure thing if Marcus chose to go for it. He was unencumbered, same as Weston, so it just might happen.

  Marcus said hello to Peyton first. He remembered her from Big Daddy’s. In fact, he continued to ream Weston’s ass after they had left Big Daddy’s that night about his asshole behavior.

  Weston hadn’t shared with him the apology note he had left on one of the twenty-dollar bills under his plate. The reason, quite frankly, was because Weston didn’t want to do anything that messed with his reputation of being anything other than a dick. He could live with the asshole/dick assessment. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. And he knew that if he had clued his best friend in on his sudden pang of contrition, it would have been an open invitation for Marcus to gloat about being right, and Weston being wrong. So, what the fuck?

  It was just that, for whatever reason, Weston sincerely regretted how he had acted towards Peyton. Maybe it was because she was more than just a hot chick that he wanted to fuck; there was something about her that seemed different and it had drawn him in like a fly to a spider web.

  He was in no way unaccustomed to a variety of chicks, mostly hookups, but he could honestly say that for whatever reason, that wasn’t how he regarded her initially, ergo, his assholiness he presumed. He was out of his element with her and he couldn’t for the fucking life of him figure out why. He was certainly no novice to the game.

  “I don’t miss a Hardwick hockey game,” Eva said once introduced. “I follow your stats and how you’ve set a record as right wing here. You’re a fucking shoe-in for the Bruins or, at the very least, the Penguins. I have to admit, the Penguins have my heart, but only because, as a child, I grew up hearing my dad and older brothers constantly cheering them on each week. My God, they were damn near obsessed with Jaromir Jagr. Have you been approached yet?”

  Weston was surpri
sed that the chick was going to let Marcus get a word in edgewise, but when she finally stopped to take a breath, Marcus gave her a sexy and courteous chuckle, but his green eyes were sparkling, so I knew that this chick had an “in” with my best friend. And why the hell not? In the brief time that I had known Eva, I could already tell that she was totally hot for him. The fact that she could recite his stats and then mentioned his own hero from his hometown of Pittsburgh more than likely sealed the deal.

  Marcus was way more serious about the sport, college, his future plans and well, with women too, than Weston had ever been. Hell, he didn’t get laid for the first time until he was damn near eighteen. He confided that to Weston freshman year. He was kind of embarrassed about it, maybe because he was the oldest in the family. One boy and then three girls in a row. He probably felt like their protector growing up. Weston attributed that factor as to why he gave anyone shit that disrespected the female gender.

  “I’m impressed, Eva,” Marcus said quietly, “and flattered, too. But my hockey playing ends with college. I’ve got other plans.”

  “Seriously?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “What could be better than going pro?”

  Marcus chuckled, and they moved away as he started telling her his plans, which Weston knew by heart. Law school, entrance to the Bar, and then private practice back in Pittsburgh. Just like his old man.

  Weston turned his attention to the reason he came over in the first place and it wasn’t to play matchmaker for my best friend. “So, Peyton, which sorority is yours?”

  She took a sip of her beer, and he didn’t miss the slight roll of her eyes. “Seriously? Do I look like Susie Sorority over here?”

  Her East Coast accent was more pronounced than he remembered, but he liked it. “I’m not one to stereotype people, Peyton,” Weston replied seriously, as she took another sip of beer. This was followed immediately by a fit of coughing, and she appeared to choke momentarily.