Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She finally nodded and cleared her throat. “Just went down wrong. I’m okay now,” she replied, composing herself. “In answer to your question, I don’t belong to any sorority. I tagged along with my roommate, Eva because, well, she got an invite from one of her friends that belongs here or to one of them on campus. Not sure which one. I’m not staying long.”

  “You’re not staying at all,” a female voice sounded from behind us.

  Oh, fuck this.

  “Weston, why don’t you at least introduce the party crasher to me since it appears you’ve forgotten that we’re here together this evening?”

  “Chill, Leanne, or you’ll give Delta Gamma a bad name on campus. And for the record, we are not together,” he corrected her quietly. “Leanne Knox, this is Peyton---I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name?”

  “Just Peyton,” she replied, holding her hand out to Leanne, “I’m actually here because of an invite we had from Frannie Newsome.”

  Leanne reluctantly gave her a fake smile and shook her hand. “Well, that’s Frannie for you,” she replied snippily. “Always the rebel where rules are concerned. Weston, can I have a minute?”

  Weston tossed her a glare that went unnoticed because Leanne hadn’t taken her eyes from Peyton. She was definitely trying to intimidate Peyton with some show of female alpha intimidation that grated on Weston’s nerves and patience.

  “What is it?” he asked tersely.

  “I meant in private,” she replied testily, finally turning to glare at Weston.

  “No worries,” Peyton interrupted. “I’m not here to encroach, Leanne, so you may sheathe your claws before you break a nail because I’m not interested.” She turned her back and walked over to where Eva and Marcus were sitting in the corner. She said something to Eva, handed her the unfinished beer, and was out the door lickety-split.

  Nice.

  Leanne the cock blocker.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to run her off,” Leanne said with a soft chuckle. “But I can’t say she’ll be missed.”

  Weston turned around to face Leanne’s smirking face. “You know, Leanne, being a bitch like that is a real fucking turn off. What was up with you acting all possessive?”

  She was obviously taken aback with his tone, but he didn’t care. From Weston’s perspective, Leanne was clearly out of line. There was no relationship, nor had Weston ever given her any indication that there was any involvement. She damn well knew the rules. No ties, no claims.

  “Aww, Weston, you’re not pissed at me are you?” she crooned. “I thought you and I were gonna, you know, hook up tonight?”

  “‘Were’ being the operative word here, Leanne,” he snapped, as he left her standing there alone and headed for the door. He glanced around quickly once outside and saw Peyton walking down the sidewalk in front, heading towards the parked cars that lined both sides of the street. “Yo, Peyton!” he hollered.

  She stopped and turned when she heard her name. Weston made quick strides to close the distance. Once he reached her, he suddenly was at a loss for words.

  “Hey, you shouldn’t have run off. Leanne was just being a bitch. There’s no reason to let her chase you out of the party.”

  “She didn’t,” Peyton replied. “I just didn’t want to be there. I only went because Eva pressed me to go. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, she’s majorly crushing on your buddy Marcus.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to miss,” he replied chuckling. “He’s a good dude. I think they just may hit it off.”

  She finally gave Weston a smile. A real one. Probably the only real smile he’d seen on her face. “Yeah, I think they just might. I’m sure I’ll get every detail if not a total replay of every word exchanged between them when she gets home tonight.”

  “Or tomorrow morning,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows at her mischievously.

  “She’ll be home tonight. Eva may be a party girl, but she doesn’t give it up that easily,” she says laughing. “I know my girl.”

  “Well then she does sound perfect for Marcus. You sure you don’t want to go back inside? Seriously, I didn’t come here with Leanne and we’ve barely had time to talk.”

  She frowned slightly. “Well, what is it you want to talk about?”

  Damn.

  “I don’t know; anything I guess. What I’m trying to say, and failing miserably at, is that I’d like to redeem myself with you. Don’t want you thinking I’m a jerk, especially if Marcus and Eva might be hooking up, you know?”

  “I don’t think so, Weston,” she replied quietly. “I already have a boyfriend.” Her demeanor had changed back to one where she clearly appeared irritated. And for whatever reason, she’d managed to tick Weston off with her presumption that he was trolling for some sort of college romance.

  Pfft!

  “Uh….well, I wasn’t going to propose or anything, doll. I mean this is a coed college, and we’re at a social function. I guess the fact that you’ve got a boyfriend prohibits you from having social interaction with others – is that about it?”

  Her demeanor remained cool and collected. “Not at all. Social interaction is permitted and besides that, my boyfriend doesn’t attempt to control my life, social or otherwise.”

  ‘Well that’s a relief,” he teased.

  “I’m simply not interested in having a conversation with you. Nothing personal,” she replied before turning from him and heading into the darkness.

  Well…Fuck. Me.

  Chapter 7

  I stifle a giggle until I get to my car that’s parked a block away, and then I let loose. Of course I acted like a bitch to Weston, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

  You need to understand that Weston is seriously out of my league and I know it. He knows it as well. What Weston is scouting for is nothing more than a hookup. Pure and simple. Hell, why do you think he’s stringing Leanne along?

  The truth is that he knows nothing about me except what he has seen on the outside. He likes the package, but there’s no way he’s interested in sticking around to learn about what’s on the inside with me, or probably any other female at the moment. Good or bad, it’s all superficial with him. I should know. I saw it with my own father years ago. Surprised the hell out of me too.

  Summer 2008, Cranston, RI

  The Bagel Stop

  “Hey Pop, your lady friend is out front asking for you,” I announce to my father, picking up a tray of fresh bagels that have cooled since he pulled them from the oven. “Are these ready to rack?”

  “Yep. Those are onion and red pepper,” he says, pulling his apron off as if I couldn’t tell by this time what flavor the various bagels were. I’ve been working in the shop all summer. I’m saving for a new ten-speed mountain bike that is totally loaded.

  He pulls playfully on my ponytail as he makes his way through the swinging door to the front of the store. It’s a daily thing with Dad and his lady friend, Louise. Every weekday on her lunch hour at the bank, she walks over to the shop and has lunch with Pop. It’s been going on now for weeks. I just wish he’d ask her out already. I don’t buy this whole, “We’re just friends,” routine he’s got going on. I’m fifteen. I know all about the birds and the bees.

  My father is a handsome guy. Dark hair and blue eyes and well built for a guy pushing fifty. Louise is all about the flirtation. I’ve seen it before with women that come into the shop but, for some reason, this one has Dad’s attention. Maybe it’s because she fawns all over him during lunch. Or maybe it’s the V-neck tops she wears that show off her ample cleavage. She’s always dressed to the nines, which is kind of puzzling to me, but maybe banks pay well. I have no clue. All I know is that bagel shops don’t. He gets me cheap, but that’s okay because it’s all about family and we’re all each other has.

  Finally, he comes back into the kitchen as I’m running the dishwasher from the breakfast crowd. “Peyton,” he says solemnly. “I’ve asked Louise out for dinner this
coming Saturday night. Will you be okay? We may go dancing afterwards…” and his voice trails off as if he is feeling guilty about wanting a social life.

  “Pop,” I say giving him a big smile, “I’m fifteen for crying out loud. I haven’t needed a babysitter for years! Go to dinner. Go dancing. You need to get out more.”

  I can see the relief flood his features because his only child approves.

  “I just wanted you to be okay with it, you know? It’s been a long time since I went out on a…date. I just haven’t really had any desire since your mother---well, I mean until now, I guess. I really like Louise.”

  He’s fumbling for words that aren’t needed. “Pop,” I say, placing my hands on his chest and looking up into his tortured eyes, “Mom died. She didn’t ask you to go with her now did she?”

  He smiles and his eyes crinkle up in the corners, which mean he is genuinely pleased. “You are an old soul, Peyton. You remind me so much of Emily. I wish you could remember her.”

  And a feeling of sadness washes over me because that is one of my wishes as well. “I know, Pop. I wish I could too. But I’ll take your word that I’m like her and consider it the ultimate compliment.”

  “It is, my darling. And rest assured that no one could ever replace your mother. But Louise is someone that I just may want to know better. It’s important to have your approval.”

  “You need your daughter’s approval. Hmm…what’s wrong with that picture, Dad?”

  “Never mind. You know what I mean. I’m not one to go out to just be… frivolous. With Louise, well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that it might develop into something serious. I’ll know for sure after we go out. But Peyton, I want to make sure that you’re on board with it too. I never want anything or anyone to come between our father-daughter bond. Do you understand?”

  I nod. But had I known what lay ahead, I just might have rescinded my approval and encouragement right then and there.

  Suffice it to say, by the end of the summer, my father and Louise were engaged to be married. Oh, and the money that I had saved for my ten-speed mountain bike? Yeah, that had gone towards my entrance fee for the Junior Miss Cranston pageant, along with my costume for the competition. One hundred and seventy-five dollars total.

  It was at Louise’s insistence. My father had capitulated, saying it would be a good experience for me. It would teach me about grace and composure; help me to become more “ladylike” and feminine. Besides, he had argued, Louise only had boys and loved the idea of having a girl to fuss over. Would I please do it just for him?

  And of course, I did.

  I took first place.

  The prize?

  A trophy and fifty bucks.

  My father’s prize? From the sounds of it, Louise gave him a roll in the hay that night. From then on, that’s pretty much how she got anything she wanted…

  That had been my first lesson in the powers of female persuasion. Oh don’t get me wrong; my father was nobody’s fool, but then again, neither was Louise. She was pretty and sexy in an overly obnoxious way---know what I mean?

  Dyed blonde hair, padded bras, fake fingernails, false eyelashes that she loved to bat at my father, and more make-up than a department store cosmetics section at her daily disposal. She was in her mid-forties, but that didn’t stop her from dressing like a college girl who shopped at Frederick’s of Hollywood.

  Louise’s intentions may initially have been the fact she enjoyed having her own “dollie” to play with – me. Later, my instincts told me that it was way more than that. Louise enjoyed winning the battles; the subtle power plays over me that she invariably won, but only because I didn’t flex my muscle where she was concerned. My father had earned the right to be happy and in love. There was no way in hell I was going to take that from him. So, as they say, I reacted with quiet grace, but let me tell you right now. It wasn’t easy.

  After I get home, for some odd reason, Weston pops back into my mind. I’m not sure why I’m left feeling disoriented about this evening. After all, it was my choice to diss him, except this nagging feeling continues to invade my conscience. I don’t like to treat people rudely, despite the way I feel about them or their behavior. Weston, in all honesty, had been very pleasant this evening. I had been the major bitch and generally, that’s not a role I enjoy playing.

  But regardless of all of that, there is just something about him that is enigmatic. Yeah, I know. I could say it is simply his sexy, prep school charm, or his athletic abilities that garner him a sports superstar; or his boyish grin complete with a dimple that is totally distracting. But maybe, just maybe, the fact that I observed some sort of non-typical male curiosity that had prompted him to find out about Penny’s boyfriend that day Stu picked me up just doesn’t quite fit his profile – at least the one I have given him up to this point. I mean why the hell does he care who Penny is seeing?

  Perhaps---just perhaps, Weston’s not the stereotypical college jock with an inordinate sense of entitlement since birth that I had pegged him to be. Only time and observation would tell. Not my observation, mind you.

  Penny’s.

  As I snuggle down under my covers, I begin to contemplate next week’s lesson plan for Weston.

  Chapter 8

  It was Tuesday, and Weston was not feeling up to par. The truth was, he was hungover from doing too many shots the night before.

  The past weekend had been a total bust. There was the blow-off Friday night, which clearly he wasn’t used to. He had returned to the party and when Leanne once again approached him, he had told her in no uncertain terms to fuck off. She then tossed a couple of pissy insults at him, and left the party in a huff.

  The rest of the weekend pretty much went downhill from there. A hockey scrimmage with Anderson U. on Saturday had not gone well. Weston fucked up his knee, and then had to wait until Monday afternoon to get the official word from the team doctor that he had a strained ACL. The season started in two weeks and he was out for six.

  Fuck that.

  The highlight of the weekend, if it could be called that, was Sunday evening listening to Marcus go on and on and on about Eva. Eva’s hot. Eva’s a lot of fun. Eva knows every team member’s stats…blah, blah, blah…

  What the ever loving fuck?

  “Is she a decent fuck?” Weston finally asked. That had shut Marcus up right then and there after he chewed Weston’s ass out for being such a classless tool.

  One would think it was Marcus’s first time starting a relationship with a chick.

  Then last night, after sitting out at practice, Marcus informed all of the guys to clean up the living room because Eva was stopping by to watch Monday Night Football with him.

  That had been the perfect opportunity for Weston to barricade himself in his room and force himself to dive into the next book on his syllabus for Early American Lit. He wasn’t about to have Penny on his nuts on top of everything else that had gone to hell for him lately.

  Seriously, Pride and Prejudice? What the hell had Jane Austen been thinking when she penned this 397 page soap opera snooze fest? Weston was supposed to read the first four chapters by today, and he swore to fuck¸ there was no way he could get past the first three pages without a shot.

  So, as pathetic as it sounded he did a few shots. One for every chapter he started. He had justified it in his mind that it was for medicinal purposes only. He couldn’t fathom that any dude with an ounce of testosterone could be expected to read chick-lit purported to be a classic without something to kill the fucking pain.

  He had actually gotten as far Chapter 5, reading a few pages into it before realizing he had gone beyond the assignment.

  “Do you have the first four chapters outlined, Weston?” Penny’s nasally voice interrupted his painful trip down Memory Lane. She was staring a hole through him as if she wanted a reason – any reason to make this day more miserable for him than it already was.

  “Yep,” he replied smugly, handing over the four paragraphs he’d p
rinted out that morning from some CliffsNotes he’d found online. He had rearranged the wording so it had the appearance of being summarized by someone that had actually given a shit about what had been read. Weston was no fan of this shit and wasn’t about to pretend that he was.

  She perused his paper slowly and then looked over at him. “Looks like you read the material, that’s promising,” she remarked, and he could tell she was getting ready to spring something on him.

  Weston focused on her attire. She was totally dressed in puke green. Fuck if he could figure out where the hell she found such deplorable duds.

  “So, in Chapter 3, where Mr. Darcy rejects the notion of asking Elizabeth to dance at the urging of Mr. Bingley, saying in effect that he had no desire to give focus to a female that other males had no interest in---would you say that sort of male attitude still exists in our society today?” she asked, tapping her pen against the top of her notebook.

  Oh. Jeez.

  Actually, he had read that part and gotten quite a kick out of it since the chick---Elizabeth---had overheard it and retold the incident to her friends in a spirited versus pissed off manner. Weston’s take on that was that Elizabeth wasn’t all that offended by it; that she actually had a sense of humor. Nothing wrong with that. Hell, he might even admit to it being a bit sexy. Penny should try laughing or at least try to work up a giggle now and then so she didn’t always come off as having a stick up her ass.

  He was contemplating giving her an answer that would totally piss her off being that she had no such sense of humor, at least as far as he could tell.

  “Well?” Penny said, now tapping her foot on the floor impatiently. “You did read the chapters, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I read them,” he replied, trying to come up with the typical male answer she undoubtedly wanted. He aimed to please after all. “Well, let me put it to you like this, Penny. I’m sure most dudes can relate. They want to know the chick they’re shagging appeals to other guys of the same…caliber, I guess. So yeah, I would definitely say that this type of mindset still exists, but it’s not just with guys, chicks are the same way, don’t you think?”