Do Over (8 page)

“I’ve never had to drive past a cow pasture to pick a girl up. The inner loop is such a better area, you have to agree.” Blaine down shifted and pulled onto Quinn Street.

I refused to take his inner-loop snobbery. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never had to drive past a row of neon-lit strip clubs to get to a friend’s house.”

Blaine didn’t answer. Instead, he reached over and cranked up the music. Once we reached Houston’s downtown, he spoke again. “Some friends are having a party. I thought we’d drop by.”

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds fun. We can be quick at the museum.” The date had been boring so far and I was starting to think I’d have a better time on my own.

His route to the museum took us through a River Oaks neighborhood and he stopped the car at the end of a long circular driveway lined with cars. “We’re here.” A white brick mansion with black shutters stood at the center of the drive. “If the party blows, we’ll head to the museum.”

“Uh, okay.” I was annoyed at the change of plans. But what could I do?

Blaine grabbed a bottle of cologne from the console and sprayed himself. I coughed as the smell of fresh-cut grass filled the interior and opened my door to let in the afternoon air. Blaine wore an eager expression. He hopped out, shrugged on his blazer, and headed to the path.

His longer stride carried him two feet ahead of me, so my words were spoken to his back. “I really want to see that exhibit, so if we say
hi
and leave, you can come back after.”

“Sure.” Blaine reached back to take my hand, his focus on the house. “Wait ‘til you see this place. The twins who own it are loaded.”

Inside, the guests were my age, but I didn’t recognize anyone. The girls wore everything from sundresses to evening gowns and the guys wore blazers like Blaine or tuxedoes which made them blend into the black and white background of the marble foyer like high-priced chameleons.

Blaine snagged a glass off a passing waiter and handed it to me. The liquid swam inside, a murky red color. A lone lemon wedge bobbed from the pressure of the liquid and tried to escape from the side of the glass.

I knew how it felt.

The foyer overflowed into a large, formal parlor where a group of girls stood making toasts with similar drinks. The chandelier glinted off their crystal glasses and made circles of light on their cheeks. They appeared to be having fun. I’d probably be having fun too if I were here with Lauren and Carla. I took a sip. The drink tasted like melted Jell-O with an underlying kick of gasoline.

“Be right back, Stockton’s got some new Cubans.” Blaine left me and worked his way over to a smoky corner of the room. He joined four guys and took a dark cigar.

Like I’d stand here and wait for him.
I went out a side door. A pair of polished end tables stood beside a narrow bench. I deposited my drink there before moving farther down. A dark-haired guy and girl stood staring at a painting framed with accent lights. I walked up beside them.

“Looks like turtles. Does it have to go there?” The girl adjusted the hem of her designer gown. “Just move the picture to the back. I’ll get someone.” She nodded to me and left the room.

The guy, cradling a cut glass tumbler in his hand, took a sip of the amber liquid inside.

I wondered if our prom budget would cover renting crystal.
Probably not.
The DJ wasn’t bad, either. I’d have to grab his number in case, by some miracle, he charged a fee that was within our drastically diminished budget.

“Do you see turtles?” The dark haired guy asked, tilting his head.

I moved closer, examined the painting, and sucked in a breath. Painted in shades of grey, the scene wasn’t pretty, but it was compelling. Vague, foggy shapes floated across the canvas, reminding me of the morning of our campout. “I see cold,” I said matter-of-factly.

He walked a few steps down past a column. “What do you see here?”

I moved to his side. He was so tall and lean my head barely reached his jaw. The guy was nice-looking in a pale, I don’t see much sun
,
kind of way. I switched my gaze from him to the painting. Pastels blurred across this canvas. The theme clicked. “Oh. It’s the seasons. Show me summer and autumn.”

He grinned. “Through there.”

I followed him into a larger room, a painting gallery. “Cool.”

He strode directly to the far wall, but I stopped midway, checking out the art there. The images were fascinating. The artist had used the same shade of blue, but different painting styles—cubes, geometric patterns, and dots.

“Those aren’t very good,” the guy said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I like ‘em. There’s a--”

An arm slung around my shoulders ending the rest of my sentence. “Hey. Where’d you run off to?” Blaine asked. “I thought I’d lost you.”

My nose twitched. Blaine smelled like a cigar—or a pungent chicken coop after the rain scent.

“Hey, Asher.” Blaine nodded to the dark-haired guy. “I see you met my date.”

“She was giving me her opinion.”

Blaine snickered. “Like a girl from Trallwyn could tell
you
anything about art.”

I stiffened under his arm and wished I had the cocktail back in my hand, so I could douse him with it.

“Kidding,” Blaine said in an insincere tone. He examined the painting. “It’s derivative, clearly a political message about pollution.”

Asher stared at the painting and frowned, his arms over his chest.

I shrugged free. I didn’t like Blaine well enough to put up with his insult. I didn’t even like him enough to bother arguing with him. So what if I’d only had one art class, and had no idea what he meant by
derivative
. I knew what I liked. “It’s the light—” I insisted.

Blaine interrupted me. “Whatever. No one signed it. You can’t value something without knowing the artist.” He focused on the exit. “They’re doing Jell-O shots in the back. Let’s go.”

His eyes already appeared suspiciously bright, and his pupils were dilated.

“No thanks.”

The girl who’d been talking to Asher earlier returned, teetering up to us in her too-cute, cheetah platforms. “Hey.”

Blaine said, “Hey, Skye. Y’all’s bartender
hooked
us up.”

Skye curtseyed and waved at Asher. “It’s our birthday. Of course, he did.”

“Happy Birthday.” I included both Skye and Asher in my remark.

Asher grinned.

“Thank you.” Skye focused on my dress. “Pretty dress.”

“Thanks. Love the new twist-back.” I gestured toward the tie on hers. “Great color.”

“I love this shade of blue. Skye blue. The name feeds my ego,” she confessed.

“Like it’s underfed,” Asher said.

Siblings. That explained their similar dark hair and bickering.

“Skye’s going to Sarah Lawrence in the fall,” Blaine said, sounding impressed.

“Ah, so you want to be a baker?” I winked at her, and the siblings laughed at my stupid joke.

Blaine’s mouth dropped open and he spoke slowly, “It’s a college. On the east coast. You’re thinking Sara Lee.”

Skye rolled her eyes and tucked her hand around Asher’s elbow, “Come on, birthday boy. Cake time for us. Cherry cheesecake.” Asher allowed himself to be led from the room, leaving me alone with my date.

Blaine put a hand on my shoulder turning me to follow them as if I was going to stay behind. The cold silver metal on his watch snagged my spaghetti strap.

Pop.

Chapter Seven

Blaine jerked free, making the rip worse. “Sorry.”

I slapped a hand to my chest to prevent a wardrobe malfunction and stiffened.

“No problem.” I inched away from him. Had I known the type of party we were going to, I’d have worn a cocktail dress anyway. Now my dress was inappropriate and damaged. I sighed and tied the severed ends into a knot. The shortened strap pulled the neckline of my dress up higher on one side, ruining the lines.

As we neared the end of the corridor, Blaine’s large hand took hold of my elbow.

His face descended. His mouth mashed my lips into my teeth, and his tongue thrust into my mouth. The song in the background ground out a repetitive rhythm Blaine tried to duplicate with his tongue. I shoved at his shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t.” Blaine’s bewildered look made me want to laugh as much as it annoyed me. I sucked in a breath of air that didn’t taste like cigar.

He reached for my arms.

I dodged him. “Honestly, this isn’t really working for me. I think I’ll meet up with some friends. No need to give me a ride home.” I darted through the nearest doorway and stopped a random waiter. “Excuse me,” I asked. ”Which way to the bathroom?”

The waiter gestured. Inside, I rinsed my mouth out under a faucet coated in gold and used a small hand towel to blot my mouth. Sometimes I’d see rich, old guys with younger wives and wondered if money made someone more tolerable. It didn’t. I used my cell to call Lauren. “Hey, can you come get me? My date is, well...please.”

“Sure, hold on a sec.”

Then I heard Lauren’s slightly muffled words through the earpiece. “Hey, Pez got stranded. Can someone take me to get her? John, are you listening?”

Great.

After a pause, Lauren’s voice returned. “No problem.”

“Thanks. Head toward River Oaks, and I’ll text you the address.” After hanging up, I left the bathroom and flagged down another waiter.

“Excuse me, but what’s the address here?” My eyes were on my phone, fingers in the typing position.

No response.

I looked up.

The waiter had raised his bushy eyebrows. “This is a private party,” he explained. “You can’t send out the address to invite others.”

I scanned the room and spotted Skye. She gave me the address, and I sent the text. Seeing me with Skye made the waiter wince and rush a drink to me. I didn’t want one, but I took it anyway to keep the peace. Hello, lemon wedge.

Skye turned out to be pretty cool. We talked clothes for a while and she introduced me around. It made the hour’s wait before my phone beeped go quickly. My message read,
Your ride is here
. It was from Trey. I rolled my eyes. Great. The whole gang had come.

On my way out, I ran into Asher.

“Hey, you leaving early?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Some friends of mine are here.”

“Invite them in,” he urged.

“Oh, uh, thanks, but…” I shrugged. “Another time.”

Asher followed me through the front door. “Sure. What’s your digits?”

Trey’s silver Porsche Carrera GT, a two-seater convertible, sat parked in the center of the driveway.

“I could show you some more paintings some time,” Asher continued as we walked.

“Maybe.” From my peripheral gaze, I saw Trey get out of the driver’s side. “Um, okay.” I said my number, waved, and headed toward Trey. He opened the passenger door, and I slid down onto the dark leather seat. “Thanks for the lift.”

Trey closed my door and strode around to the driver’s side. “Not such a perfect date, huh?”

I clicked on the passenger seatbelt. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Nice car. I pressed the plush leather of the dashboard. “You wouldn’t really park this car in a field and run the radio for prom, would you?”

Trey shrugged and shifted gears, easing down the drive. “Yeah.”

I scooted around in my seat to get more comfortable. “You know what they say about guys and grey cars. Right?”

“No.”

“They can’t commit. They can’t even commit to a color.”

Trey made kind of a “Huh” noise and made quick work exiting the neighborhood.

“Where’s your date?” I asked as we hit the northbound on-ramp.

He shrugged and switched lanes. “I dropped Jessica off first. She wasn’t happy.”

“I wish my name was something normal like Jessica. I could’ve excused my parents for
Paisley
if I were born in the eighties. But I was born in the nineties. My name should’ve been something pretty like Megan or Heather or Rachel.”

“What’s your middle name?” Trey asked.

My eyes widened, and I moved my gaze to the side window. I shouldn’t have gotten on the forbidden subject. I ignored his question and probed further into his life. “Where’s your mom live?”

“Mostly in Manhattan.”

“New York? Exciting. Do you go there every other weekend? I’m at Dad’s this weekend—by the way. You can drop me there.”

“Maybe once a month. The flight’s too much of a hassle to go more often.”

“I’d love to see New York. The museums, the plays, the stores.” I messed with the radio and we talked about music until we reached Dad’s house.

Trey parked the car on the curb and got out. I opened my own door and met him on the sidewalk. “Want to come in?”

“Sure.” Trey followed me up the path, his gaze on my shoulder. I lifted a hand self-consciously to the broken strap.

Trey stopped and stiffened. His fists clenched and he looked pissed. “Did...?” He didn’t finish the sentence, but turned back and strode directly toward the car.

“No.” I followed him, my hand out. “Stop. It’s not what you’re thinking. Blaine’s watch caught it. No big deal.” I caught up to him at the driver’s side door. “His bad kissing pretty much ended our date. Not this strap.”

When my hand touched his arm, Trey turned back to me. His green eyes searched mine then his posture relaxed. “He should have known how you are about clothes. Tearing them would not be the way to win you over.”

“I know,” I agreed. “When they do that in the movies, I can’t think passion. I just think, ‘She’s going to have to repair that.’”

Trey relaxed against the car door. “Blaine’s a bad kisser, huh?”

“Yeah. Some guys you can train. Some are great already, and with some there’s no potential.” My arms waved through the air as I talked. “Blaine’s too sure of himself to be trained.”

Trey touched my arm. “What are you making me to drink?”

“We’ll see.” I went back up the path and dodged the prickly sago palm. “Watch out for that one,” I warned him. “It wins most of the time.” In the dark, the palm leaves were the same shade of green as his shirt, a nice backdrop for his green eyes.