Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series) (15 page)

“Oh, I was doused with a pitcher of this fruity pirate beverage, so once I got semi-presentable again, I learned a new game in the kitchen,” I explained, holding up my cup and souvenir quarter as evidence of both.

Tristan started laughing. “She totally wiped the floor with Mike, Pete, and the rest of those guys…Conner was passed out with his face on the table…it was beautiful!”

“Really?!” Jeff asked with what I think was mild disbelief.

“Yeah, man, really…we should get her in the next beer-pong tourney and bet heavy…she’d kick ass.” What an incredibly sweet thing to say! I love him.

Kate was eyeing me, but Jeff started laughing. “That’s fuckin’ awesome…way to go, Camie!”

“Aw, thanks.” My eyes landed on my arch nemesis and my smile at Jeff’s genuine compliment faded. “
Ugh.
I
hate
her.”

“Who?” Jeff asked.

“
Her,
” I said with menace and pointed to where she was standing.

Jeff looked around, but didn’t get it so again he asked, “
Who?
”

“Teresa. You know, of the ‘We Hate Teresa Club, of which I am the treasurer,’” Tristan said with a crooked grin.

Hold the freaking phone!

Now seriously, let me just re-play what he said to make sure I didn’t imagine it…

HOLY SCHNIKES!! Not my imagination!

I must’ve had the most utterly shocked expression on my face because the three of them were looking at me like I might’ve been offended, or ready to be committed. Then Tristan asked, “What? She’s a piece of low-grade ass and a simpering bitch on top of that. I thought you were our newest member…”

“
You
watch Buffy,” I accused the person with whom I’m now positive I’m meant to spend the rest of eternity. Seriously, that Buffy quote was like a sign from The Big Man upstairs Himself. Not to mention that Tristan used the word simpering and, I’m pretty sure the piece of low-grade ass comment is a quote from the movie
Pretty In Pink
. If so, all of that adds up to the trifecta of MFEO signs.

“How do you know that?” My mate for life asked.

“The ‘We Hate Teresa Club, of which you are the treasurer?’” I replied grandly.

“Oh. Huh. I guess I did say that, didn’t I? My mom still watches it,” he said in answer, as if he was trying to say that he didn’t know full well he’d been quoting the show.

I’m not buying it though. No way would someone be able to throw a word-for-word quote out there like that without being a fan. Of course, he replaced Cordelia’s name with Teresa’s, but still.

The night progressed and although Tristan didn’t pay much attention to me after that, he essentially stayed in the group by the fire, and unlike last night’s, I found that this kind of party is actually a lot of fun. I socialized and was pleased to discover that I’m getting better at it. I’m also becoming more comfortable with the “in” crowd now, too. Like I belonged with them, I laughed with everyone when Conner was dragged out of the house and thrown in the pool. He also had a Sharpie marker mustache. I filed the scene away in my memory banks as fair warning to never pass out at a shindig like this. Not that I plan on passing out, but you know, one can never be too careful and I don’t think a mustache—Sharpie or otherwise—would be all that flattering on me.

It was over before I knew it, though, and a guy named Ian had just finished with an impressive demonstration of talent by touching his tongue to his own elbow when my phone started to vibrate, telling me it was time to think about leaving. “Crap.”

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“I’ve gotta get home, it’s almost midnight and, no offense, you’ve been drinking so I need to either find a ride home or call my dad.” I don’t care if she’s been drinking, but Kate is a far cry from
Je
sus so I don’t think I should push my luck with this.

“Oh yeah. I’m sorry, Camie, I didn’t even think about that…” She apologized sincerely.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal, I just really don’t wanna call my dad, so… Hey! Who here is one hundred percent sober and can gimme a ride home?” I hollered to the group at large.

I sighed when everyone just stared at me as if to say, “Duh, none of us is one hundred percent sober.” I was about to pull my phone out to call my dad when, having waited until there were no other offers, Tristan raised his hand, indicating he fit the criteria. I’m thinking, yeah right, buddy. As much as I’d love nothing more than to entrap myself with you in your car, I’ve watched you down at least a half-gallon of Pirate Punch tonight. And yeah, I know Tristan said it’s called Jungle Juice, but ever since I was told there’s rum in it, I keep thinking about Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow so I’m just gonna call it Pirate Punch from here on out.

Anyhow, my reluctance to believe him must’ve been evident in my expression because he handed his cup to me and said, “Drink it…I’m stone-cold sober.”

Okay, now you need to understand this is the closest I’ve ever come to swapping spit with a guy, so I’m kind of excited… Wanting to get as much of Tristan’s DNA in my system as possible without looking like a lush, I took a bigger sip than I needed to and realized with a start that it was just plain old cherry Kool-Aid. I downed the rest of it just for funsies and asked, “This is all you’ve been drinking?”

“Yep. I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol all night. Wait. I take that back… If I remember correctly, I’m guilty of having a
few
drops, but still. Do you want a ride home or not?” He asked like he could care less if he drove me home, but when he’d reminded me about the whole finger sucking thing, his tone had been far from ambivalent and his eyes twinkled.

“Uh, yeah, thanks…that’d be great. I really don’t wanna have to call home,” I said, accepting his offer of being alone in an enclosed space with him for probably at least ten minutes, maybe even fifteen depending on how fast he drives.

“Alright then, let’s go. See you guys later,” Tristan said first to me and then to the rest of the group as he turned and removed those fortunate keys from his pocket once more.

I should probably take this time to mention that when I started to follow him, I turned around to say goodbye to everyone and tell Kate I’d talk to her later, and in doing so, my eyes caught sight of Teresa shooting daggers at me. I chose to ignore her along with the dark, malevolent laugh that was trying to free itself from my mind by escaping through my mouth. Instead, I finished with my goodbyes and turned back around to realize I’d lost Tristan.

I started looking around for my blessedly beautiful, sober ride home and was just about to throw my hands in the air in defeat when I heard a sharp whistle and my name being called. I peered into the shadows to my left and sure enough, Tristan was standing a ways away holding a gate open. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I made my way over to him, dodging people and their plastic cups of Pirate Punch as I did. I giggled to myself when Tristan tapped his watch impatiently and mouthed the words “Let’s go.”

I finally reached him and raised my eyebrows in mock exasperation. “Well? What are you waiting for? Time’s a wastin’, speedy, let’s go!”

He rolled his eyes and on a chuckle he asked, “What the hell were you doing?”

“I was saying goodbye to everyone!” I responded, slightly indignant, and followed him out the gate and down the lengthy, cobblestone path to the front of the house.

“You’re such a girl.”

Well noted, Captain Obvious. “Are you accusing me or just now noticing?”

He stopped to look at me and gave me cocky half-smile and an answer, both of which had my heart going pitter-patter. “Camie, I’m not blind.” Then he reached for my hand and said, “Come on, it’s almost midnight. I don’t wanna speed to get you home on time.”

Hand-in-hand again, I stopped trying to understand why his touch seems to bring my skin and senses alive and just accepted it, giving myself up to the simple enjoyment of the feeling. Thus, we ambled down the street and the long line of parked cars in companionable silence. Our progress slowed and then halted upon reaching a jet black, ‘68 Chevy Chevelle. I mentally smiled to myself in appreciation, thinking how much my dad and Jillian would
luuuv
his car. And being that I’m sorta familiar with muscle cars of its stature, I’d be willing to bet that it’s not only demonically fast, but that it’s ungodly loud, too. Then I noticed the license plate; it reads H2OZLIF.

“Water is life, Camie.” The words seemed to float in the warm breeze before they settled around me like an embrace, lovingly affirming what I now recognize to be a deep-seeded belief.

Sensing a shift in the previously affable atmosphere and becoming somewhat thoughtful, I stood back while Tristan unlocked the passenger door for me and agreed with him. “It’s true…especially when you consider that without it, we die.”

He looked at me pensively for a moment, his face barely illuminated by the sparse streetlights. Then he made a minute gesture to the open door for me to get in. I did, feeling as though that in this one simple, reflective moment of time, we communicated more to each other than we had in all the interactions we’ve had since Monday. And I can’t say for sure, but it honestly felt like we’d forged a connection, the level of which I never even knew existed.

Tristan closed my door and rather than immediately going around the other side to get in, he turned his back to me and the car, slid his hands deep inside his pockets and was still. Wholly captured by the sight, I watched him through the window next to me. The moments stretched out as he simply stared up at the clear night sky and the sliver of moon it held. When Tristan finally got in, he looked over at me with a wry, “go figure” tilt to his mouth. Then with a quiet
“Humph,”
he shook his head and started the engine, producing a rumble I not only appreciated, but also felt in my bones—one that comes from the unparalleled power of over 200 harnessed horses pawing the ground and chomping at the bit to be released onto the streets.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, not knowing why he’d gotten so “dreamy” out there or what that look was about, or, in fact, how to take any of it. I was second-guessing myself, as I oftentimes do, wondering if I’d just mistakenly read whatever might be growing between us to be more than what it is.

“No…not wrong. It’s just…no one’s ever understood it that way before.” He sounded almost gratified. Then, adjusting the rearview mirror and looking out the windshield, Tristan quietly asked, “So, where do we go from here?”

The optimist in me thought it sounded like he could’ve been asking about us in a figurative way and I felt like saying, “I don’t care where we go as long I’m with you.” My inner realist told him where I live instead.

Aside from that inexplicable feeling that something is happening between us, I don’t have anything else to report about Tristan driving me home because basically, nothing happened. We exchanged a
little
small talk, but honestly, that was pretty much it.

When he pulled up in front of my house, I thanked him and gave him a small, but sincere smile, to which he replied with a speaking glance and a short “Yep.” As far as goodbyes go, it clearly wasn’t much in the way of validating the possible feelings he might have, nor was it all that significant of an interaction. Although, it does seem like we’ve made some kind of progress. And I’m getting the feeling that if I’m expecting Tristan to be the kind of guy who makes grand gestures and eloquent speeches fraught with meaningful expression, I’ll be sorely disappointed. He did, however, wait for me to get all the way inside my house before driving away, proving he does have at least
some
real gentleman-like qualities, for which I’m grateful.

So, overall, I’d say tonight definitely qualifies as a step in the right direction…

8.

A Serious Waste Of Good Lip-gloss

I did a lot of mental reviewing of Saturday night as I spent most of Sunday trying to get in touch with Kate to compare notes and kept getting her voicemail. So, it was with great excitement that I was waiting on my front porch for her to pick me up for school Monday morning. Even though she wasn’t present for any of my cardiac arrest moments, I’m sure she’ll be able to make
something
out of what I tell her. Besides…even though I’ve been giving all the dirt to Jillian, I still really want to share all this with my new best friend.

“Camie! I’m
so
sorry I didn’t call you yesterday!! I got tossed in the pool after you left the party and my phone got destroyed…second time this year that’s happened too. I really should memorize some numbers just in case, huh?” Kate explained with an excited curiosity evident in both her face and voice.

“Please, don’t worry about it... Well? I know you’re dying, so, go ahead!” I gave her a big grin.

“Oh my God, Camie! I thought I was gonna die when you guys showed up together!! You have
gotta
tell me how that happened! And he drove you home! Did he kiss you?! And how the hell did you end up in his shirt?! Details, now!!” Kate demanded, practically hopping up and down in her seat as we drove to school.

“Alas, there was no smooching to be had…” I told her and proceeded to relay all that she’d missed.

On finishing my re-play for her, we arrived at school. Kate turned the car off and then turned to stare at my face with surprise. “Clarify something…he told you to actually keep
that
shirt?”

“Yeah. I told him I’d return it today and he said, ‘just keep it,’ exactly like that. Why?” I’m a little confused again. She seems to think my new lingerie is of major importance for some reason. And just so you know, it smells like him so I’m never going to wash it.

“Oh Camie... I think you have him hooked! Two things about what the shirt means…one, parading you all over the house and backyard the way he did while you were in
that
shirt all night was like marking his territory. I mean, Camie, did you actually look at the shirt?” She asked me seriously.

“Uh, yeah…I guess. It’s an old swim team shirt…it’s a little frayed here and there and has a few small holes in it. What’s the big deal?” I’m really not getting the extreme gravity about it. I mean, yes, water and therefore anything to do with it is obviously really important to him, but like he said…it’s just an old shirt.