The Slam (10 page)

A disheartened smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, but he only answered with a shake of his head.

Chapter Ten

ADELAIDE

“
Ay, Dios mio!”
Miguel said disdainfully. “It’s not that she was a horrible saleswoman. Her pitch was good but it just did
not
have the effect on me as it should have.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Why?” He let out a melodramatic sigh. “Because she was wearing the shittiest, weirdest, purple eyeliner I’ve ever seen in my life. It looks like something a child would draw on my face—with her eyes shut.”

“Hmm,” I said, nodding absently.

As we breezed to the next counter filled with perfume samples and makeup testers, Miguel picked up a black eyeliner pencil and said, “What do you think of this color?”

“It’s nice.” I managed a weak smile. Miguel was so sweet and he was having so much fun that the last thing I wanted to do was put a damper on our date.

“It’s
so
Jared Leto, isn’t it?” he carried on merrily. “I mean, I wouldn’t wear eyeliner with daily wear or casual clothes, but with a nice suit… I think it’d add an edgy touch, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh.” I willed my smile to remain.

“You know…” Miguel stopped and sprayed a tiny bit of perfume from the tester. “There are only four men I’d fuck and one of them is Jared Leto.”

“Hmm,” I considered. “He’s a little androgynous for my taste.”

“It’s okay if he’s not your type.” Miguel spritzed his wrist with more perfume. “Not everyone has good taste.”

I chuckled, but my laughter quickly subsided when Miguel suggested I try on some makeup.

“C’mon,” he implored. “You
have
to try on some eyeliner.”

“No, no.” I shook my head so hard I feared it would snap off. “Makeup makes me want to claw my face off.”

“But you have such gorgeous eyes. And your eyebrows! They define your large cat eyes, your delicate face…” Tilting his head, he studied my face. “
Gurrrrl
, you’ve got Cara Delavigne’s eyebrows.”

“Is that bad?”

“No!” he said fiercely. “It’s good! BIG! BOLD! BUSHY perfection! Don’t ever touch them! I love your refusal to pluck them into the ridiculous slither many women feel obliged to have on their foreheads.”

“But kids used to say I looked like Sam the Eagle from the Muppets. And Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. One girl even called me Peter Gallagher, and this really mean kid called me Mark Ruffalo.”

“
Oh,
sthaappp it!”
he said, waving my words aside. “Like I said, not everyone has good taste. They’re glorious! Dark, strong, trendsetters in their own right!”

I beamed at him beatifically. No one had ever complimented my eyebrows before.

“So.” Miguel let out a resigned sigh. “You don’t wear makeup?”

I shook my head.

“
Ay, Dios mio, mi cara.
I’m terribly sorry,” Miguel said contritely. “And here we’ve been browsing the makeup aisles for the past hour! Where are my manners? I’ve been boring you to death with the banalities of my daily life, haven’t I?”

“Correct,” I said. “You have. But it’s not your fault. Shopping for makeup is not really my thing.”

“What about shopping for clothes?”

“Well,” I answered truthfully. “I find it awfully hard to shop for clothes. I dress for comfort before style. I can’t sacrifice comfort—I just
can’t
. And if I find something that fits and it’s comfortable, it’s like finding the Holy Grail.”

“So…” He gave my outfit a quick once-over. “T-shirts and jeans are your Holy Grail?”

“Pretty much.” I gave a helpless shrug. “I like soft, loose-fitting clothes.”

“Humph.” His gaze became thoughtful. “I know exactly what would look good on you.”

“You do?”

“Most certainly,” he said. “And it’ll be my treat for boring you to tears. You just promise to let me know if I’m boring you. I don’t ever want you to feel bored because being bored is
boring
. All right,
chica
?”

“All right.” I flashed him my brightest smile. “I promise.”

I wasn’t bored. But I was frazzled to bits.
Forever 21
was a stuffy, chaotic, and disorganized mess of clothes, platform sandals, fringe rompers, ruffles, bows, flower crowns, oversized sunglasses, and eighty metric tons of plastic jewelry.

Squeezing through a tight aisle, I began flicking through the racks of clothes. I held up a dress, examined it and deposited it back to the rack.

It would barely cover my bum, much like every piece of clothing in this store.

Finally, I came across a long, billowy, black dress. It was practical. I liked it. Plus, you can’t go wrong with black, right?

“Miguel,” I said, holding up the maxi dress. “What do you think of this one?”

“Honey,” he drawled. “This isn’t Boko Haram, okay. You don’t have to wear a burka.”

With a weary sigh, I put the burka away and went back to the daunting task of finding another dress.

Moments later, Miguel yelled, “Adelaide!”

I turned at his exclamation.

“BOOYAH!” Miguel said with a flourish. “Raise your emoji hallelujah hands in the air! I have found
the
dress!”

I stared at the dress, my head ringing with doubt. Before I could protest, Miguel was already pushing me toward the fitting room. “Go, go!’ he insisted. “It’s boho chic
and
it’s gonna look
perfy
on you! Try it on and let me see.”

When I came out of the dressing room, Miguel was wearing a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, my little Boho Princess, I
knew
it would look good on you,” he gushed. “You look like Kendall Jenner at Coachella.”

“Huh?” I stared at him blankly.

“Coachella,” he repeated. “You know, where all the girls dress like they came from the reject section of Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie with their fringe vests, fringe skirts, fringe moccasins, fringe bikinis, fringe hats, fringe shorts, fringe everything. It’s basically a fashion vomit of fringes! But not Kendall!” he said fiercely. “She keeps it simple and chic. Just like that dress you’re wearing. It’s light, airy, ethereal,” he remarked. “Low maintenance, yet stylish. Not frumpy. And best of all, it’s comfortable, am I right
or am I right
?”

I had to agree, Miguel was right.

Smiling, I spun around so I could see myself in the mirror. “It
is
really comfortable.”

“Fantastic!” he said. “You’re getting the dress and it’s on me!”

“Are you sure?” I said a little uncertainly.

“Of course,” he said without missing a beat.

We walked up to the register and as I slid the dress across the counter, Miguel handed his Visa over to the cashier. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “The dress is
gorg
and it looks
fab
on you, but everything here is made of crappy, cheap fabric so don’t be surprised if it falls apart after one wash.” He gave a careless shrug. “In the trendy world of fast fashion, styles aren’t made to last.”

“Thank you, Miguel,” I said as we strutted out the store like two happy friends having a wonderful shopping day.

“Always a
pleaj
,” he said.

Hmm. I noted that Miguel abbreviated a lot of his words. For instance,
pleasure
was condensed to
pleaj
. Perfect to
perfy
and so on. I ought to try that sometime.

“So.” Miguel gestured in the direction of Cold Stone Creamery. “How about some ice cream?”

“That sounds delightful!” I grinned broadly.

We sauntered over to Cold Stone, ordered our ice cream and sat around the mall, chatting and laughing and eating our frozen dairy treats.

“Tell me some
goss
,” I said, trying to speak in Miguel’s vernacular.

He chuckled. “Why don’t
you
tell me some goss?”

“What would you like to know?” I asked, spooning some ice cream.

“I’d like to know all about your cousins.”

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. “My cousins?” I stared at him, perplexed. “I don’t have any cousins.”

Now it was Miguel’s turn to look flummoxed. “Ender and Edric aren’t your cousins?”

“No,” I said. “Why would you think they’re my cousins?”

“Edric said so.”

“Is that so?” I fell into ponderous silence. “I have no idea why he would say that.”

“So if they’re not your cousins,” Miguel went on, “what are they?”

I spooned another mouthful of ice cream. “Just long time friends.”

“Here’s what I don’t get.” He licked the back of his spoon. “Why are you on a date with me when you could be on a date with one of
them
? They’re
so
fuckable.
”

“Date Ender or Edric?” I wrinkled my nose. “Well for one, Edric is dating Natasha, and I’ve always thought of him as my little brother. And Ender has always been my bosom buddy. Our relationship is platonic at best.”

Miguel smirked. “Sorry to burst your bubble, my love, but men are incapable of having platonic relationships with women.”

“Ender is different,” I said a tad defensively. “He’s not like other guys. And our relationship has always been entirely platonic.”

He raised a sardonic brow.

“Really,” I insisted.

“
Hunni
, you can pretend it’s platonic,” he said indifferently. “And for some people that is good enough.”

Humph. I frowned, spooning another huge glob of ice cream into my mouth.

I have no idea what Miguel is prattling on about.

“Adelaide.” His voice cut into my thoughts. “Can we be frank?”

“I would hope so.”

“Why did you agree to go out on a date with me when you knew I was gay?”

“Well…” I dipped my spoon into my cup. “I didn’t know you’re a homosexual. I thought perhaps you were metrosexual… just a guy bending gender roles. Besides, I don’t like to pass judgment until I have all the facts.”

“Oh, darling, I do!” He laughed heartily. “In fact, I do it all the time. Ivory tower, YO!”

“Miguel,” I said eventually. “Can you be frank with me?”

“You
know
it!”

“Why did you want to take me out on a date?”

“For selfish reasons,” he said. “I’m pledging Sigma Chi.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really understand the whole rushing and pledging process. Excuse the pun but fraternities, be it Chi Psi, Chi Phi, Phi Psi, or Psi Phi—they’re all Greek to me.”

“Pssh! It’s not that complicated,” he said lightly. “Rushing is like dating. Pledging is like a marriage.”

“Oh.” I flashed him a grateful smile. “That was easy.”

“What else would you like to know? You’re speaking to a resident frat expert right here.” Miguel puffed up his chest like a puffer fish. “And I’d be happy to break it down for you,
gurrl
.” 

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me more about Sigma Chi.”

“Ender is the president and he calls all the shots. They call him Captain. He’s technically in charge of the ship and all the brothers defer to him.”

“Wow,” I said. “Sounds impressive.”

“Not really.” Miguel smirked. “Basically, he was elected to be the professional babysitter for over two hundred jackasses and he’s legally liable for all the
jackassery
committed by said jackasses.”

“What about Edric?”

“He’s the Pledge Master.”

I spooned another mouthful of ice cream. “Was going out on a date with me part of the whole pledging process?”

“Not technically,” he said. “But when you’re pledging, you never say no to your Pledge Master.”

“I see.” I nodded thoughtfully. “So if fraternities are filled with jackasses, why do you want to be a part of one?”

“It’s a great resumé builder. I’m studying law and I want to run for office someday. A crazy percentage of senators, members of congress, and
Fortune
500
CEOs have belonged to fraternities. Not to mention, almost all the U.S. Supreme Court Justices were Greek.” He shrugged. “I know I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, being part of a fraternity is mostly about fitting in.”

I could certainly identify with that.

“And,” Miguel added. “Sigma Chi throws the best parties on campus. In fact, they’re throwing one tonight. You wanna go?” He checked his watch. “It’s in an hour.”