Part 19 (1/2)

”Oh, yeah, the blonde one.” Heather laughs as she flops down on my bed. ”It's hard to keep all your hot guys straight.”

”They're not my hot guys,” I scoff, privately loving the idea of having a hot guy harem. Yeah, but like I'd know what to do with them.

”Whatever,” Heather is saying, lazily kicking her sandaled feet in the air. ”Admit it-you'd rather hang out with them than with a boring old lesbian like me.”

I look at her sharply, gauging her expression to see if she's serious. She's not looking at me, instead playing with my phone, scrolling through something-probably my texts because she's nosy like that.

”Heather, I would love to hang out with you more often,” I announce sincerely. ”You're my best lesbian. But you're always hung over.”

I try moderately hard to keep the judgmental tone out of my voice, but Heather rolls her eyes at me. ”I'm your only lesbian,” she retorts, choosing to ignore that last comment.

But I see my chance to do a segue here. ”Speaking of being hung over...if you get drunk tonight, you're not spending the night here. Don't give me that look, Heather Jones-I told you I'm not covering for you again. If you get wasted, I'll drop you off on your porch with a sticky note on your forehead, reading 'Drunk girl-berate accordingly.'”

”Whatever, Mom.” She tries to sound flippant, but I can tell she's annoyed by the way her feet kick faster in the air. Put her on a bicycle, and she'd be flying.

”I'm serious.” I give her a stern look, hands on my hips. ”You really need to stop-”

”Oh, dear G.o.d,” Heather interrupts, sounding appalled. She's staring at the screen of my phone. ”Why is my brother sending you flirty little texts?”

I quickly reach for my phone, but she holds it away. I'm no match for her long ape arms. ”He's just joking,” I say quickly. d.a.m.n it, why didn't I erase those stupid texts?

”Uh, no, he's not. OMG, what a cornball. 'Every time I close my eyes, I see you face.' What the h.e.l.l?”

”I know!” I bite my lip super hard, then blurt out, ”He just started texting me after we b.u.mped into him at the mall that day. Mostly, it's been 'hi, how are you,' but every once in a while, he'll start saying random things like that. I don't know if he's drunk when he sends those texts, so I just ignore them. So weird.”

”Weird? It's gross, and practically incestuous.” Heather's feet kick even faster, and she suddenly cackles. ”I am so going to tease him about this. Oh, wait! I gotta text him back...” Her thumbs start moving over the screen in a series of lightning fast movements. ”'Robert, you dirty little freak. I want to pop you in the oven and bake you like a pot pie...'”

I don't know why, but she says this in a pa.s.sably good British accent. I'm laughing until she says, ”And send!”

I lunge for her, shouting, ”Nooo!” At the same time, Heather's little kicky feet send one of her sandals hurtling in my direction. It's okay, though-I catch it with my face.

”You gave me a black eye,” I moan, gently prodding my puffy left eye. It's really not that bad, but I like to make a production.

”I'm so sorry,” Heather says for the eleventh time, even though she's stifling a laugh. ”You really need to put some ice on that.”

I glance at the little carousel clock on my dresser. It's almost ten. ”No time,” I say, grabbing my little black purse. ”They'll be here soon. Let's wait outside-I don't want my mom ha.s.sling them.”

We clomp down the stairs like arthritic horses. On the way out the door, I call a goodbye to Mom, who's in the living room, falling asleep in front of the television. She mumbles something in return. I remember when she used to grill me mercilessly every time I left the house, but that was before she changed s.h.i.+fts at the hospital. Nowadays, she's too tired to even ask about school. Why was I worried she'd ha.s.sle Johnny? She'd barely notice if he stuck his tongue down my throat right in front of her.

Perfect timing. I'm locking the front door when a sleek black SUV pulls into the driveway. Mack is behind the wheel, and Dean is in the pa.s.senger seat. Johnny, Nick, Jason, and Ryan are all crammed in the back, which means- ”You're going on someone's lap, Juliet,” Johnny says, not bothering to hide his wicked grin. ”Wouldn't you rather it be mine? Familiar territory and all.”

”I hear lots of girls are familiar with your territory, Johnny,” Ryan snickers obnoxiously, turning around in his seat to leer at us.

”Hit him,” Johnny orders Nick, who immediately smacks Ryan in the back of his head.

”Ow!” he howls, still cackling.

I exchange looks with Heather. She grins and gives a little shrug before squeezing into the s.p.a.ce between Johnny and Nick-but not before giving Johnny a meaningful glare. He gives her his most charming repentant look in return. It makes me want to bite him. What a weird urge.

Sighing, I climb in and settle carefully into my ex-boyfriend's lap. Had I known about the seating arrangement, I would have never work such a short dress. It's awkward, familiar, and exciting all at once.

I try to perch myself delicately over Johnny's knees, but he grunts and wraps an arm around my waist, and settles me firmly against him. I try to hold myself absolutely still, resisting the urge to snuggle back against his warm hard chest.

”Relax, Teeny,” he whispers in my ear, squeezing my bare leg.

It takes forty-five minutes to get to Bayside. The guys up front start talking football, and Heather and Nick get into an animated discussion about their favorite movies. Together in relative privacy, Johnny and I are stiff and strangely silent. I can feel his racing heartbeat where my arm is pressed against his chest. My own heart is clubbing so hard against my ribs, I'm afraid it might actually break through and escape my body, cartoon style.

If we were still together, Johnny wouldn't hesitate to put his hands all over me, even in a car full of his friends. But now...I know he's restraining himself, trying to behave since I had asked him to give me s.p.a.ce. I know this because it's kind of hard not to notice how much he likes having me on his lap.

But then I get angry all over again, thinking about him with Laundry Room Girl. It p.i.s.ses me off, and turns me on at the same time. Why am I like that? The more I hate him, the more I want him. I don't understand it, and it makes me feel ashamed of myself. I've always been disgusted when girls I know took their cheating boyfriends back so quickly, then acted like they were more in love than ever. I always swore to myself I would never be that weak and gullible, but look at me now. I let Johnny control me, consume me-then I tell him to back off, and get mad when he listens. But it's hard to hold onto that anger when all I want to do right now is straddle his lap and kiss the h.e.l.l out of him.

I suddenly wish Heather could hear my thoughts, so she could give me a good slap across the face. I need it-and a cold shower. I need to stop inhaling the s.e.xy familiar scent of my ex-boyfriend's cologne-the one I bought for him, actually. I need to stop subtly wiggling against him because his breath becomes more and more ragged at each movement.

”Don't move,” he warns me in a harsh whisper.

I s.h.i.+ft against him in response, causing him to stifle a quiet groan. I can't contain the wicked smile that breaks onto my face.

”s.h.i.+t,” Johnny breathes in my ear. ”You're killing me, Teeny.”

”Good,” I murmur, not mentioning that I'm also torturing myself.

In response, he grips my hips tightly, holding me still. Ignoring him, I lean over and join Heather and Nick's conversation about the scariest movies they've seen.

It's a long, long ride.

Mark Wilten's house is a huge steel and gla.s.s nightmare on a private stretch of beach. Cars are parked in roped off sections in the front of the house and in the empty lot besides it. There are several men in dark windbreakers who seem to be directing incoming cars where to go. Mack nearly runs one down when the guy gets in front of his SUV.

Heather holds my hand tightly in hers as we follow the guys down a path along the side of the house. Nerves and excitement turn her fingers ice cold. I know it's not anxiety over the party-you could drop Heather off anywhere in the world, and she'd make friends. No, I think her nerves have to do with her possibly seeing Sloane again. I've never seen her like this before, and it's kind of freaking me out. I squeeze her hand so hard she yelps.

We follow the walkway to the beach directly behind the ugly house. It's cooler here, with a breeze coming in over the cras.h.i.+ng waves of the ocean. I wish I had thought to bring a jacket. There are three big bonfires blazing away on the beach, and groups of people are camped around them. Music and laughter drift over to us in the sea-scented air.

I expected some kind of spring break orgy, but this party seems much more mellow than the one at Johnny and Dean's house. Kids are just kind of hanging out, sitting on fold out chairs, or sprawled on blankets in the sand. There are coolers everywhere, and mostly everyone is holding a plastic red cup.

I quickly take note of what the other girls are wearing. Quite a few of them have on skimpy bikini tops and shorts skirts; some girls are dressed like me-none of them are wearing jeans, except for Heather. She doesn't seem to notice.

Our group heads straight for the coolers. Along the way, kids stare as us and whisper, ”Leclare's here!” in awed tones. The boys take it all in stride. They're used to a certain level of celebrity as the undefeated Roaring Tigers. Of course, the fact that they're all hot probably contributes to the legend.

We are definitely given the royal treatment from the boys manning the coolers. They immediately recognize Johnny and Dean. They ignore the girls waiting for their order to fanboy all over them.

”Dean, I hear you're headed to Ole Miss-is that true?” a husky boy with the most lush head of black hair I have ever seen says as he hands him a cup.

Dean gives a noncommittal shrug. ”I've narrowed it down to a couple of places,” he mutters vaguely.

Johnny hands Heather and I cups of something dark and foul-smelling. I automatically take a sip, then my mouth falls open, and the medicinal-tasting liquid spills neatly back into the cup. Heather chugs her down, and reaches for mine. Before I can warn her, she knocks it back like a hardened pro. Gross! I'm not going to say anything now.

I want to ask if they have Sprite, or something, but we are suddenly swarmed by a herd of giggling girls. Heather and I are actually knocked to the side, stumbling back and holding on to each other to keep our balance.