Jeremiah traced his big fingers clumsily over the gold hoop earrings high up on Brett's left earlobe. He groaned. “About fifty.”
Boldly she grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled him closer. “Fifty-one,” she murmured in his ear. “You locked the door, right?”
“I think so,” he said back, kissing her neck. His hand slid down to the small of her back. He was practically panting.
“There's … um … something I wanted to tell you.” Brett was finding it incredibly hard to think of anything besides how delicious Jeremiah's lips felt on her skin. She felt like she was drunk, but she hadn't even taken a sip of beer.
“Okay.” Jeremiah kept nibbling on her shoulder. She had to push him away in order to come up with even one coherent thought.
And this was important.
“You know how I told you, a long time ago, about how I … uh … slept with that Swiss guy? And that was my first time?”
“How could I forget?” Jeremiah rested his head on her pillow and stared into her eyes. He played with the gold starfish pendant hanging around her neck. It looked so tiny compared to his huge hands.
“Well, that wasn't exactly true.” She took a big gulp.
“Oh.” Jeremiah stopped playing with the pendant and let it fall back against Brett's bare skin. “Well … um … it's okay if, you know, you've been with someone else too. It doesn't really matter what you did before me. I'm okay with it.” He kissed the tip of her nose tenderly.
“That's … that's not what I meant.” She could hear people running around in the hallways. What was going on out there? “Nothing really happened with that guy. Or with any other guy.”
“You mean …”
“When you told me you were a virgin, I should have told you the truth. That I am too.” She wrinkled her nose. “I'm sorry I wasn't honest about it.”
Jeremiah was quiet for a few seconds, and at first Brett thought maybe he was pissed. But then he touched her chin and smiled, his row of crooked bottom teeth looking extra cute. “I don't care. It's just about me and you, right?”
“Yes!” Brett breathed a huge sigh of relief, amazed at how nervous she'd been. Of course Jeremiah understood. He always did. A flood of emotions rushed through her, almost causing her eyes to tear up, but she blinked them back. She really … loved him, didn't she? Everything just seemed so right. So perfect.
“You're just so beautiful, you know?” he whispered, and ran his hand up and down Brett's arm, sending tingles all the way down to her toes. She felt like she did in the seconds right before making a field hockey shot, when adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening all her senses and making her super-aware of how the grass felt beneath her spikes, how blue the sky was, how her teammates were screaming from the sidelines. Her heart was practically in her mouth.
“I think …” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her heart. Silly, but she wanted him to feel how it was pounding. “I think I'm ready now. Like, really ready.”
At that exact moment, there was a loud, sharp knock on the door. “Open up!” a woman's voice cried. Brett's heart almost pounded right out of her chest. She and Jeremiah jumped apart. “Under the bed!” she hissed. “Or no—the closet!”
Jeremiah dove toward the closet, snagging his toe on Brett's throw rug and crashing loudly into Tinsley's desk chair, sending it sprawling across the hardwood floor. “Fuck!” he shouted, his loud Boston accent ringing through the room and probably out into the hallway.
The door flew open, and Brett wanted to die. This was the end, wasn't it? She was going to be expelled. But then someone said, “Jeremiah?” A girl Brett had never seen before stood in the doorway, looking startled.
Uh, hello? She was surprised? What about Brett, almost naked under her covers and on the verge of the most important moment in her life, only to be interrupted by this blond chick in uber-trendy glasses who seemed to know her boyfriend? What was going on?
“Elizabeth! Uh … what are you doing here?” Jeremiah picked up the chair and rubbed his left knee.
Elizabeth?
The girl glanced at Brett for a moment like she was sizing her up. Brett, her covers pulled up to her neck, stared back at her defiantly. This was her room, damn it, and she wasn't going to let some St. Lucius football groupie chase down Jeremiah and then examine her like she was some specimen in a petri dish. The girl turned back to Jeremiah, clearly flustered—or upset?—at seeing him half naked. “Brandon and I … were just, um … getting the party started again.”
For the first time, Brett noticed that Brandon Buchanan was standing next to the girl, his cheeks flushed red. At least he had the courtesy to be embarrassed about barging in on some people who were clearly enjoying their privacy.
“Hey, Brett.” Brandon adjusted the collar of his polo shirt. Brett glared back at him.
“Well, um … Brett and I were just on our way out there,” Jeremiah mumbled. Right, on their way to a party sans clothing?
He glanced at Brett and shrugged apologetically, and she felt like tearing out her hair at the unfairness of it all. “This is … uh …” (Don't you dare forget my name, Brett cursed) “Brett. Brett … this is … my friend Elizabeth.”
The two girls eyed each other uneasily. Maybe it was just because Jeremiah was so clearly flustered too, but everything seemed so totally suspicious, and Brett wasn't even the insanely jealous type, like Callie. Brett smiled weakly at the girl, who smiled weakly back at her. Why was she even here if she went to St. Lucius? Didn't she have homecoming parties to go to? And who the hell was this friend to look so uncomfortable after seeing Jeremiah in bed with his girlfriend? Or to barge into Brett's room like that?
And why was her hair two colors, like a skunk?
Brandon spoke up first. “We should probably get out of here. Let you guys get … uh … ready.” He placed a hand on Elizabeth's arm, almost protectively. How did he know her so well?
“Oh. Yeah,” Elizabeth mumbled in a spaced-out voice. “We'll see you out there.”
“Yeah. See ya.” Jeremiah picked up his shirt from the floor as the two of them disappeared out into the hallway.
Brett didn't know what to think. Or what to feel. She threw off her heavy comforter, feeling suddenly hot. The gorgeous dress she'd borrowed from Rifat was lying in a green puddle on the floor, and she just wasn't in the mood to put it on again. “That was weird,” she said to Jeremiah, watching his face for a reaction.
He finished buttoning up his shirt and stood next to her. “I'm sorry we were interrupted.” He touched her hair. “But there'll be other chances.” He grabbed his jeans from the floor.
Other chances? Sure, the mood was totally shattered, but shouldn't Jeremiah be dying to re-create it? It was still early—why didn't he want to, you know, try again? Brett certainly wasn't in the mood now, but still … it would have been nice if he tried. She could hear music start up down the hall.
Bitterly she pulled a pair of wide-legged dark denim jeans from her closet and stepped into them. As she searched through her closet for a shirt, she glanced over her shoulder at Jeremiah, who was staring at her. “What?” she asked, somewhat crankily. She tugged a sleeveless black turtleneck from its hanger.
Jeremiah shook his head. “Nothing. You just look really sexy, standing there in your bra.” Brah. His Boston accent brought a smile to Brett's lips for the first time since their interruption.
But still. As she pulled her shirt over her head, she couldn't help wondering what he wasn't saying.
25
A WAVERLY OWL IS SMART ENOUGH NOT TO KISS AND TELL.
As Easy sat in the bottom of Callie's closet, enjoying the familiar taste of her kiss—the combination of smoky cloves and vanilla-y lipstick and … was that pot? Callie always hated it when Easy smoked weed, a fairly common occurrence since he shared a room with Alan St. Girard, whose hippie parents grew the stuff. She'd tell him he smelled like a Dave Matthews concert and would refuse to kiss him, but Easy knew she was mostly pissed of
f by the way smoking made him turn in on himself and away from her. She was always asking him what he was thinking, like she couldn't stand that there was a place she didn't have access to. It drove him a little crazy.
So what the hell was he doing here, with his tongue in her mouth? Jenny, he thought. She was supposed to be coming back with beer. What if she came in right now? His stomach dropped, like he was on a roller coaster going down a huge hill and he suddenly realized his safety harness thingy wasn't latched.
Easy pulled away, his mind reeling. Something frilly tickled his ear.
In the darkness, Callie whispered, “What are you thinking?”
“I think we should get out of here,” Easy mumbled. He fumbled for the doorknob in the dark, finally finding it and pushing. Light flooded in. Callie was crouched next to him, looking as confused as he felt. “We should … probably get downstairs. People are going to wonder.”
“Yeah. Otherwise it'll look suspicious.” She stood up first, untangling her long, thin body. Her short pigtails bounced as she moved. “Why don't you go first? I've gotta find shoes, anyway.”
Easy took a long, deep breath before standing up. “Okay. See you later,” and closed the room door behind him. Each step he took down the stairs seemed to say asshole, asshole, asshole. Had he really just made out with Callie? The last few months of their relationship, even when they'd been apart, had been fairly excruciating. She was always nagging him until he felt like exploding. He tried to conjure up specific instances, but for some reason, he couldn't. He could only picture her laughing at dinner with his dad or defending his artwork. Or sliding down next to him in the dark closet.
What was wrong with him? Had he really made a mistake by breaking up with her, or was he just seeing Callie through rose-colored glasses now? Was he destined to be one of those assholes who only wanted the girls he couldn't have?
Fuck. And then there was Jenny. He needed to talk to Jenny, but he couldn't even make sense of what he was feeling, so how was he supposed to be able to say something about it? He didn't want to hurt her … and he didn't want to lose her, either.
Was that so wrong, to be in love with two girls at the same time? Was it even possible?
“Hey!” Jenny was coming out of one of the dorm rooms, a Waverly mug in each hand. Her face lit up when she saw him. “I'm sorry I took so long—there was some kind of false alarm and we were all hiding.”
Hiding. Right. Like in dark closets. “It's okay.” He took a mug from her hand. “Thanks.” He sipped it. “Mmm, warm beer.” Served him right—that's about all he deserved at the moment.
Jenny was so trusting—if he'd been upstairs, supposedly alone, for ten minutes, Callie would want to know what he'd been doing. But it didn't seem to cross Jenny's mind that he would have been doing anything suspicious, which made him feel like a total slimebag.
“Could you guys untangle yourselves for, like, three seconds and come play I Never?” Heath Ferro demanded, looking mentally unbalanced wearing a girl's tank top that said Free Winona in sparkles. The shirt was ten sizes too small for him, which he probably thought was perfect as it gave him a chance to show off the six-pack abs he was always bragging about.
“Only if you put on a shirt first, dude.” Easy shook his head. “I'm not sure how long I can look at that.”
“What happened to the one you were wearing, Heath?” Jenny asked innocently.
Heath smirked. “You mean this one's not making an impression on you?”
Jenny glanced from one to the other, an uncomprehending look on her face. Easy wanted to pound Heath to the floor but decided to take the high road instead. “Fine. We're coming.”
“I wish we could play a different game,” Jenny said, heading toward the common room. Easy found himself sliding his arm around her shoulders. It just seemed to go there. “Whatever happened to Trivial Pursuit?” she joked.
“Nerd,” Easy said softly, kissing the top of her head. He just wanted to make everything right again—with Jenny and with Callie. How the hell was he supposed to do that when he wanted to kiss them both?
The Twister game in the corner had turned up a notch, with Ryan Reynolds and Alan St. Girard involved, pretzeling up with the girls still playing. Benny Cunningham was on one of the couches next to Lon Baruzza, who was twirling one of her long ponytails around his wrist as she giggled and touched his knee.
“Glad you kids could join us.” Tinsley's smile curled into its inevitable smirk. Tinsley was in a white T-shirt and a brown miniskirt with suspenders—no one wore suspenders, ever, and so of course she looked unbearably cool. Or not. She looked kind of like Roller Girl from Boogie Nights—enough to drive the boys insane. She sat on the arm of a leather couch, her shoes balanced on the coffee table, looking mellower than she had at the Ritz-Bradley party. Good. Maybe that meant she'd be keeping her clothes on, although by the way Julian was practically hanging off her, it looked like he was hoping for an impromptu striptease.
“Everyone got a full mug?” Brandon Buchanan asked. He was sitting in a fat armchair with an unbelievably pretty girl with black-and-blond hair in an unzipped leather jacket and a blue T-shirt that said Free Tibet, a funny contrast to the Winona shirt. Brandon's hair was all messed up, and in a way that looked unintentional. The girl kept glancing nervously in the direction of Jeremiah and Brett. Brett sat on the floor with a pissy look on her face while Jeremiah sat behind her on the couch and played with her hair. A quiet girl in Easy's math class—Tara? Kara?—was sitting on the couch between Jeremiah and a small, bird-like blond girl wearing a black minidress that looked like something Tinsley would wear. Wasn't that the weird saxophone player? Where had all these chicks come from? Math class girl waved at Jenny.
“That's Kara,” Jenny whispered into Easy's ear. “She's really cool.”
Callie appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, looking a little flustered. She purposely didn't look in Easy and Jenny's direction as she slid onto the couch next to Benny.
“Where've you been?” Tinsley demanded, staring at Callie's face. Callie just shrugged.
“Regular rules this time,” Jenny spoke up, glancing at Heath, who liked to add rules like you had to make out with him no matter what. “If you've done it, you have to drink.”
“I'll start,” Heath Ferro exclaimed, taking a last good-luck chug from his mug. “I've never … made out in the horse stables.”
Jackass, Easy thought. Heath was clearly trying to embarrass Easy, and Callie, and Jenny. Why did he have to be such a prick? Thankfully, Easy wasn't the only one who found the stables romantic—along with himself and Callie and Jenny, Lon Baruzza and the skinny blond girl took swigs of their beer too. Neither Jenny nor Callie even glanced in Easy's direction.
“Surprised you haven't been there, Pony,” Benny Cunningham teased Heath. “You've been everywhere else.”
“I don't get off on the smell of horse shit, I guess,” Heath grumbled.
“I'll go,” Jenny said. Everyone's eyes turned to her, and Easy couldn't help thinking how completely adorable she looked with her hair pulled back like that. “I've never had someone throw a beer in my face. Tonight.”
Everyone seemed kind of puzzled until Heath lifted his mug and took a giant slurp and everyone burst out laughing. Easy would have liked to have been there for that.
“So that explains the outfit, at least.” Tinsley laughed. “Who did it?”
“You don't get to ask questions in this game, Carmichael. Stick to the rules.” Heath glowered into his beer.
“I'll go next,” the bird girl spoke up eagerly after the laughter subsided. “Um … I've never had sex before.”
Holy shit. Way to ignore the subtleties of the game and drop the bomb right away. That was one of those questions that people always kind of hinted at, not really wanting to ask.
The room seemed to fall silent as everyone stared at each other, daring someone to move first.
“Duh!” Heath said, raising his mug to his lips and taking another giant swig
. Lon Baruzza followed, with Benny smiling at him appreciatively as she took a sip too. Tinsley rocked back with a laugh. Guess Benny C. wasn't as prudish as she liked to pretend. Then, almost at the same moment, Jeremiah and leather jacket girl met each other's eyes across the room and raised their mugs quickly, as if hoping no one would notice. But both their faces were completely red, and Tinsley, along with everyone else, immediately assumed they had done it with each other. No one moved. Tinsley looked at Brett, who kept her head down as she fiddled with the strap of her shoe.
“Back up a minute.” Heath raised his hands and tried to make noise like a truck backing up. “Tinsley Carmichael, Miss I've Been Everywhere and Done Everything, are you trying to say that you are as pure and untouched as virgin snow?”
“Why is that so surprising, Heath? Just because I wouldn't sleep with you?” Tinsley shot back at him, her cheeks red.
Heath pretended to pull an arrow out of his heart.
“You've got to be kidding me.” Callie glanced from Brett to Tinsley, looking more than pissed, holding her palms up in “what the fuck” manner. “You guys are both virgins? What happened to being honest with your roommates?”
Tinsley rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, as if she couldn't believe what a big deal everyone was turning this into.
“I could think of half a dozen times you've implied that you were less than virginal,” Callie pointed out, focusing on Tinsley, all riled up now for some reason. She hated being lied to, even about something that wasn't really any of her business. “What about Mr. Dalton? Chiedo from South Africa?”
A bunch of other girls jumped in to point out all the other times Tinsley hadn't exactly told the truth. Easy couldn't really give a shit about Tinsley, though—and he wasn't exactly surprised. She'd lie about anything if it was to her benefit and he'd never believed a word out of her mouth. But he did watch Brett with interest. She'd always implied that she wasn't exactly innocent, but he'd thought her tough attitude was a maybe just a cover-up for some kind of complex.