Chapter Forty-One Damion
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Loneliness hits harder in New York.”
—Remington
Damion
Why haven’t I heard from her yet?
All I could think about since the minute I’d landed was when I was going to see her.
Hell, all I’d thought about since her lips met mine was when I could kiss her again.
The three-hour flight from Nebraska to New York had been the longest of my life. I couldn’t text her, couldn’t call her, couldn’t make sure she was coming back to the city, where we could reenact what happened in the back of her pickup truck.
God, I am addicted to her.
Addicted and terrified.
Terrified that she’d woken up the next morning and thought it was all a mistake.
Terrified she’d want to pretend that kiss had never happened.
The thought made me want to run to her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I cannot believe you’re wearing that,” Beckett said as we both stood in front of the mirrors.
Neither of us wanted our mothers involved in our fittings—they had way too many opinions—so we met up at the Claude Karrgens boutique instead, cutting out the overbearing middlemen.
“I look great, are you kidding me,” I said, hating the idea of wearing a tux and parading around in front of everybody.
“You’re totally missing the theme, though,” he said.
He was dressed in a top hat and wearing a ridiculous ruffled shirt under his jacket—on theme—whereas I was wearing a modern-cut suit that happened to be white.
With a white pocket square, white tie, white shoes.
Julia and I had only spent five minutes discussing our dress for the ball after her cousin brought it up, but I loved her idea.
Instead of being literal about the novel itself, she was inspired by Wharton’s real life.
According to her, Edith Wharton spent her entire life in love with a man named Walter Berry, even though they never ended up together.
Wharton referred to him as her “blank canvas.”
So I was literally the canvas, and Julia was going to find something… berry-related.
“It just seems like since this is your family’s ball and you get the first dance,” Beckett said, adjusting his ruffles as he looked at himself in the mirror. “You might’ve gone a little more on-topic.”
“Like you?” I said with a snort. “A top hat and walking stick? You look like Mr. Peanut.”
“Mr. Peanut has a monocle, you cretin,” he said. “I look nothing like him.”
“You kinda do,” I heard, and when I turned around, Liam Lowell was walking in.
Fucking awesome.
“What the hell does your shirt say?” Beckett asked, looking at Liam in the full-length mirror.
THINGS RICK ASTLEY IS NEVER GONNA DO was printed on Liam’s hot-pink T-shirt, along with the lyrics to that song.
Yeah, he was fucking Rickrolling anyone who read it.
“It’s hilarious,” Liam said, looking down at himself. “Better than your boring-ass style.”
“Fuck off,” Beckett said, laughing.
“So what did you think of Springfield, Rutledge?” Liam asked as one of the employees brought out a suit for him.
So he knew. Did Julia tell him? Lauren?
“What?” Beckett asked, giving me a surprised look in the mirror. “You went to Nebraska?”
Dammit.
I really didn’t feel like discussing it with Beckett or Liam, but definitely not with them together. I wanted to guard it, to protect the sanctity of this new chapter with Julia, and opening it up for discussion with those two felt wildly unsecure.
Especially when I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet.
“Yeah,” I said, meeting Liam’s eyes in the wall of mirrors. He was watching me suspiciously, like he didn’t trust me—shocker—and something about it pissed me off more than usual.
Like, I got the whole protective-brother thing, but he also needed to chill the hell out.
I told Beck, “Julia went home for a birthday party, so—”
“So you went with her, huh?” Beckett said. “I think you’ve been lying to me. I think you’re into her.”
“Have you?” Liam asked as he took the hanger. “Have you been lying, Rutledge?”
None of your damn business was what I wanted to say, because it wasn’t.
It was no one’s business.
Was I into her? Had I been lying—to Beck, to everyone, to myself—when I said I wasn’t?
Yeah, maybe definitely.
Did I feel like admitting it at this moment?
Not fucking really.
And I was dying to know what Liam knew… about anything and everything.
“Maybe,” I said with a noncommittal shrug, untying the tie, ready to get this fitting over with.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Liam asked with a scowl, like he was pissed I wasn’t opening up to him and sharing my innermost thoughts and secrets. “Always fucking hedging, I swear to God.”
Liam’s posture instantly changed. He was staring at me, frozen, and I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to have feelings for his sister, or if he wanted me gone.
He just looked… on edge as he glared at me.
Why am I giving a shit about Liam’s approval?
I didn’t need anyone’s approval.
“I’m saying I want there to be more,” I confessed, watching Liam’s glare soften slightly to more of a disapproving stare.
I’ll take it, I guess.
“Holy shit, Rutledge likes a Gardenwood girl?” Beckett said with a laugh. “Surely this cannot be true.”
“It’s probably because she’s not a Gardenwood girl,” I said.
“You don’t think so?” Liam asked, his tone still full of interrogation as he slid into the jacket. “You don’t see Jules as a Gardenwood girl?”
“You know she isn’t—now who’s hedging?” I said, unwilling to kiss his ass anymore. “Julia might go to our school, but she’s a Springfield girl.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure if you mean that as an insult or a compliment.”
“Oh, it’s a compliment,” I said. “Trust me.”
“You actually liked it there?” Beckett asked in disbelief.
“I’m as shocked as you are.”
“I heard your presence caused a fight between Julia’s ex and his new girlfriend,” Liam said, tugging at his cuffs as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. “So I appreciate that.”
What else did you hear?
Had he heard about the kiss? Again, not that I gave a shit, but still.
“Why is that?” I asked, wondering if he wished his sister were back together with that douchebag.
He shrugged. “I just like to see assholes suffer.”
“Same,” I said, although as we eyed each other in the mirror, we both knew who he was really talking about.
Again. This fucking guy.
“I also heard Will got an MIP, along with ten other people who all turned out onto Platteview Road just as the sheriff arrived.”
“No shit?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Liam said, and his glare dimmed just a little. He wasn’t smiling—fuck, no—but he looked mildly amused as he said, “You’re lucky my sister’s an impulsive idiot when it comes to driving. Apparently everyone who went out the other way got clocked.”
I started laughing because, damn—what a night.
Every time I thought I had her figured out, Julia Lowell surprised me.
By the time I got home, I couldn’t handle another minute of not hearing from her.
So I sent a simple text.
Me: Meet me at my locker as soon as you get to school.