Chapter Fourteen
I toss the key to the valet at the twenty-four hour garage. I
won't make the same mistake I made that time I parked in the one
that closed at midnight and had to take a train back to the city at
dawn to retrieve my car. Marshall is right behind me, Tina and
Chelsea each a couple cars back, all of us with full
cars.
We trek the three blocks
to Philippe, one of my favorite restaurants, and the ma?tre d'
leads our group past the bar, down the back stairs, and through the
kitchen into the wine cellar. There are only a few tables down here
and most people don't even know they exist. Another benefit of
having an uncle who knows everyone in hospitality.
The manager is there a
second later, shaking my hand and telling me to send his regards to
Uncle Kelly. If there was some girl here I was trying to impress, I
suspect this treatment would be very effective. But the only girl I
give a damn about is far from some
girl, and she's barely even aware of the special
treatment as she makes herself comfortable in the leather
upholstered bench and orders a ginger ale from our overly attentive
server.
In the end, I resent the
manager's greeting since it hordes my attention while our group
takes their seats, and I find myself unable to position myself next
to Rory. As it is I'm barely even sitting across from her, two
seats down.
Half of the group talks
about Prom, which I still have no date for, still hoping there's a
chance I can take Rory, which is ridiculous since it's two weeks
away and everyone's had arrangements made for months. But there's
room in our limo, so if by God's good grace Monday rolls around and
she still wants to give us another chance, maybe I can convince her
to come with me.
The event itself will be
cheesy, but we're all heading to Thea's family's rental in the
Hamptons afterwards and at least that should be fun. But I know the
chances are slim, and though I try not to get my hopes up—not sure
I can handle the disappointment of her confirmation that
yesterday's conversation was, as I suspected, a result of my
terrible behavior and her consequential jealousy—I can't help but
hope. And it's a dangerous thing—hope. The kind of thing that lets
me set myself up for the worst kind of hurt, one I never knew
existed a few months ago, but that now I'm painfully familiar
with.
It took everything I had
not to let myself get sucked into her words. Not to jump on the
chance to get her back. But I needed her to be sure.
Need her to be
sure.
Even if I couldn't stop
myself from taking one taste of her.
I almost didn't. Almost
made myself walk away. But then I realized that it's likely that
Monday will come and she'll reiterate that she can't handle a
relationship, that we're still just friends, and that it could be
my last chance to ever get a taste of her.
It was the best and worst
decision of my life. God, kissing her is like nothing
else. It's like consuming her, and begging her to consume me in
return. And she fucking did.
I sigh, shaking my head
free of these obsessive thoughts. For tonight at least, we're still
just friends, and I'm determined for us to have a good night,
considering the disaster of the last night we were out together
just forty-eight hours ago.
Those who aren't chatting
about Prom are talking about Live, the club we're off to later, or
texting on their phones. Chelsea texts excitedly, presumably to
some guy, maybe the one she's bringing to prom, or her college
roommate that's also planning on meeting us at Live, apparently in
town for the weekend. Fortunately, Chelsea relinquished the idea of
being my date to prom, deciding to take some guy from some other
school she knew from summer camp, so I'm off the hook there. Not
that I ever really considered taking her.
I never thought I'd be
going stag, but that's what the odds are leaning toward. But the
truth is, if Rory doesn't go, I'd rather just focus on chilling
with my boys than entertaining some girl who will only get the
wrong idea.
I feel ridiculous even
thinking about it when there are so many more concerning things to
think about before then. Real things. Like the motion hearing on
Rory's case next week. I have to be there. At least as a witness I
have every reasonable excuse and right to be there, but I don't
want to just be there as a witness. I want to be there for
her. I want to be
there with her.
It's strange waiting for Monday to learn my fate. Everything will
either change or stay the same, and I have no say in any of
it.
Tucker sucks on Carl's
neck right there at the table and I roll my eyes.
"Do you guys want the room
to yourselves? Should we find a table upstairs?" I ask
them.
"Would you mind?" Tucker
deadpans, his mouth barely letting go of the skin of Carl's throat
to respond.
Carl shrugs him off,
flushing with mild embarrassment as I fling an ice cube at him,
landing it right in the collar of his shirt in true quarterback
form.
"Fucker," he
grumbles.
"Cut it out, Tuck," Carl
murmurs halfheartedly, scooting away from him so she's not
practically on his fucking lap.
"Come on, Princess, don't
listen to Cap. He's just a bitter bastard these days."
I land another ice cube
down Tucker's collar.
"Fucking stop that!" he
growls in exasperation, but he's the one who needs to fucking stop
it.
I glare at him and he
exhales his capitulation. He doesn't mean to be a dick, and he
certainly didn't mean to call me out on being in a shit mood over
Rory, but he did, and he looks like he just realized it. His
expression is his apology, and I accept it wordlessly.
Fortunately, Carl changes
the subject. "So, Rory, did you ever talk to that girl? The one you
met on Facebook?"
This is news to me. I
didn't know Rory had met a classmate and it makes me
smile.
Rory nods. "She's nice. I
think I might meet her for coffee next weekend…"
But she trails off, and
her eyes get this lost look that I've come to recognize. I know
immediately what she's thinking about. It's hard for her to look
all the way to next weekend when first she has to deal with
that motherfucking bastard's hearing.
This is when things are
the hardest. When I want more than anything to take her hand, to
whisper some words of comfort, but I can't do a damn thing but sit
here in silence and try to telepathically communicate my
support.
And then, as if she just
can't help herself, Chelsea takes care to shift the conversation
back to herself, making sure the entire group knows just how
excited she is to finally meet her roommate for the first time in a
couple hours, how awesome
this girl supposedly is, and how much they have
in common. Though if the last is true, I can't really see how
"awesome" she could possibly be.
I feel guilty for the
thought. It's a nasty thing to think about a friend, but it's what
came to mind nonetheless.
I order family style for
everyone and no one asks for ID when most of my friends order
drinks. No one says anything when Dave lights a cigarette either.
Most of us have eaten here several times, but it's obviously Rory's
first time, and her enthusiasm for the food lifts my mood
immensely. She's so into the lobster satay that I quietly order her
an extra plate of it and she gives me that sweet smile in gratitude
when the server places it in front of her minutes later. I love
watching her eat. Is it crazy that I love watching her
eat?
"Cap, tell me about the
apartment? Is it all ready?" Chelsea asks. It's the third time
she's said something to get my personal attention when I'd been
focusing it on Rory, and I realize I'm being way too
obvious.
"Yeah. Thea did a sick
job," I reply.
"I can't wait to see it!"
she says excitedly.
I force a smile. I don't
remember inviting her to see it. I may have forgiven her, but I'm
realizing that once we graduate our family connection will likely
be all that's left of our friendship. And that's just fine with
me.
Rory downs her crème
brulee dessert and I try not to find it erotic as hell as she moans
in pleasure as she licks the creamy custard off the spoon. The girl
is completely unaware of what she's doing to me. Fucking
torture.
In lieu of having to find
non-existent parking in the meatpacking district, and pay for
parking twice, we all pile into cabs to head downtown with plans to
do the same to get back to our cars later.
Thanks once again to Uncle
Kelly, we skip the line and are walked right into the club,
straight to the two tables reserved on our behalf—again without
having to show ID.
Everyone seems to be
enjoying themselves, dancing, or talking—well, screaming
really—over the music. I keep an eye on Rory, but try not to hover.
But I do catch her eyes on me quite a bit, and boy is it
gratifying. True to her word, she doesn't drink, even though she
isn't driving. I sit at our table and sip my soda, watching
everyone have a good time. In truth, I'm having a good time
myself.
Chelsea sits by me,
texting mostly, until she squeals excitedly and jumps from her
seat. I eye her inquisitively and watch her fix her face back into
composure.
"My roommate's outside,"
she explains. "Can you come with me to get her in?"
"Just tell her to give my
name, they'll walk her right in," I remind Chelsea, who pouts
annoyingly.
"Come on, Cap. She's
nervous. She's not from New York, she's from some little
middle-of-nowhere town. And I don't want to go outside by myself."
She exaggerates her pout. "Please? Anyway I want you to meet her
and it's loud as hell in here."
I roll my eyes and
acquiesce. It's just easier, and it's not like I'm doing anything
here anyway other than watching Rory dance with the girls. I wait
to make eye contact with Dave, and he gives me a subtle nod. He'll
look out for her while I'm gone. It's our deal. After Miami, Dave
was pretty shaken by Rory's assault too. We had a little talk, and