Chapter 8 #2
I laugh it off, mostly because I saw it coming well before the execution. I glance at the pool, where the red-headed boy is floating and holding onto one of the lane markers. He grins and raises his eyebrows a few times, and my friend flips him off.
“Cami!” I swat her hand down and instead offer the kid my quiet applause. Then he blows me a kiss and dips under the water completely.
“Great, now another age gap is in love with you,” she teases.
I push her shoulder lightly and tell her to shush as the pool attendant comes over to take our empty glasses away and settle the bill.
I look a lot like my mom, and she never comes here, so I use one of her old IDs and sign her name when Cami and I want to enjoy a few margaritas without a lot of questions.
We’ve been doing it since the summer of our junior year, and while we got a few questioning looks the first two times from the cantina bartender, most of the servers working the pool are college guys who don’t give a shit if we’re breaking the law.
In fact, the one taking the bill from me now seems pretty interested in my friend, even going so far as to crane his neck as he walks away and stares at her.
“Looks like someone else is sexy and mysterious, too,” I say.
“Bitch, damn straight I am,” my friend says, fogging her sunglasses with her breath and cleaning them with the linen cover-up slung over her arm.
We indulge in forty-minute massages since there are open timeslots at the spa, and we need to sober up.
I’m sure Cami fell asleep during hers, but I spend the entire time replaying the first half of my day.
Caleb’s contemptuous glare has stuck with me, and I hate that I’m letting him dictate how I feel about everything else that happened.
It’s getting in the way of the fun part.
I lived a literal fantasy this morning, and I will never be able to wear those shorts again without picturing Rowan tugging them to the side and burying his face between my legs.
I’m probably the only person to ever leave a spa treatment room feeling more tense, and I catch my fingers shaking when I hand over my mom’s membership card at the counter.
I sign her name again on the invoice, using two of the dozens of massages that come with her membership.
I don’t think she’s ever booked a single visit.
Cami and I are halfway to my car in the parking lot when my phone buzzes in my tote bag. I fish it out, then hand my keys to my friend when I see it’s my mom on the line.
“This might take a minute.” I flash the screen toward my friend, and she nods, heading to my car and turning the amazing new air system on before moving to the passenger seat.
“Hi,” I answer, bracing myself for the myriad ways the impending lecture could go.
“I see you’ve been out spending my money today,” my mom says. She only pulls the “my money” phrase out when I’m not doing things the way she wants. If I were out loading up on women’s pant suits, she would be thrilled.
“It was just an afternoon at the pool with Cami. We both had time off today, and—”
“Time off would mean that the two of you had jobs to take time off from. And I don’t seem to recall there being jobs in either of your summer plans.”
I’m going to enjoy correcting her on this.
“Actually, I have a job. I’m going to be coaching the younger kids at the club. I start at the end of the week.” So, what if it’s something I’m dreading. It’s a job, with my own paycheck attached. And I like it a lot more now than I did five minutes ago, mostly because it lets me be smug.
“Well how nice for you. That pays, what, fifteen bucks an hour? Maybe? I’m sure you’ll be loaded by the time summer is done.”
She’s in a mood. I have a feeling she had to discipline someone for David. My mom handles a lot of the HR type stuff at the office, and she gets emotional when things like firing people or corrective action land in her lap. Maybe that’s why I’m getting the hyper-critical reaction right now.
“It’s a job. And I’m giving back to the club that helped me get a scholarship, so it’s also a nice thing to do.” That’s how they sold it to me when they wrangled me into the gig.
My mom sighs. That’s her signal that she feels guilty for laying into me. I hear her sigh a lot.
“I just don’t want you settling on yourself. You’ve got more potential. And sure, there’s a time in life when jobs like that, or retail or food service, for example, are okay.”
“And here comes the but,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead and staring at my car, which I’m sure is cold inside. I’m roasting on the pavement to spare my friend from hearing these lessons that are tailored specifically for me.
“No but, Saylor. However—”
“However is kind of like a but,” I point out. It’s a snarky thing to say, but I’ll take the sigh it earns.
“I made an appointment with Dr. Addleton at North State for Thursday. He’s the dean of the business school, and he’s a friend of David’s.”
My eyelids flutter, and I spin slowly where I stand.
“Great,” I groan, moving my hand to my neck this time. I push my hair up off my neck and wish for a breeze. It’s still as death outside, though. And it’s pushing one-fifteen.
“You’ll have a good spot in the program. And the connections you’ll make will set you up for success. Just hear him out. That’s all I’m asking.”
I blink a few times and bite the end of my tongue. She’s not asking. She’s telling. And I’m not going to be surprised if my mother hasn’t already persuaded the college to switch out my fall schedule from the exploratory liberal arts path I chose to nothing but accounting and finance.
“What time?” If I don’t agree, she’s simply going to find a way to kidnap me and drive me up there herself. I may as well do it on my own without her as my chaperone, aka puppet master.
“Eleven. And your coach said to stop by after and check out the new uniforms. I’m glad it works out.”
“Hmmm, yeah,” I passively agree. It’s as if I planned it. What a convenient turn of events.
My mom is interrupted by someone at her office door, and she muffles the phone half-heartedly telling whoever it is that she’ll be in the conference room in thirty seconds. Our call is done after some half-hearted “I love yous.”
I yank open the driver’s side door and flop into the cool interior, letting my forehead rest on the steering wheel as the vents blast air at my cheeks.
“And what did Allison Kelly want today?” Cami mutters from the passenger seat, she has now fully reclined.
“To dictate the rest of my life,” I mumble, rolling my head along the wheel until I meet my friend’s gaze.
She grimaces.
“Maybe you should have asked her about your little brother’s problem.”
I puff out a hard laugh, then move in my seat so I can pull the safety belt over my chest. I pat my friend’s thigh, my way of telling her to sit up and get her damn seatbelt on.
She does, and we’re on our way to her house seconds later.
I think I’ll stay there tonight. As amusing as it would be to run my dating quandaries by my mother, I don’t really want her opinions to bleed any deeper into my life than they already are.
And as it stands, I’m not certain Caleb won’t surprise me with a visit just to let her in.