Chapter 6 #3
“All you, Audrey,” he told me, squeezing my thighs in encouragement. Heart skipping and half clinging to him for dear life, I gritted my teeth and managed to hammer the ball back across the net…
Only to bonk Kenzie right on the head.
KENZIE TOOK THE HIT LIKE A CHAMP, BUT IT brought our game to a natural end.
We were losing the sun, the blue-gold glow dimming on the horizon, and when Jared asked what time pizza was happening, a collective rumble rolled through everyone’s stomachs.
We splish-splashed to shore, and I waved people toward the pool house.
It wasn’t as spacious as Richard and Emily Gilmore’s, but it was still big enough to store plenty of towels.
Kenzie laughed when her teeth started uncontrollably chattering.
“Whoops, sounds like someone’s cold,” Griff joked, and I felt something in me deflate when he wrapped his plush towel around her shoulders.
Dinner was delivered five minutes later, and I pretended nothing was weird about accepting the boxes with my hair twisted up in a towel.
“Gather around, children!” I waved while Mia helped me arrange the boxes on the dining room table—the smell of melted mozzarella, garlic, and sausage was heavenly.
I’d never understand the hype about pineapples on pizza, but I was so hungry that even the Hawaiian pies didn’t smell half bad.
I welcomed that warm and fuzzy food coma feeling after three slices and a cold, crisp beer—which meant when Griff brought up moving the party down to the basement, I didn’t blink. In fact, I wondered why I hadn’t suggested it myself.
The basement, the most recently renovated space in the house, was my parents’ favorite place to entertain.
It saw way more ladies’ nights than couples’ evenings, but again, my dad didn’t really live here.
A set of spiral stairs snaked down to a sprawling moody room whose walls and wainscoting were painted an elegant hunter green.
There were gold wall sconces and a trio of chandeliers.
Cozy jewel-toned velvet couches and armchairs were artfully arranged, channeling classic cocktail lounge vibes, with a wet bar to match.
Its marble bar top was a statement piece, the bright white slab the perfect contrast to the dark walls, and endless open shelving showed off the glassware my parents had collected over the years.
I could only dream of blowing my dad’s Prohibition-era art deco coupe glasses, but it meant a lot that he’d saved all my wonky tumbler experiments for when he wanted a simple pour of scotch.
“These are wonderful, Audrey,” he’d said when I gave him a pair for his last birthday.
I’d been playing with indentation; this particular glass had thick walls with a subtle depression that wrapped around the entire cup.
“The curve feels like the natural place to hold the glass.” He shook his head, impressed. “Very inventive.”
I knew he was proud of me—I mean, he’d once spent an entire afternoon watching me work at Emilia’s hot shop—but as a big-shot businessman, he didn’t see anything artistic as a career path.
Or a successful one, at least. Glassblowing was, like my mom said over and over, a hobby.
It made my stomach twist. How could he be so proud of me yet not truly support me?
“Audrey.” Ellie’s voice made me blink. I turned to see her flop down on one of the couches with a black cherry seltzer. “This place is amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll pass along the compliment.”
For only picking up interior design a few years ago, my mom was extremely talented.
“Mom, this could be your job,” I’d said after the basement was finished, but she only smiled and shook her head.
“I already have a job,” she told me, referring to her coordinator position at the bookstore. “This is for fun.”
“Okay, public service announcement!” I called when everyone had made it downstairs and finished oohing and aahing.
Little did they know, there was also a bedroom, full bathroom, and a cute private patio with a Jacuzzi (and the wine cellar, of course).
“The bar is totally off-limits, except for food.” Henry and the other Constellation cater-waiters, ever the professionals, had brought down all the treats from the kitchen and arranged them on the bar top.
“Any and all available beverages are the ones Griff brought.”
“Keeler! Keeler! Keeler!” a few guys chanted, and Griff gunned for laughs by pumping his fist. Not knowing what else to say, I told everyone to have fun.
The night soon shifted into montage mode.
I devoured half a chocolate cupcake before Griff offered me a fresh Budweiser and dragged me over to my dad’s top-of-the-line golf simulator, where he and his friends had congregated.
It was massive, the projection screen almost taking up the entire wall, and we stood on a sizable patch of Astroturf.
A set of clubs and a basket of balls were all ready for tee time, and the screen and surrounding netting prevented any dents in the wall.
“How do we turn this on?” Griff asked me.
“It’s different from the one Polasky has. ”
“Beats me.” I shrugged, then deepened my voice as I quoted my dad. “If you don’t learn to use it properly, then you can’t use it at all.” (He took everything about golf way too seriously.)
The guys gave me blank looks.
“I might’ve almost broken it the day my dad installed it,” I explained, then jokingly elbowed Griff out of the way so I could work some magic to get the simulator up and running. The guys cheered when the menu popped up on-screen.
“Practice or play?” I asked.
“Play!”
Once I got them settled on the St. Andrews course in Scotland, I killed my beer and bowed out. “Not so fast, Audrey,” Griff said with a teasing smile. “You don’t know how to use it?”
“Didn’t,” I corrected him with a wink. “I eventually read the manual.”
On rainy days, I occasionally practiced my drive.
“What a shame…” His eyes twinkled.
I was suddenly very aware of how fast my heart was beating.
“Dibs!” One of his friends grabbed my dad’s driver before Griff could (hopefully) suggest getting up close and personal to better my swing.
“Just don’t break any of Jeff Barbour’s records!” I warned, then saluted the guys with my almost-empty beer bottle. “I’m getting another one.”
“Out of Budweiser,” Henry reported when I circled back to the drinks. He was leaning against the bar, calmly sipping a cider and taking in the chaos. “But there’s plenty of Natty Ice.”
I pretended to gag. Beer couldn’t get much worse than Natty Ice.
“Forget that.” I slipped behind the bar to steal a Stiegl from the hidden fridge. Henry gave me a bemused smirk. “My house, my rules,” I justified, popping off the cap and taking a dramatic pull. “What have you been doing?”
“People-watching,” he said as I sidled up next to him.
I took a step back when our hips brushed.
“I think Jared and Bridget are going to hook up,” he said.
“They were singing karaoke with a bunch of people”—he gestured to the karaoke corner, where someone was currently butchering a brokenhearted country ballad—“but left and have been cuddled up on the far couch ever since.”
I looked and sure enough saw Jared and Ellie’s best friend whispering to each other.
Even in the dim light, Jared’s eyes were bright, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Bridget was a senior to his junior, and she’d stolen the show as Ophelia in our school’s production of Hamlet last month.
I whistled and took another sip of beer when she snuggled into Jared.
My pulse lurched when Henry’s arm crooked around my waist.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “People will think we’re going to hook up.”
He clinked his cider can against my beer bottle. “As they should.”
Because we’re dating! I remembered, rolling my eyes at myself. The alcohol had made things a little hazy—dreamy, almost. It felt like we were in a snow globe. Our entire world was right here, right now—this party.
“Give me a Hollywood kiss,” Henry murmured.
Give me a Hollywood kiss.
I could only assume that was Henry-speak for give me the best fake kiss ever not filmed.
It was a good line—dare I say, a swoony line—but I whispered, “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“There are people everywhere.”
Henry gave me a funny look. “Isn’t that the point?”
Yes—it was the point, the game, the set, and the match. After laying the groundwork last night, this party was the perfect place to hard launch our relationship. Neither of us needed to tell the other that.
“We haven’t ironed out the details,” I told him, my stomach somersaulting. “I’m not kissing you until we do.”
Henry responded by moving closer to me. Again, his hip brushed mine, but I didn’t step away this time. In fact, I may or may not have felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. “What are your terms?”
“Here?” I breathed. “You want to talk here?”
He gestured around the basement, as if to emphasize: Tonight is too big of an opportunity to waste.
“All right, fine,” I agreed, knowing he was right. “We should put an approximate timeline on this. How long is our relationship’s lifespan? When am I dumping you?”
“Excuse me, who says you get to dump me?” Henry whispered, incredulous. “I don’t deserve to be dumped twice in less than six months!”
I giggled. “I’m kidding.” I put a supportive hand on his arm. “It’ll be amicable.”
Not Ellie’s fictitious mutual.
“How about graduation?” Henry suggested right as Jared got up the guts to kiss Bridget (I silently thanked James for advising me to lock the bedroom doors). “It’s a natural, mostly drama-free parting.”
“I like it,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “But if our plan works out before then? What if Ellie and Chase blow up and she wants to fall into your arms?”
“Mmm.” Henry nodded. “Or if Griff finally sees how incredible you are…”
“How about,” I said, “we end things if it’s obviously clear Ellie or Griff is interested?” I paused. “I don’t want it to seem like we’re willing to cheat on each other.”
“Never.” His voice was solemn. This wasn’t a joke. “I would never do that to you.”
“And I would never do that to you,” I echoed, then took a breath. “Okay, timeline sorted. What’s next?”
“Schedule?” Henry offered. “How many times a week do we go out, or post on social media that we’re hanging out?”
“Three,” I basically blurted. “Three times a week.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”
I tried to dial back my enthusiasm with a shrug.
Back when my parents were first dating, they had gone out three times a week…
and I always thought that sounded so breathlessly romantic.
“It was certainly a breakneck pace,” my dad once said, my mom smiling as she added, “But we really just couldn’t wait to see each other. ”
“Timeline, schedule…” Henry ticked them off on his fingers. “Anything else?”
It was a dumb question that made me blush. We both knew we had to establish some physical guidelines. “We can hold hands…”
Henry agreed by taking my hand.
I rolled my eyes but smiled and squeezed his fingers.
He was, I had to admit, adorable.
“We can touch each other.” I winced as the words came out of my mouth, and awkwardly clarified, “You know, face, neck, arms, hips, lower back.” I swallowed, finding myself nervous but also a little excited in a twisted way. This felt risky—fun. “You can run your hands through my hair.”
One nod. “I appreciate your specificity.”
I groaned. “We need to be convincing, don’t we? Holding hands is only going to hit the point home so hard. People need to believe we’re more than infatuated third graders.”
“Yes, which means we should kiss at some point.”
“You’re just desperate to kiss me, aren’t you?” I teased, and could almost feel the heat of Henry’s blush. “We kiss when we need to,” I continued. “How does that sound?”
“Up for interpretation,” Henry said, but before we could narrow the PDA microscope lens, someone called our names.
“Henry! Audrey!” Mia shouted from across the room. “Either come sing some karaoke or get a room!”
Oh my god, I thought. Did we really look that cozy?
Henry gave me a look. “Just not a ridiculous eighties duet, all right?”
I hummed a familiar tune. You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar…
“Fuck me,” he mumbled.
“I plan to,” I joked, and when Henry sighed, I tugged him toward my mom’s idea of a piano bar.
A very sweaty friend of Griff’s had just finished “Old Time Rock and Roll” and Ellie had taken the mic when Henry and I joined the group.
There wasn’t much space, so my only seating option was Henry’s lap (which I guess was allowed).
People shouted song requests, and Ellie casually tossed her pink hair over one shoulder before sitting down at the baby grand piano on the stage.
“Audrey, your parents should charge a cover fee for this place,” Kenzie told me, and I didn’t disagree.
Are you going to Monica’s on Friday night?
was actually whispered in reverent tones by fortysomething women in town.
My favorite karaoke numbers were throwbacks, but with a karaoke machine that offered everything ever recorded, Ellie opted for something contemporary—very contemporary.
I shifted on Henry’s lap as the opening of “deja vu” began to play.
Had I known she was an Olivia Rodrigo fan?
“Henry…” I murmured when Ellie started singing.
Henry’s only response was a grunt; I kept awkwardly shifting on his lap and had seemingly hit a sensitive spot. “Please sit still,” he muttered.
I looped an arm around his neck, which may or may not have prompted Ellie’s eyes to snap over to us. She seemed to know the lyrics by heart, and I had to remind myself that she was an actress; she was committing to tonight’s performance. Heartbroken and haughty.
But when she hit the badass bridge, I felt absolutely eviscerated. She sounded furious. “Holy shit, Hank,” I breathed. “Our stupid plan might work.”