Chapter 47 Nellie
Nellie
I’m trapped in a conversation with Dustin’s parents, Sherry and John, next to the pool.
I can feel Dustin’s pouty stare from across the water. He’s talking to some of the other boys—so thankfully I can avoid him for the moment—but it’s as if Mrs. Reeves knows we had a fight; she’s being clingy, her bony fingers, covered in chunky gold rings, planted on my shoulder.
“I just think this is such a wonderful party, Nellie, don’t you!” She smiles at me like a crazy person, her lipsticked mouth like a clown’s.
“It’s fine,” I sigh, forcing myself to smile.
It’s sunset, that time of evening when light plays tricks on everything and it’s hard to see clearly.
But I know I saw the Swifts arrive a few minutes ago, the mom in some flowy white dress, the dad in a simple button-down and jeans, and Jane in some sort of plain tee and long skirt.
As they first rounded the corner from the front of the house, I could also see Luke, lanky and tall and brooding.
But now, as I scan the party, I don’t see him at all.
“Well, nice talking to ya,” I say to Mrs. Reeves, twisting my shoulder out of her grip and walking away.
“Oh, Nellie, do come find me later, dear!” She’s actually sweet, but no thanks, lady.
I also can’t find Mom or Dad. But squinting up toward the house, I can see people in the back room—the den—moving in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I just can’t make them out.
On my way up the hill, I swipe a beer from a bucket, pop the top off, Then pour it in a Solo cup. Not that Mom will be policing me tonight, but some of the parents might not like me drinking openly like this.
The dewy grass licks my almost-bare feet—I’m wearing sandals—because I’m on the move through the yard, taking the shortest path, walking as quickly as I can; that’s definitely Luke inside my house, talking to Mom and Dad.
Great.
As I get closer, I can hear Mom’s rough laugh escape through the open French doors.
“Hi!” I say, loudly announcing my presence, studying Luke’s face. He actually looks happy, thank God. Not disgusted.
“Well, hey there, darlin’,” Mom says, clearly already tipsy. “We were just taking Luke here on a tour of the house.” Her blue eyes are swimming, and she fans her arms out dramatically, like Vanna White.
Dad slings an arm around Luke, beams at me. “Your friend Luke here and I are already fast buds.” When he gives Luke a squeeze, I die a little inside.
How humiliating. Buds, really?
Jesus, Luke looks so hot in his ratty Echo and the Bunnymen T-shirt, which barely goes down to the top of his jeans.
“We’ve already made plans to go shooting together sometime.” Dad gives Luke another squeeze.
I look at Luke, raising my eyebrows to ask, Is that for real? And to my great relief, a gorgeous smile takes over his face, and he nods, says, “Sounds so rad to me. I’ve never been shooting before. I wanna go all cowboy.”
Dad laughs at this, a little too loudly, a nervous, eager-to-please laugh, but whatever. Luke seems to be enjoying himself.
Mom clears her throat. “Honey,” she says, addressing Dad, “we should go check on the rest of our guests—”
Damn, she’s good sometimes.
“Oh, sure!” Dad clumsily steps away from Luke—seems like he’s had his fair share to drink, too—claps me on the back, then pecks my forehead like I’m a small child.
Alone in the big room with Luke, I want to drag him upstairs, throw him down on my bed. Peel all his clothes off. Mine, too.
“What are ya drinkin’?” he asks, his eyes hungry.
“Ah, sorry, a beer. Want some?” I pass it to him.
He downs it. “I need like ten more of those.” I swear to God, his fucking perfect eyes are actually twinkling. I could faint.
“Well, I have a stash in the woods, just for us—”
He tilts his head. “Mmmm. Nice work!”
“Wanna go? I could also use a little…” I mimic the act of smoking a jay.
“I do, but I’m supposed to socialize a little. Mr. Swift’s orders.” He makes the sign of a salute, sarcasm dripping on his face. “So let’s go bullshit with everyone, and in an hour, I’ll meet you.”
I’m totally disappointed that I can’t have him all to myself right now, but I know I need to play it cool. I’m also excited, though, that he wants to sneak off with me, even if I have to wait.
He shakes his hair out of his face, drains the rest of my beer. “Sorry, I really did need that. So, where is this secret spot?” Again, his eyes do that twinkle thing, and my knees feel like they’re gonna buckle.
I twist a lock of hair around my finger and smile at him shyly, trying to look as sexy as possible.
It feels weird standing in my den with him instead of outdoors, in the dark at night, or in his Camaro.
Like I’m exposed. “Okay, so we have this big-ass garage.” I fling my hand in that direction. “On the side of the house.”
“I know it; your dad took me out there, showed me the Ping-Pong table, his four-wheeler—”
“My dad does like his toys—”
“I think he’s cool as shit, actually.”
Every vein in my body tingles. “Really? He’s kinda dopey—”
“But cool,” he insists.
Whew. Maybe this was a good idea of Mom’s after all.
“So you go to the garage, then walk about forty feet, and you’ll see this, like, clump of trees. That’s the spot.”
“Well, see you there, Nellie Andersen.” That same grin curls across his face, lighting me on fire.
“Deal.” I turn and head out the French doors before I fuck this up.