Chapter 22 Donovan
I’ve been awake for a good half hour, but I keep my eyes shut tight, replaying the game over and over in my mind.
It’s been a couple of days now, and I still feel like beating the crap out of Berenson.
I somehow managed to keep it together on Wednesday night, and I didn’t act on any of this.
But now I’m lying here on my stomach, imagining all the ways I could’ve fucked him up for hitting on Carrie right in front of me.
It’s official. As of today, I’m twenty-two years old, and for the first time in my life, I’m well and truly… jealous.
When I saw them out there in the parking lot, I was this close to hitting the gas and running that asshole down.
Instead, I chose a different tactic, and looking back, I’m glad I did.
I’ve spent so long dying to kiss Carrie again—if anything, I guess I should be thanking Berenson for handing me the opportunity on a plate.
I needed to ask her whether she’d come with me to Dad’s tonight, which kind of sucked—if I hadn’t, I’d have tried my luck right there in the car.
Adam and Lewis showed up right as I was about to kiss her again—and she would’ve let me.
I saw it in her eyes, which is a good sign.
I can make this happen. I can feel it. It’s all about the timing, and my plan is to leave it until after dinner with my parents.
Which I still can’t believe she said yes to, by the way.
On our way back to hers after the game, I swallowed my pride and basically got to my knees. Throw in a pinch of subtle guilt-tripping, and she ended up yelling “Fine! I’ll come!” just as she slammed the car door shut.
I’m still nervous she’ll bail, though. Or worse, make me pay somehow. I’d be okay with making it up to her between the sheets, but knowing her…
I hear murmuring in the corridor, followed by my bedroom door creaking open, and footsteps drawing closer to the bed. I decide to play dead.
“I still think a bucket of water could work,” Lewis whispers.
“You kidding me? I still have so much life left to live.”
Adam is with him, then.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to die a virgin, dude,” Carter says.
Lane laughs quietly. “I’m a year older than you guys—I’m down for the bucket.”
“Two against one!”
“Shut the hell up, Lewis!” Carter hisses. “You’re gonna wake him up.”
“That’s kinda the point. I don’t wanna be spending all day scratching my balls, watching him sleep.”
My friends are gathered around my bed like a bunch of frat bros plotting their next hazing. I weigh my options. I guess I could carry on fake sleeping, but I need to get to class.
I kick off the comforter and roll onto my back.
“In case they ask in court—I did not give consent.”
The guys start singing as one.
“Happy birthday to you—”
It’s terrible.
“Where’s my princess cake?” I whine, plumping a pillow behind my head. “I specifically requested a princess cake.”
Lewis tosses a fistful of confetti in my face. “What a brat. We should’ve brought the other Wolinski. Put a smile on this fucker’s face.”
“Wait a minute…” I pluck a piece of pink confetti out of my mouth. “Is this toilet paper?”
Lewis jumps on the bed, looming over my face.
“Ta-daaa!”
He hands me a large brown paper envelope, and the glint in his eye is a total red flag.
I peel back the flap, and when my fingers brush against the fabric, my heart sinks.
I fucking knew it!
“You ever consider stand-up?” I ask.
I dip my hand into the envelope, fishing out three fancy bras. Black, pink, and multicolored.
I should’ve guessed. It was weird that Lewis never brought up how he caught me posing in Carrie’s underwear. What a jackass—he was biding his time.
“It’s from all of us.” Lane beams. “It was Lewis’s idea, though. You like?”
Carter nods. “I asked our actresses for pointers, but we kept the receipt, so if you want something a little—”
“Spicier?” Lane jumps in.
“Lane,” Lewis warns. “What did we say? No making fun!” He turns to me. “We’re here for you, dude. No judgment.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Wait, there’s more.”
Adam flings another gift into my lap, and I dive right in. Still, I make sure I unwrap it as neatly as possible and fold the paper to the side. Lewis is weird about his gift wrapping. I’m not trying to get on his bad side today. He’s already dangerous enough as is.
Books. Three chunky books—with super trashy covers.
“I chose this one because that’s one hell of a belly button,” Lewis points. “And those pecs and abs? Let’s just say they left me literally speechless. And look at that one! With his cute little nipples…”
The guys burst into laughter, and I can’t help but join in. I stack the books on my bedside table and make a mental note to show them to Carrie later.
“I’m so lucky to have you guys,” I drawl.
Adam grins at me. “There’s one more surprise, but you’ll have to wait until the party tonight. Don’t worry, though—we’re gonna take care of it all. We’ll go get the booze this afternoon.”
“Sounds good.” I nod. “We should be done around nine, and we’ll head straight over.”
“We?”
“Me and Carrie.”
Lane raises an eyebrow. “She’s having dinner with your parents? Intense, man. Seems like shit is getting real.”
“Weird that Becca never said anything to me.” Carter frowns. “My sexy little investigator usually keeps me in the loop. Looks like I finally get to flex on her, for once!”
“You might want to hold off on that—me and Carrie aren’t together. Yet,” I add.
“My advice is to wear the multicolored bra, bro. That way you’re sure she’ll like the color.” Lewis claps his hands. “Let’s give Don some alone time with his haul, guys.”
They’re so dumb. I can’t help but laugh, and as they trail out my room, I reach for my phone.
There’s a bunch of birthday messages, but not a single one from Carrie.
I slip out of bed and rub my face nervously. I’m super stressed for tonight. And I don’t know what’s freaking me out more—my sister, or Carrie.
I PLANNED ON PICKING HER up at six, but there’s been a plot twist. Once I get off the phone with Dad, I try calling Carrie again and again, but she’s not picking up, and I go straight to voicemail. She really needs to learn to answer her fucking phone. Too bad for her—surprise visit it is.
I hammer on her door, and I know she’s there—I can hear the music pounding on the other side.
I knock three more times before she opens up. She’s wrapped in a robe, tousled hair piled high on her head, a toothbrush sticking out her mouth, her eyebrows raised disapprovingly.
“Can I helpff you, Folinski?”
I step into her room, ignoring her.
“Change of plan,” I start. “We need to leave. Like, now.”
She freezes, gesturing at herself with the toothbrush, and I get what she’s saying—no, she doesn’t look ready to go. At all. She dashes into the bathroom and returns, wiping her mouth dry with her sleeve.
“It’s not even four! We said six, and I’m already this close to changing my mind. Don’t push me.” She flaps me away. “Get moving.”
“My mom and sister were supposed to land at lunchtime, but their flight got canceled,” I explain. “So, they jumped on a plane to Cleveland, instead. Dad’s gone to pick them up. That means we need to go get dinner ready for him.” I eye her. “So, ‘get moving,’ yourself.”
“Your dad’s driving? With his heart problems, and everything?”
“What? He’s okay to drive. And anyway, there’s no way he would’ve let me stop him. Trust me on that one.”
It’s sweet that she cares, though. It makes me want to wrap her in my arms.
“Go get dressed,” I continue. “We have a lasagna to make.”
She brings a hand to her forehead and starts coughing.
“I don’t feel so good,” she splutters. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it, you know…” She trembles. “You go on without me. Don’t let me slow you down…”
“No man gets left behind!” I bark, military style. “Come on, Carrie. Go get dressed. You said yes—it’s too late to back out now.”
She tries one last pathetic cough, and when that doesn’t work, she rolls her eyes at me.
“Asshole,” she whispers, stomping to the bathroom.
“I think you mean ‘Happy birthday, dear Asshole…’ ”
“Crappy birthday to you!” she sings.
She slams the door shut.
Little Miss Sunshine is back in the house, I see.
While Carrie gets ready, I check out what books she’s got, and when I get to the top shelf, I notice a photo placed face down. I flip the frame over. Carrie, with some woman. They look exactly alike—her mom, then. I smile. Mrs. Wolinski is hot!
Carrie has never mentioned her parents before, beyond their divorce, and it makes me think—I still have so much to find out about her and no clue where to start. Step one—survive tonight.
I put the photo back the way I found it and spend what feels like hours pacing around her room.
“Come on, Carrie!”
She cranks the music up in response, and I fall back on Becca’s bed to wait it out, scanning the walls for inspiration.
Carrie has so much stuff pinned up—old ads, black-and-white photos, snaps of her posing with women I’m guessing must be her favorite authors.
It all feels authentic, but at the same time, I’m still not getting a sense of who she really is deep down—like there are pieces of a jigsaw still missing.
The bathroom lock slides open, and I turn.
Holy shit.
“Nice dress,” I say simply.
And it’s true—the fabric clings to each and every curve.
“Becca left it behind. I’m too fat for this kind of thing, but the color’s perfect.”
Too fat? I don’t think so.
“It’s my last chance to wear it, anyway,” she continues. “As soon as she spots it at the party, she’ll probably snatch it right off me.”
“Not unless I beat her to it,” I mutter under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Do we need to swing by yours, first?”
I shake my head. “No—why?”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re just gonna wear a T-shirt?”
“My shirt’s in the car. Along with my tie.” I wink at her.
“Jesus!”
“You should wear your hair down.”
She snorts. “Now it’s definitely staying up.”