18. Crickets #3
Unlike the jackass lurking behind me, Wes is properly adorned in golf attire and looks all too relieved to be stepping into the air conditioning.
It takes him a second to process the image in front of him, and he hesitates. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I knock Patrick’s hand away from under my chin and shove my chair back so that his arm falls off the backrest, finally giving me an excuse to free myself from him as I stand up to greet Wes.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just an old classmate, and I’m…
how did you put it?” I ask, looking back down at Patrick with a perfect Pan Am smile. “‘The one who got away’?”
I can’t quite read Jase’s expression, but Patrick is obviously annoyed, enough that he feels he has to establish dominance by introducing himself to Wes.
He says his last name like it should mean something, and, granted, to most people, it does.
His family has the kind of money that would make even the people around here blush.
Wes, however, doesn’t even bat an eye, doing the same, albeit far more casually.
The name Holbrooke still perks up more than a few metaphorical ears, and Blythe’s friend, Candice, asks, “Are you David’s son?”
From what Maggie said last week, I suspect this to be the elusive investment mogul she was referring to.
Wes just gives an easy smile. “No, he’s my uncle. My father is his oldest brother.”
It sounds like a simple enough statement, but the atmosphere in the room shifts so substantially that you would think Wes just declared himself to be the Prince of England.
Hell, maybe he did, because several people at the table have to restate, “Your father is Phillip Holbrooke? As in the Wesley Phillip Holbrooke II?”
And now Wes looks a little bashful but masks it with a slight chuckle, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t believe he’s had ‘The’ in his title for many years, but yes.”
I literally have no idea who his father is, but I have a feeling by the way Patrick is glaring that Wes probably has the kind of F.U. money that eclipses even the Bouchard family, by a long shot.
And Patrick isn’t the only one glaring. Blythe’s eyes are on me with something akin to suspicion, and she only manages to wipe away the look when she addresses Wes. “And how exactly do you know our Ali?”
“We attend university together,” he confirms. “I shared several classes during our first semester, but we officially met through the tutoring program for Psychology.”
Blythe’s soft laugh is like an ice pick to my ears. “Oh, you were her tutor.”
It’s purely an assumption, but she says this slowly, like it’s an absolute fact, as if the idea of me not needing help is purely ridiculous.
I can see Jase’s hand grip the back of my chair hard enough that his knuckles turn white, and the wood gives a faint groan. He flashes me a dark look that speaks for itself.
Yes, Jase, I’m still too much of a chicken shit to stand up for myself, because all I’ll do is embarrass myself now and get reamed out for the act of defiance later. Blythe has made sure of that.
“No,” Wes says just as slowly back to my stepmom, as if she might need the time to process that single syllable.
Like everyone else unfamiliar with her passive aggressiveness, he’s not looking at Blythe like she’s being a bitch, but rather that she’s just confused.
“ She tutored me . Pardon my French, but Professor Aldrich is a bit of a hard ass, and very few people could keep up with his curriculum, Alex being one of them. She was gracious enough to help me.”
As per usual, Blythe can’t resist undercutting a compliment about me, waving her hand and insisting the class couldn’t have been that hard. Of course, she punctuates this with another one of her laughs to insist she’s just “teasing” me, and I flash her the same plastic smile I gave Patrick.
Much to my relief, Wes takes hold of my hand, smiling at me. “I didn’t mean to take up anyone’s time here. I was just hoping to whisk Alex away for an evening in the not-too-distant future, perhaps repay her for all the headaches I caused this last semester. Perhaps with dinner?”
Am I hallucinating? It takes everything in me not to start giggling like a schoolgirl and start doing a Snoopy dance, because I’m pretty sure he just asked me out, something I’ve literally been fantasizing about since I first saw him in the quad.
And thank God I already want to say yes, because with all the eyes on us, it would be impossible to turn him down.
Only, my voice doesn’t seem to be working and I’m just smiling like an idiot.
At least my head still functions, because I manage to nod.
Wes’s own smile grows, and he raises my hand to his mouth to kiss the top of it. Everyone—well, almost everyone—finds him adorable, giving us a chorus of “awww” before he politely excuses himself.
“Better jump on it and bag our little Birdie here while you still can, Rivers,” Patrick laughs, softly enough that only Jase and I can hear him as he stands up.
The creep looks me over, and it’s enough to make me want to peel off my skin to escape the taint.
“That is, unless you’re okay with Holbrooke’s sloppy seconds. ”
Of all things, Jase grins, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure no one else is listening.
“Funny you should mention bagging, because I have an offer you can’t refuse.
” He slings an arm over Patrick’s shoulder and whispers something I can’t hear, nodding toward a leggy brunette sitting out on the terrace’s patio.
She’s gorgeous and wholly unfamiliar…and likely why Jase was outside.
To say she doesn’t fit the country club’s usual clientele would be polite, because, unlike the stuffy aristocrats surrounding us, the woman’s in a slinky little red dress with messy, beach wave hair that makes her look like a politician’s favorite wet dream and future P.R. nightmare.
Jase directs Patrick out to the patio, and the two sit with the brunette. They begin chatting, and I do everything humanly possible to pretend my neck is made of rebar and incapable of turning as I take my seat again, my back facing them.
It doesn’t bother me.
It does not bother me.
And if I keep telling myself that enough, maybe I’ll actually believe it.
Because Jase is proving that he’s exactly the guy I feared he always was. As soon as the Untouchables threw him a bone, he ran back to them like a smarmy little lap dog, ready to do their bidding all over again.
Lauren must have texted my brother at some point to let him know the jackass was in the restaurant, because Derek returns, looking confused at the empty seat beside me. When she points out to the patio, the same expression befalls her face, and I finally can’t help myself.
With the doors cracked open, I can hear muted conversations coming from the tables out on the patio, but I steal a glance over my shoulder to find Jase, Patrick, and the brunette are gone.
I don’t want to think about where they went or what the hell they’re doing, but I’m not given much else to focus on amid the same vacuous conversations I’ve been subjected to for years.
I know my brother well enough to see that he’s bored, though he’s making a good show of it, and Lauren just looks uncomfortable with all the attention as people from other tables come over and greet the happy couple.
We are given a reprieve from the mindless chatter, but not in the way anyone was hoping.
I never knew the country club had a PA system, but there’s a sudden screeching sound from the feedback before a voice announces that the owner of a certain model car needs to go to the parking lot because there’s smoke pouring out of the hood.
Lauren’s face goes ashen, leaving no doubt who the vehicle belongs to.
She starts to stand up, but Derek’s assuring her that he’ll take care of it.
Luke must know something about cars, because he’s rising from his seat as well, asking if she’s had any problems with it.
From what she tells him, he seems confident about what it might be, but Luke puts a hand on my sister’s shoulder first. She pats it, assuring him she’ll be fine.
Only once getting permission, he takes off after my brother out of the restaurant, leaving the rest of the room buzzing.
Except Vanessa, who’s doing her best impression of a statue. I’m too busy using the distraction for a chance to text Maggie that I don’t understand my sister’s reaction until I look up across the table to see who’s just taken my brother’s seat.
Trent.
What the fuck?
He winks at Vanessa, and I don’t miss her eyes not-so-subtly shifting to the entrance of the restaurant.
It’s also impossible to miss his foot extending under the table to graze up the side of her leg since it also brushes mine.
While I jerk away from it like the shoe carries the bubonic plague, my sister casually crosses her legs, knocking his foot aside.
With good reason. Crowds of people flock into the restaurant, and any one of them could very well be her boyfriend returning.
She looks like she wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. I’m not even sure if she’s breathing.
Trent doesn’t seem to notice, or rather, he doesn’t care, grinning conspiratorially even after Blythe and the others turn their attention to him.
“A little birdie told me a certain Sharpe sister here has been doing some event planning, and I was hoping to get in on the action,” he says, looking across the table first at me and then Vanessa.
Yeah, the fact he just so happened to namedrop “Birdie” isn’t lost on me, but nobody else so much as bats an eye.
“Oh, yes. Our little Nessie here did a fantastic job with Lynn’s engagement party last week,” interjects one of Blythe’s friends. “She’ll also be organizing the literacy gala and Riverside Arts fundraisers.”
Come again?