Reckless (18 page)

Elizabeth pretended to think about it, scratching the nape of her neck with her right hand. Her jacket sleeve slid up to reveal one of those braided cotton sailor’s bracelets, the kind you find in just about every souvenir store on Cape Cod, on the verge of disintegration. “I guess that’s all right.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “So what do you say we get this party started?”

Brandon stared at the zipper for a second, thinking, maybe she was talking about … taking off her clothes? What kind of crazy girl
was
she? He almost stopped breathing.

But then she caught him staring and poked his stomach with her index finger. “I didn’t mean
that,
you dirty boy.” Her eyes sparkled. “I meant, let’s go wake everyone up.” Immediately she stalked over to the closest dorm room, winked at Brandon, and gave it a sharp knock.

After a minute, a timid-looking blond girl opened the door and peeked out.

“Did you know that there’s a party going on out here?” Elizabeth demanded, her voice stern and full of authority. Brandon watched her profile from afar.

“Uh—uh, no!” the girl stuttered, even though it was clear she was wearing party clothes—a red pleat-front miniskirt (was that Callie’s Diane von Furstenberg?) and black tank top that said Free Winona in rhinestones (definitely not Callie’s). “I didn’t know about any party.”

Elizabeth placed both hands on her slim hips. “Well, why the hell not?” She burst into laughter, and Brandon couldn’t help joining in. She had so much
energy.
The girl in the Winona shirt stared at both of them before clutching a hand to her heart.

“Oh my God, you gave me a fucking
heart
attack.” She quickly dashed into her room and reappeared waggling her empty Waverly mug. “I ran out of beer, like, ten minutes ago, and I’ve been dying in here.”

Feeling completely relaxed in a way he’d never felt before, Brandon led the way down the hall, pounding on all the doors, scaring the kids hiding inside before dragging them out to the party again. He and Elizabeth raced up to the second floor. As his Adidas sneakers slammed against the marbles steps and he glanced over at the amazingly funky girl clomping up the stairs in her crunchy clogs beside him, he wondered where the hell she’d been his whole life.

Once Tinsley left the room, Brett and Jeremiah didn’t take long to make up for lost time. She’d been craving him all day, like the peanut butter
M&M
cookies dining services made every other Monday. It was kind of nice having him all to herself instead of sharing him with the adoring St. Lucius masses. And she couldn’t help thinking how totally sweet it was that he would rather sneak away and be with her than stick around and get drunk at the countless victory parties that had to be going on all over his campus. Practically in his honor, since he was the one who’d won the game.

But he was here. In Brett’s bed. Wearing his Gap boxers with the bulldogs on them and nothing else. Iron & Wine, Brett’s favorite mood music, was playing, and she’d lit a couple of cones of sandalwood incense.

“Does it hurt here?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. The two of them were lying face-to-face under her thick down comforter, Brett’s head propped up on Jeremiah’s left arm. Brett felt a little shy in her black strapless Le Mystere bra and matching low-rise briefs. But it wasn’t like Jeremiah hadn’t seen her body before, and besides, it was really like she was just wearing a bikini. But things felt different now—now that she thought she was ready for more.

Jeremiah tried not to grimace. “It hurts everywhere, babe.”

“Here?” She slowly slid her hand down his chest, over the
GET
GOOSED
paint.

“Actually, that makes it feel a little better.” Jeremiah cleared his throat, and his eyes had that dreamy expression they got when he was completely turned on, which Brett loved. It made her feel like the most attractive girl on the planet and so powerful. She hoped that didn’t mean she was destined to become a dominatrix one day.

But when Jeremiah leaned over and kissed her, all of Brett’s thoughts disappeared. She’d never felt so comfortable before, so relaxed. So ready. “How many times did you get tackled today?”

Jeremiah traced his big fingers clumsily over the gold hoop earrings high up on Brett’s left earlobe. He groaned. “About fifty.”

Boldly she grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled him closer. “Fifty-one,” she murmured in his ear. “You locked the door, right?”

“I think so,” he said back, kissing her neck. His hand slid down to the small of her back. He was practically panting.

“There’s … um … something I wanted to tell you.” Brett was finding it incredibly hard to think of anything besides how delicious Jeremiah’s lips felt on her skin. She felt like she was drunk, but she hadn’t even taken a sip of beer.

“Okay.” Jeremiah kept nibbling on her shoulder. She had to push him away in order to come up with even one coherent thought.

And this was important.

“You know how I told you, a long time ago, about how I … uh … slept with that Swiss guy? And that was my first time?”

“How could I forget?” Jeremiah rested his head on her pillow and stared into her eyes. He played with the gold starfish pendant hanging around her neck. It looked so tiny compared to his huge hands.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly true.” She took a big gulp.

“Oh.” Jeremiah stopped playing with the pendant and let it fall back against Brett’s bare skin. “Well … um … it’s okay if, you know, you’ve been with someone else too. It doesn’t really matter what you did before me. I’m okay with it.” He kissed the tip of her nose tenderly.

“That’s … that’s not what I meant.” She could hear people running around in the hallways. What was going on out there? “Nothing really happened with that guy. Or with any other guy.”

“You mean …”

“When you told me you were a virgin, I should have told you the truth. That I am too.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about it.”

Jeremiah was quiet for a few seconds, and at first Brett thought maybe he was pissed. But then he touched her chin and smiled, his row of crooked bottom teeth looking extra cute. “I don’t care. It’s just about me and you, right?”

“Yes!” Brett breathed a huge sigh of relief, amazed at how nervous she’d been. Of course Jeremiah understood. He always did. A flood of emotions rushed through her, almost causing her eyes to tear up, but she blinked them back. She really …
loved
him, didn’t she? Everything just seemed so right. So perfect.

“You’re just so beautiful, you know?” he whispered, and ran his hand up and down Brett’s arm, sending tingles all the way down to her toes. She felt like she did in the seconds right before making a field hockey shot, when adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening all her senses and making her super-aware of how the grass felt beneath her spikes, how blue the sky was, how her teammates were screaming from the sidelines. Her heart was practically in her mouth.

“I think …” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her heart. Silly, but she wanted him to feel how it was pounding. “I think I’m ready now. Like, really ready.”

At that exact moment, there was a loud, sharp knock on the door. “Open up!” a woman’s voice cried. Brett’s heart almost pounded right out of her chest. She and Jeremiah jumped apart. “Under the bed!” she hissed. “Or no—the closet!”

Jeremiah dove toward the closet, snagging his toe on Brett’s throw rug and crashing loudly into Tinsley’s desk chair, sending it sprawling across the hardwood floor. “Fuck!” he shouted, his loud Boston accent ringing through the room and probably out into the hallway.

The door flew open, and Brett wanted to die. This was the end, wasn’t it? She was going to be
expelled.
But then someone said, “Jeremiah?” A girl Brett had never seen before stood in the doorway, looking startled.

Uh, hello? She was surprised? What about Brett, almost naked under her covers and on the verge of the most important moment in her life, only to be interrupted by this blond chick in uber-trendy glasses who seemed to know
her
boyfriend? What was going on?

“Elizabeth! Uh … what are you doing here?” Jeremiah picked up the chair and rubbed his left knee.

Elizabeth?

The girl glanced at Brett for a moment like she was sizing her up. Brett, her covers pulled up to her neck, stared back at her defiantly. This was her room, damn it, and she wasn’t going to let some St. Lucius football groupie chase down Jeremiah and then examine her like she was some specimen in a petri dish. The girl turned back to Jeremiah, clearly flustered—or upset?—at seeing him half naked. “Brandon and I … were just, um … getting the party started again.”

For the first time, Brett noticed that Brandon Buchanan was standing next to the girl, his cheeks flushed red. At least he had the courtesy to be embarrassed about barging in on some people who were clearly enjoying their privacy.

“Hey, Brett.” Brandon adjusted the collar of his polo shirt. Brett glared back at him.

“Well, um … Brett and I were just on our way out there,” Jeremiah mumbled. Right, on their way to a party sans clothing?

He glanced at Brett and shrugged apologetically, and she felt like tearing out her hair at the unfairness of it all. “This is … uh …”
(Don’t you dare forget my name,
Brett cursed) “Brett. Brett … this is … my friend Elizabeth.”

The two girls eyed each other uneasily. Maybe it was just because Jeremiah was so clearly flustered too, but everything seemed so totally suspicious, and Brett wasn’t even the insanely jealous type, like Callie. Brett smiled weakly at the girl, who smiled weakly back at her. Why was she even
here
if she went to St. Lucius? Didn’t she have homecoming parties to go to? And who the hell was this
friend
to look so uncomfortable after seeing Jeremiah in bed with his girlfriend? Or to barge into Brett’s room like that?

And why was her hair two colors, like a skunk?

Brandon spoke up first. “We should probably get out of here. Let you guys get … uh … ready.” He placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm, almost protectively. How did
he
know her so well?

“Oh. Yeah,” Elizabeth mumbled in a spaced-out voice. “We’ll see you out there.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Jeremiah picked up his shirt from the floor as the two of them disappeared out into the hallway.

Brett didn’t know what to think. Or what to
feel.
She threw off her heavy comforter, feeling suddenly hot. The gorgeous dress she’d borrowed from Rifat was lying in a green puddle on the floor, and she just wasn’t in the mood to put it on again. “That was weird,” she said to Jeremiah, watching his face for a reaction.

He finished buttoning up his shirt and stood next to her. “I’m sorry we were interrupted.” He touched her hair. “But there’ll be other chances.” He grabbed his jeans from the floor.

Other chances? Sure, the mood was totally shattered, but shouldn’t Jeremiah be dying to re-create it? It was still early—why didn’t he want to, you know, try again? Brett certainly wasn’t in the mood now, but still … it would have been nice if he tried. She could hear music start up down the hall.

Bitterly she pulled a pair of wide-legged dark denim jeans from her closet and stepped into them. As she searched through her closet for a shirt, she glanced over her shoulder at Jeremiah, who was staring at her. “What?” she asked, somewhat crankily. She tugged a sleeveless black turtleneck from its hanger.

Jeremiah shook his head. “Nothing. You just look really sexy, standing there in your bra.”
Brah.
His Boston accent brought a smile to Brett’s lips for the first time since their interruption.

But still. As she pulled her shirt over her head, she couldn’t help wondering what he wasn’t saying.

As Easy sat in the bottom of Callie’s closet, enjoying the familiar taste of her kiss—the combination of smoky cloves and vanilla-y lipstick and … was that pot? Callie always hated it when Easy smoked weed, a fairly common occurrence since he shared a room with Alan St. Girard, whose hippie parents grew the stuff. She’d tell him he smelled like a Dave Matthews concert and would refuse to kiss him, but Easy knew she was mostly pissed off by the way smoking made him turn in on himself and away from her. She was always asking him what he was thinking, like she couldn’t stand that there was a place she didn’t have access to. It drove him a little crazy.

So what the hell was he doing here, with his tongue in her mouth?
Jenny,
he thought. She was supposed to be coming back with beer. What if she came in right now? His stomach dropped, like he was on a roller coaster going down a huge hill and he suddenly realized his safety harness thingy wasn’t latched.

Easy pulled away, his mind reeling. Something frilly tickled his ear.

In the darkness, Callie whispered, “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should get out of here,” Easy mumbled. He fumbled for the doorknob in the dark, finally finding it and pushing. Light flooded in. Callie was crouched next to him, looking as confused as he felt. “We should … probably get downstairs. People are going to wonder.”

“Yeah. Otherwise it’ll look suspicious.” She stood up first, untangling her long, thin body. Her short pigtails bounced as she moved. “Why don’t you go first? I’ve gotta find shoes, anyway.”

Easy took a long, deep breath before standing up. “Okay. See you later,” and closed the room door behind him. Each step he took down the stairs seemed to say
asshole, asshole, asshole.
Had he really just made out with Callie? The last few months of their relationship, even when they’d been apart, had been fairly excruciating. She was always nagging him until he felt like exploding. He tried to conjure up specific instances, but for some reason, he couldn’t. He could only picture her laughing at dinner with his dad or defending his artwork. Or sliding down next to him in the dark closet.