Page 40 of Past Tents

“Those two have some moves!” Kendra, the school guidance counselor, raised her glass of pisco sour toward where Nick and Clara were tearing it up on the dance floor at Genie’s.

“They sure do,” I agreed. John Witty raised his margarita toward us in a toast from where he stood near the bar with a group of teachers, Clay included. We’d all agreed last minute to convene at Genie’s to blow off steam before we each had to grade a pile of midterms or projects that would be coming in this week.

Word had circulated quietly throughout the day, with each of us hoping the information wouldn’t reach Pindich, who’d have no hesitation about showing up at a teachers-only outing. After thirty minutes, he still wasn’t here, which I took as a good sign.

A few other couples were out on the floor, but most of the teachers stood huddled in groups, snacking on bar food and sipping drinks. So intent on not staring at Clay, who looked mighty fine in a plaid flannel, I didn’t notice Witty until he sidled up close and nodded subtly at Clay. “Lid for every pot, and you two make a nice set.” Before I could deny his assertion or evenblush my way to agreeing, Witty was two-stepping away with a goofy grin on his face.

I hadn’t spoken to Clay since I arrived, partly because he was already ensconced in conversation and partly because Kendra had grabbed me when I walked in and hauled me to the opposite end of the bar to order drinks.

“Is the principal kind of a close talker?” Kendra asked, voice hushed, which meant I could barely hear her over the music.

I waved a hand around the room. “He stands close to the ladies. The guys, not so much. Just keep taking a step back and make sure you’re not near a wall,” I advised. As smarmy as Pindich was, there were still members of the faculty who found him charming. I was glad Kendra was noticing his true colors.

She nodded and moved off to where Witty was holding court, telling a dramatic story by the look of his gesturing, and I watched the group from afar. Well, really, I was watching Clay and still thinking about the kiss that wasn’t. More and more, wishing it was.

“Don’t mess with his head.” My brother’s gruff voice wasn’t the one I expected because I hadn’t told him we’d be here. Then again, it didn’t surprise me that he’d tag along with Clay—those two were still close, and Jefferson had no problem scooping up the cast-offs from his disinterested bachelor bestie. His last three girlfriends had been interested in Clay first.

“Mess with who?” I asked, taking a proffered beer from Jefferson and sipping the foam from the lip of the glass.

“Clay.” He tilted his head in the direction I’d just been looking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, instantly irritated at the insinuation that my older brother knew something I didn’t know—about Clay. Or about me. “I’m not messing with anyone. I’m chaperoning the senior retreat with Clay. He’s trying to get me comfortable with camping so I don’t freak out in the mountains. That’s it.”

Assessing me with a raised eyebrow, Jefferson took a large gulp of beer and I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Not what it looks like.”

I rolled my eyes. “Guess you’d better look again. And quit being so dramatic.” I snuck a glance in Clay’s direction for evidence of what Jefferson could possibly be seeing. All I witnessed was Clay looking perfectly dazzling as usual, with his hair slicked back in that just-showered, perfectly tousled way I saw in the mornings. Expression serious. Focus intent. Polite. As usual.

My stare remained on him slightly longer than strictly necessary to ascertain all these things. As usual.

Clay’s eyes briefly left the group of teachers and drifted to me. His lips twisted into a barely there smile, and his gaze hung on mine for just long enough for me to feel a twinge in my chest before he turned back toward the group.

My face heated, and when I looked back at Jefferson so as to prove the nothingness of our interaction, my brother nodded with a smug grin. “Yeah. It’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Which is what,exactly?” I fanned my face because, damn, had it suddenly gotten much hotter in here?

“A thing. You two are a thing.”

“We are most definitely not a thing.” No. Absolutely not. We were not a thing. But...maybe we could be.

I was saved from further consideration of the “thing” by the cool rush of air when the door to Genie’s swung open. Mari, the school band director, walked in with her friend Leo. They scanned the faces in the room before turning our way and coming over to chat. Mari and I had grown up together, so she already knew my brother.

“Jeff, this is Leo.” We exchanged pleasantries and Mari sent Leo to the bar for drinks.

“Place is packed tonight. What’d we miss?”

I shot Jefferson a warning look, conveying that he’d best not start blabbing his theories about athingthat was not a thing to Mari, who’d definitely have opinions on the subject. For once, my brother did as I requested and kept his mouth shut.

Before I could answer his question, Leo signaled Mari over to join him at the bar, leaving Jefferson to explain himself, and I intended to get answers. “What did you mean by not messing with his head? Is there something I should know?”

Jefferson took another sip of his beer, and stared at the ceiling, considering his words carefully. “No. I mean...no. Just stick to chaperoning is all.”

For all I knew, Clay had put Jefferson up to this, asking him to make sure I was clear that we were merely co-chaperones. Merely friends. “I plan to.”

We were interrupted again when the rest of the group came over to dance. Some of the teachers were two-stepping, and a few others partnered up. I swerved to get out of the way of Wittyand his wife, which is how I ended up slamming into Clay’s rock-hard chest. With large firm hands, he reached out and steadied me before I lost my balance.

“Care to dance?” he asked, rearranging my flailing limbs into proper position and moving us to the beat. Not quite two-stepping, not quite waltzing. It was somewhere in between and Clay’s rhythm suited the music perfectly.

Everywhere his hands touched me felt alive with pulses of heat, and I tried to enjoy the feeling and ignore it at the same time. That was near impossible.

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