Page 23 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

“I’m meeting Janet there in about twenty minutes.”

“Then let’s go.” I will go and pick out a new “meal,” and that will wash the taste of Kev from my system—and hopefully the sweet, sad longing in my heart that keeps cropping up.

Chapter Eight

The picnic at this cool old mansion is amazing. Food is free, set out on a lush green lawn. Everyone brings something to share by the looks of it. There’s no admission. No one’s making a mess. Kids are playing by one gazebo and knots of dancers and musicians are dotted across the place like some giant folk festival.

It was stupid to come alone, I think as I wave and smile awkwardly at total strangers. But, I’m hoping I’m not alone for long. After all, Marina said she’d be here. This is the perfect place to run into her, and I know she’ll stand out, like an angel minus the wings.

And there she is—by the little winding bit of river, all dressed in white, swaying to the music with her hands behind her back, wrapped in an admiring circle of leering college boys.

Be cool. Calm. They’re probably just friends.

Well, I’m a friend, too.

As I try to amble over casually, she puts an affectionate (it looks affectionate from here, anyway) hand on one burly bicep of some shaggy blonde trust fund baby, and my blood boils.

Calm the fuck down, Kev. Don’t start anything. You’re not exclusive. You’re a one-night stand. She might have been giving you the gentle brush-off by text Saturday morning. Or maybe she meant “See you Friday night.” This ain’t Friday. So, just go say hi, like a fucking gentleman.

Someone ought to tell my feet that. I’m in jeans and my new hiking boots (a present from my mom, who is convinced that Pine Ridge is like some remote mountain town in the Alps where only men in boots and mountain goats survive), and I like the way they stomp. The grass is flat wherever I go, proof of my anger.

You’re gonna get thrown out. You’re going to be that over-the-top jealous guy. You’ll scare her off.

I slow—finally.

But I’m still close enough to see shaggy blonde rich boy (I don’t know if he’s rich, he looks rich, and entitled, and like an overgrown spoiled brat) grab Marina’s waist and pull her close to dance. The others leave, winking and nudging each other.

Just a friendly dance.

Be cool. Be cool.

“Take me to the Pine Walk. Everyone talked about it during my junior year. Ever been?”

“Many times,” Marina laughs.

“I want a tour. Gonna give me one?” Rich Boy smiles with perfect white teeth.

Marina smiles back. Even though the look isn’t for me, it’s like pure sunshine—no, sunset. There’s always a hint of something dark and seductive in her lips, but it's coupled with a warm glow.

“Sure, I’d be happy to. If you go over—”

“Unless you just want to go back to my dorm room.”

Oh,hellno.

I wait with a tight chest to hear Marina’s answer.

“That’s just what I... I mean, ordinarily, I would love to.” Her smile slips, and she sounds genuinely sad. Conflicted. “Maybe some other time.”

Well, it’s not the resounding “get lost” I wanted to hear, but it’s okay. It’s tricky to reject someone. You never know howthey’re going to react. I begin to move faster, out of my hiding place behind a heart-shaped topiary.

“Fine. Then the woods’ll have to do.” Rejected Rich Boy pushes Marina in front of him.

“Maybe someone else should give you a tour. I know the gardener here, and he—”

“Does the gardener have an ass like yours?” Rich Boy’s hands land firmly on her bottom and push her along.

Nope! Not happening today, motherfucker!

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