Page 17 of Grudge Puck
“He did! He said you had a dark side. Which, by the way, you apparentlydo.” Piper choked back laughter.
“But Beau's no stranger to confrontation. He would've said something more directly if he knew it was me.”
“Maybe he was just testing you to see if you were the guilty party? Who knows.” Piper rose from the couch and stretched. “Anyway. We should probably get ready to go, dude.”
“Yeah, alright.” I finished my drink and stood.
While Piper ran to her bedroom, I gave myself one last nervous stare in the bathroom mirror.
A moment later, Piper appeared in the mirror behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a reassuring squeeze.
“Don't worry. You look like a babe.”
“But I—”
She cut me off. “I know, I know.You don't care, because you and Beau hate each other,blah, blah, blah.I'm just letting you know: you look like a babe.”
I swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Now c'mon. We gotta get going or we're going to miss them.”
We rushed out of her building and hailed a cab out front. Destination: Club 1 OAK in Chelsea.
***
Doubts and second thoughts raced through my mind as we joined the end of the line to enter the club. My stomach sank deeper each time the doorman turned away a girl—girls who were prettier than me, girls who had better figures and tighter dresses.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Why did I agree to this? What am I trying to prove?
I didn't know. I wasn't a popular girl back when I went to school with Beau, and I definitely wasn't the kind of girl to be spotted at popular NYC clubs now.
“I dunno about this, Piper,” I mumbled nervously as we slowly advanced through the queue.
“No turning back now!” she chirped confidently.
After a bit of a wait, it was our turn to get judged. The bouncer appraised Piper and I with a side-long glare. “Welcome to 1 OAK, ladies.” He opened the door for us.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and a smug sense of self-satisfaction rushed over me—because Iwashot enough to get into this club, damn it!
Be careful, Camille,I warned myself.Don't enjoy that too much.
Because that feeling—that pride, that hubris—is what possessed Beau Bradford all those years ago, and infected all the girls he let into his circle.
We stepped in and a wall of sound hit me, like running face-first into a brick wall. The club was packed with bodies. The air was hot and humid, and the scent of booze and sweat hung in the air. Piper and I had to push our way into the crowd, slowly carving a path through the dance floor. Well-dressed men and women bumped and ground against one another to the loud beat of the music.
“This is nuts!” I shouted. “What are we doing here?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? We're going to hang out with your boyfriend and all his professional athlete buddies!”
“He's not my boyfriend!”
But I had to fight back a smile. If you spend enough time feverishly denying something, you might end up surprised by the doubts that begin to creep into your own mind:
What if I'm wrong? What if Piper's right? What if there was something between us all along?
Still, I knew the appeal of Beau was the impossible fantasy. The alpha-male sports hero who decides to settle down withonegirl, even though he has his pick of the women. And anyone silly enough to be lured in by the fantasy always ended up getting burned—just ask any of Beau's broken-hearted exes from high school.
