Page 9 of Take 2
“Oh, come on.” She bustles out of my room. “We’re missing the red carpet.”
I follow her downstairs and slip into sparkly, gold heels. The Oscars are one of the few times I will suffer through pretty shoes. It’s equally as ridiculous as dressing up for Christmas or Thanksgiving at home or a family member’s house, but this is just as important of a holiday. “Anything good?” I ask as we reach Morgan and Stephen.
“Vera Farminga is the only one I noticed in a crazy gown,” Morgan says as she pulls a tray of her signature tiny tacos out of the oven.
“This is such a fun idea.” Cece pours herself a glass of champagne. “Do you do this every year?”
“On a different scale.” The different scale being that it’s always been with my parents, who are out of town this weekend, hence this delightful gathering. The lack of friends I would have wanted to do this with in high school was definitely a contributing factor to my early graduation.
“Well, I’m always down for this kind of party.” Morgan does look like she’s made for this. She ended up being the one to put together the apps and make everything perfect. “As much as the gross college bar scene is fun, this is my jam.”
“But you’re not likely to meet new people at fancy house parties.” Stephen grabs a flute and wiggles his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Is this guy really as hot as Morgan says?”
“This is a terrible idea,” I say. They’re going to act weird and try to set me up with this poor, unsuspecting guy. “Where’s my phone? I’m telling him I’m sick.”
“You will do no such thing!” Cece snags a cocktail shrimp, and the doorbell confirms that I don’t even have the opportunity.
“Okay, but what if I’m actually sick? Because I might be.” I lay a hand on my stomach. How did I let this happen? Why is he at my house right now?
“You have to let him in,” Stephen says. “I can’t be the only one to have not seen him. Damn my work schedule for making me miss last night!”
I become less stable on my heels as I walk to the front door. Hot Football Player Ryan standing on my front porch with a bottle of champagne in hand is the most ridiculous sight. He does not belong here, where my neighborhood friends would stop by to ask if I could come out to play.
“Hi,” I say. Okay, I made my voice work. Baby steps.
He looks me up and down, and my knees buckle. “You weren’t kidding. I really should have worn a bow tie.” Except to close the top two buttons on his white shirt would be criminal. His throat and the top of his chest should not be hidden. His open black blazer is plenty formal. No bow tie needed.
I gesture him in and swallow back whatever errant emotions are making my brain fuzzy. “I thought you didn’t know how to tie one?”
“That’s what YouTube is for.” He looks around. “I didn’t realize you live in the ’burbs.”
“Yeah, I picked Madison so I could live at home and save up money for grad school.”
“Oh, you’re alocal.”
I tilt my head in response to his lofty tone. “I suppose you’re from somewhere very exotic. Italy? Singapore?”
He grins at my jab. “Whitefish Bay.”
“Wow. White Folks Bay. Two whole hours away!”
“You must drive slow. It’s an hour and a half, smartass. So are Mr. and Mrs. Not-Swan home?”
“What?”
“That’s how I have you saved in my phone. ‘Bella Not-Swan.’”
I pop my lips. “So you don’t accidentally text Bella Swan about your English homework?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, then. Well, no. They’re not here.” I lead him to the kitchen. “Ryan, you met Cece …”
He nods to her. “Still scared of you.”
“Good.” She smiles wickedly.
“And this is Morgan and Stephen.”
