Page 11 of Easy Reunion
After all, everything I need is inside of me. Oh, and a good computer helps.
“Did anything good happen?” Angel’s question brings me back out of my reverie.
“Well, my favorite cheerleader offered to buy my shoes.” I pause delicately. “Off my feet.”
Angel starts to giggle.
“She offered to write me a check. Even offered me her shoes to get me back to my room. Like they were disposable flip-flops from the manicurist salon or some shit.” I take another sip of wine as Angel erupts into full-out laughter.
“Stop. Right now,” she drawls when she can catch her breath. “I’m clutching Lucy so she doesn’t make me pee on myself.”
I grin. “And thus, my mission of the day has been accomplished.”
“What? I know it wasn’t telling that piece of work to go fuck herself. You have too much class for that.”
Sadly, she’s right. I wish I’d had the strength to pull that offensive badge and slap it across her nasty face. But that’s not my style. At least not in person.
Now when I’m writing, there I get all the satisfaction I need. I’ll likely think of all the witty retorts I should have said while I’m transforming this scene for use at a later date. There, my lonely Pilar has evolved to become stronger than the girls who target her from her first day at the private school her well-meaning parents sent her to.Maybe by her senior year, she’ll even have a date, I muse. Very unlike myself. At least I have some new fodder for my books since nothing about the inspiration behind my prosaic purge has changed. Nothing ever will. Their cruelty is the kind that will continue down until something or someone stops them in their tracks.
I thought it could be me who took them down a peg tonight. I was wrong.
Fingering the clip-on badge for my hotel key card in my clutch, I start to answer Angel when a vaguely familiar deep voice startles me. “Is this seat taken?” My heart is sputtering in my chest as I turn to meet the bluest eyes I’ve seen in a long while. Certainly, I’ve never forgotten them in fifteen years.
Even as the wine churns in my stomach, I murmur, “I’ll text you later. Something came up.” Angel is still squawking in my ear as I push End on our call.
Angel was right when she figured he would be here. After all, unlike me, he had nothing to fear. He was captain of the swim team, the most handsome boy in school, and, ultimately, the final blow that drove me away.
Rierson Perrault.
I slip my phone away, and my fingers brush again against the badge. King Kong. The name seems to ricochet in my head. Does he recognize me? Judging by the smile flirting on his lips, I’d say no, he doesn’t. My eyes drift to his fingers resting on the bar next to me. No ring. I’m surprised a man with his kind of charm hasn’t been snapped up by some nubile young coed from some prestigious college they likely attended, and they don’t have three perfect children waiting for them at home.
Lowering my lashes to hide my eyes, I say, “Have a seat.” I cross one leg over another, the crystals of my shoes catching the overhead light before I swing them under the bar.
He slides onto the barstool next to me. “Am I taking someone’s spot?” At the negative shake of my head, a look of pervasive relief crosses his face. “I’m surprised to find you alone. It seems everyone here is with someone.”
From King Kong to a pickup line. I want to throw my pinot in his face and walk out. But a longing little voice I’ve suppressed for fifteen years whispers,This is your chance, Kelsey.There’s something you want more.I shrug. “My plans fell through.” Giving him a quick perusal, I comment, “I could say the same.”
Frustration crosses his face. “I was hoping to run into an old…friend. I’m supposed to be at a class reunion upstairs.”
I cluck my tongue in mock sympathy. “An old girlfriend?” Maybe if I bait him with enough questions, he’ll realize who I am.
“It wasn’t like that. We were close though. I was really hoping I’d have a chance to…” He looks like he wants to say more, but the bartender comes up with a cocktail napkin.
“What can I get you?”
“A manhattan.” Rierson reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
I smile and shake my head at the bartender. “I’ve got it.”
Rierson’s hand drops away from a lean hip. He opens his mouth, whether to protest or say thank you, but Isaac winks.
“You got it, Kee.” He saunters off to make the drink.
“Is that your name? Kee?” Rierson’s attention is locked on me fully at this point.
“Kee Long.” I pause to see if he makes the connection. But even as I hold out my hand for him to shake, I refuse to think about the fact I picked my pen name from a derivative of the hurtful name hurled at me day after day for four excruciating years. Until in the end, it was this beautiful man in front of me who did it in the most public, hurtful way imaginable.
Still, I find it difficult to swallow as the boy-turned-man I never quite forgot doesn’t take my hand to shake but instead lifts it to his lips. “Rierson Perrault. Call me Ry.”
