Page 8 of Told You So
I flash Reilly a big, pleading smile, willing him not to kill my buzz, and he doesn’t. He smirks instead, and then I’m accosted with a scent of something potent and expensive.
“Oooh, what did you find?” Anna Marie purrs, her shoulder-length, brown hair curled and bouncing as she shimmies in place.
Bethany rolls her eyes and glances back at me. “As if you don’t already know. This is Nick.”
Anna’s cheeks lift with a simpering smile. “Hi, Nick.” She reaches out her hand. “I’m Anna Marie, your generous hostess this evening.”
Smiling, I shake her hand. She’s wearing a lot of makeup and looks good in her tight black dress. She looks older than she probably is, too, which is likely the point. “Nice to meet you.” I glance at the crowd. “And thanks for the invite.”
She winks at me and looks to Bethany. “By all means, carry on.”
Bethany smiles and rolls her eyes again as she continues toward the hallway. A few people stop us to talk to me, and Bethany patiently waits, but I brush them off, trying not to be a complete asshole, and continue into the den.
I stop in the doorway and notice the books that line the walls, and the couch situated under a window with three girls sitting on it, happily gossiping. Bethany walks toward a love seat against the far wall, black and white landscape photos hanging in clusters around it. The music is noticeably quieter in this room, so I understand why Bethany chose it.
“Romantic,” I tease and step down into the room. “Is this where you and Anna have sleepovers and gossip into the late hours of the night?”
Bethany plops down on the couch, careful not to slosh her half-full cup of beer. “Well, while we do giggly, girl things and have half-naked pillow fights until all hours of the night,” she says with a hint of a smile, “we don’t do it in here, where her father works. We do that in her bedroom.” She winks at me, and I like this frisky side of her. I wonder if the beer is starting to get to her or if this is just the Bethany I don’t know.
“Nowthere’sa spectacular image,” I say playfully. “You shouldn’t have told me that. I won’t get any sleep tonight.” I sit down beside her on the love seat, not too close, even though I wouldn’t mind it. Despite barely knowing each other, it feels like Fate has once again thrown us together, and it feels right this time. Like I’m getting a second chance.
“In case you couldn’t tell,” I say before taking a quick gulp of my beer, “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Her lips draw up in a cocky grin. “Really? Well, seeing how Anna ismyfriend and a freshman, I’m surprised to seeyouhere.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a sucker for free beer.” I waggle my eyebrows and take the final swig from my cup.
“Well, if that’s all it takes...” She hands me her cup with a smirk, but I shake my head.
“Nah, I’m good...now that you’re here.”
She nearly bursts out laughing. “Wow. That’s so cheesy. Of all the guys at this party, you are the last person I thought would try to smirk his way into my pants.”
She’s right, and I sober a little. She’s not just some chick I want to make out with. She’s different, fragile, even if that was who she was a long time ago. It’s how I know her.
Bethany Fairchild isn’t just some girl, she’sthegirl—the first girl I ever looked at differently and wanted to get to know. Even if it was because she was so sad at the time.
“I was just kidding,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine, but I shake my head.
“No, you’re right.” I straighten. “That was stupid.”
“And flattering,” she adds, coming to my rescue. She smiles again and it’s sort of hypnotizing, like I’ve never noticed it until tonight. Or maybe I’ve never seen her smile before.
“So,” I start, unable to continue without addressing the elephant in the room. “You don’t hate me anymore?”
She frowns and leans back into the couch cushion, putting distance between us that feels almost cold. “Hate you?”
“You know,” I say, wishing she wouldn’t make me actually say it. “For what happened. I know my mom told someone, she’s a psychologist, she has to do certain things when—”
“No, I don’t hate you,” she says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you that day. It was my fault.”
“Your fault? Because your parents traumatized you? Who sends their kid to school that freaked out? I don’t blame you for being upset. I don’t even have a brother and I would’ve been a mess too.”
Her eyes shimmer, and right when I’m about to apologize for bringing it up, her lips part. “And you were the only person to ask me what was wrong,” she says, like she’s dumbfounded.
That comes as a surprise, and her eyes fill with the sadness I’ve seen in them before.
Shit.
