24
SAWYER
The Chanel dress is a little tight across my chest, but it still looks divine. It’s exactly the confidence booster I want for a night like tonight.
Exiting the elevator, I spot Jamie. Handsome as a Bond actor, he stands near a tall window, needing to be photographed. I snap his pic as I walk over.
“Here,” he says, taking my phone. He raises it and gets a selfie of us together. Passing the phone back, he smiles. “Text that to me as well.”
The request spreads warmth through me. I like being with him and enjoy it even more when he lets slip that he likes it, too.
“You’re gorgeous tonight,” he says with a wink. “If you’re after blending in so the other girls don’t get jealous, lost fucking cause, Sauce.”
My smile widens until I’m beaming. He’s the ultimate charmer. Always sounds sincere. Is never sappy. Perfect, really.
“The others will be dressed up, too, so that won’t be a problem. But thank you. And thank you for the dress. I love it so much.” I rise onto my toes and pull him down by the neck to give him a lingering kiss. I catch the faint scent of his cologne. It’s earthy and masculine, with a faint hint of spice. I wish we were going to his place, rather than out.
Once he helps me into my coat, we leave the dorm and walk along a path toward the parking lot. My breath emerges as fog as we pass in and out of the light from the lamp posts. The freezing temperature doesn’t bother me. I’m too amped up to feel it.
“Care to drive, Cranberry Sauce?”
“Your new car?”
“Why not?”
That returns the smile to my face, and I nod.
He unlocks the Porsche, opens the driver’s door and hands me the keys after I’m inside. As soon as I start the car, heat blasts. I pretend that’s what causes the rush of pleasure.
Even over a short distance, the car is fun to drive. It’s dark out, so despite clear roads, I don’t push past the speed limit. I’d love to drive his car on a clear day.
After we reach the Briar Club house, I offer him back his keys.
Jamie shakes his head. “Hold onto them. I may have a nip of whiskey.”
This is feeling more and more like a date, which makes me buoyantly happy. I tuck the keys into my clutch before exiting the car.
The Briar Club house is unabashedly peach-colored and frilly. It’s a Queen Anne with turrets and delicate, ornate ivory trim adorning every edge and corner, like pastry frosting.
Even the steeply pitched black roof can’t overcome its confectionary appearance. Obviously, like the club, the house is a piece of turn-of-the-century history, but for me, it’s too over the top.
“Jesus, the Victorians really should’ve stopped at corsets. Their shite designs are enough to give me cavities.”
Chuckling, I nod. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Once inside the Briar house, I notice an immediate shift in Jamie. It’s like he’s flipped a switch, turning on a light that radiates from inside him, drawing the whole club’s attention.
As he works the room, he tells fishing and boating stories, zeroing in on the Briar Club president who’s obsessed with sailing. After she’s promised to come to the rowing team’s regattas in spring and invites us for a sail once weather permits, Jamie seems satisfied.
Leaning close to me, he whispers, “Where’s the VP? She’s the one who takes cycling tours, right?”
“I’m not sure, but she’s at the buffet.”
I have no idea where Jamie got his advance knowledge of the club’s most powerful players, but it’s clearly a pro move. His promise to help me secure my acceptance obviously wasn’t idle bullshit to get me into bed.
Jamie catches my hand and holds it as he migrates over to the food. He’s so gorgeous people naturally turn toward him and include him in conversation. Within five minutes, he, the VP, and her date are discussing cross-country trips. Two years ago, Jamie drove his motorcycle halfway across the US, so the three of them exchange trip notes and recommendations.
Within two hours, he’s worked his way up and down the club’s leadership and senior roster.With one exception. Clare Duffy doesn’t approach us when we’re together. Instead, she finds me alone in the library while I’m searching for the club’s scrapbook collection.
