“If you say so.” I push away from his body, oozing pleasure and sultry charm. “Let me just try this on.” I watch him walk away in the mirror, clearly satisfied by what he thinks was the end of that argument.
I watch myself step into the slinky dress in the mirror. My neck is flushed from the attention he paid to it just moments earlier, and I lean closer to inspect whether or not concealer is necessary. I bring my hand to my neck, my palm feeling for the warmth radiating there.
This is how it goes with Will and I. We fight, usually because he finds something I’ve done or said unacceptable, and just as I gain ground, he nullifies every doubt or worry with his touch. And every time he wraps me in his arms, murmurs my name in my ear, worships me with his hands and lips, I truly forgot how fucking awful I feltbecauseof him just seconds before. And when we’re done I’m exhausted, wrapped in his sheets, dwelling on how perfectly we fit together— in bed, in a room full of people, on the cover of Boston Common, at galas like the one we’re going to soon. And if my thoughts veer toward the ways in which we don’t fit, the post-intimacy euphoria usually chases it away.
I can’t chase it away right now.
You wouldn’t wear a dress like that, Ben had said to me.
Dread and embarrassment coalesce in my chest as I imagine Will in a Neiman Marcus, Gen by his side, his hand at the smallof her back like it is at mine when we stand together. I push the image out of my mind with a deep breath, but the feeling remains, so I think of Ben in some sort of secret, mental revenge and righteousness washes it away.
13
Olivia
Vida’s calls itself upscale dining, but the $14 nacho platter being slid in front of Andrew suggests otherwise. Pendant lights hang over the secluded, plush booths that mostly encase the dark mahogany tables, and floor to ceiling sheer drapes attempt to shield restaurant goers from onlookers. But make no mistake, the food is pathetic. Nevertheless, it’s the only place near campus that actually serves something other than watered down beer or sickly sweet wine, so it’s usually the spot we end up at.
“Yes,” Andy groans out, indecently, as he pulls a loaded nacho away from his plate. Gen looks on in disgust, sipping her vodka soda.
“We could do without the grotesque sound effects,” she reprimands him with her judgmental glare, and I laugh despite myself because, for once, I agree with her.
“Awe come on, Gen. Don’t take your sexual frustration out on poor ol’ Andy,” Scott drawls, already buzzed before the mains have been served. “If you’re in need of hearing a man groan, I’m always?—”
“Babe!” the busty blonde next to him squeals, slapping his arm. His eyes go wide at the rest of us, like the problem is thatshe clearly can’t take a joke. Grant just shoots him a menacing glare.
“Gen knows I’m kidding, right?”
She clears her throat glancing away, obviously uncomfortable.
“Not cool, man,” Will adds, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Neither can Grant, apparently, and we send each other knowing looks.
Scott disgusts me as much as he does the next person, but the last thing I want to do is hear Will stick up for Gen tonight.
“Anyway…” I quickly attempt to redirect the convo. “Did you guys hear about Rebecca Banks and her pantomime professor? First of all— pantomime? And second of all?—”
“Ohmygod!” Gen squeaks, slapping Will’s arm from where she sits across the table. “Do you remember Becky Banks? Honestly, I’m not totally shocked. She was alwayssucha teacher's pet.” Will’s laughter stokes my irritation.
“Jesus, I didn’t even realize she went here. Yeah, she really was. Fucking annoying, too.”
Gen gasps again as she recalls yet another thing they both, undoubtedly, remember and I flag down our server.
“Can I get another gin and tonic as soon as you get a second?” She gives me an earnest nod before rushing back to the bar. I turn my attention to Grant, and witness the only scowl I’ve ever seen him produce.
Having missed the first part of their conversation I am lost at what's going on. All I see is Gen grabbing Will’s hand playfully, her tone a little too flirty.
“Will, can we please go back there? Maybe in a few weeks?”
Will’s grinning at her, unaware that I’m listening.
“Sure, let’s make a day out of it.”
My stomach drops and I feel nauseated. I rub my fingers together, warming them, trying to convince myself this must besome childhood place that would make sense for them to go together, alone.
“How’s practice been since, well, you know?” I shift my attention to Grant, deciding his still very present scowl is not worth acknowledging at this moment, and instead opting to find a neutral subject to get us both out of our heads.
“Ha! He didn’t tell you about our scrimmage?” Grant's voice comes out dry but his eyes seem to be dancing with amusement.
“A scrimmage? Now I’m glad I didn’t ask,” I laugh, relieved by Grant’s company.
