I watch as Davis pulls Cece close, pressing a hand into her lower back as he slowly sways against her. They look so beautiful together, him in a suit, her in her golden ballgown. A lump rises in my throat.
“Would you like to dance?” Jake asks.
I shake my head. “Soon, but I just want to… It’s so nice to see…”
“I get it,” he says, kissing my temple.
I watch Davis and Cece smiling shyly at one another, so radiant other people have started watching them too. One of them is Will, who looks like someone just force-fed him Drano.
Eat your fuckin’ heart out, dork, I think, as Davis turns Cece in a circle, her hem flashing like a sunbeam.
“JGH!” a man hollers, jolting me out of my reverie.
“Matty!” Jake bellows back. He leans quickly to my ear. “Sorry, babe, it’s game time.”
“Affirmative,” I say with one last look at Cece.
“You deserve all of this and more, baby girl,” I whisper to my best friend, before turning to meet Matty, my Miss World smile firmly back in place.
Seeing as I no longer want to bust heads, it would have been nice to melt into the edges of the party, but with Jake at my side, that can’t happen. Besides, in bed, he declared he was going with the ‘shock and awe’ strategy.
“It’ll set the stage for later,” he said with a grin. “Plus, it’s about time everyone met the real Ada Renaldo.”
I still have no idea what that means. Drinking heavily? Playing the flute for three hours? According to Jake, it means bragging about me like it’s his job.
He introduces me to Matty and his wife, a woman I vaguely remember being horrible to me in geography class.
“This is my girlfriend, Ada Renaldo,” Jake says proudly. “She used to play with the London Symphony Orchestra. Isn’t that incredible?”
Geography Woman does not seem to think that is incredible. She seems to want to piss in my sparkling wine. But Jake either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he turns to Matty and adds:
“Ada co-wrote a song with Ben Folds. ‘Tears in Hope.’ Ever heard it?”
Part of me wants to die on the spot, but Jake’s so buoyant, so breezy and confident, I manage to keep my cool. And my eye contact as Matty asks me about Ben Folds. Then his wife asks what it was like living in London, and suddenly I’m talking to people who once treated me like pond slime, like it’s no big deal.
And Jake’s just getting warmed up. For the next hour, he marches us around the ballroom, acting like I’m some visiting dignitary. People come up to him wanting to talk about the All Blacks, and somehow end up talking about my Christmas song, the magazines I’ve been in, the fact I play an instrument most associate with masturbation…
And I’m actingnormal.Cracking jokes and as close to comfortable as I ever could be at an event like this.
It’s Jake’s fault. He makes me feel like I’m someone worth bragging about. I don’t know if that makes me want to strangle him or climb on him. Both, probably. Because the same guy making me feel socially competent at this reunion is the one who tied my hands behind my back last night, sat me on his cock and said, ‘C’mon, slut, work for it.’
Except Icanbelieve that, because the second we have a moment alone, Jake presses his mouthto my ear and mutters filth at me.
“Fuck me, I love edging your sweet little cunt,” he whispers when his mate Tui wanders away for another beer. “You look so cute when you’re trying not to come.”
“Dude, we’re inpublic,” I hiss.
“For now.” His teeth catch my earlobe. “I’m gonna keep you on hold for hours, Renaldo. Fuck you slow. Pull out whenever you get close. Make you wait your turn like a good girl.”
“Oh my God…”
“Yeah, you’ll be saying that a lot. Fact, I think you’ll be crying by the time I let you finish.”
I try to poke him in the ribs, but he’s too fast for me. He takes my hand and leads me from group to group, talking a mile a minute. As Jake and I work the room, I keep an eye on the Thompson Farm crew. They’re still all here, clustered in their own corner. They’re drinking hard and heading to the bathrooms with the frequency of people carrying more than too much beer-piss. Maybe it’s my imagination, but they seem nervous. Although that could be the coke... Either way, I’ll take jitters over open hostility, but neither is particularly comforting.
Jake’s gaze flicks toward them as often as mine does, but he seems to get more relaxed as they get more skittish. I understand his ‘shock and awe’ tactic now. It’s a power move to be so unintimidated by Thrasher that we’re having fun right in his face.
Betty and Gavin are chatting with her friends, the piercings and tattoos marking them as obvious ex-scene kids. Cece and Davis are still dancing. Their hotness and increasingly suggestive moves are drawing a lot of eyes, but Will Sharpe’s missing. Hopefully, he’s off puking behind the sports sheds with Cece’s brother, who’s also mercifully MIA. Colin and his wife, Bec, come by for a chat. Colin’s so shy it’s endearing, and his wife, dark-haired and fiery-eyed,doeskind of remind me of me.
