“I thought it was thebathroom!”
“Unless you plan to take a piss in my My Little Pony Show Stable,” I screamed at him, “get thefuckout!”
Yes, in my panic, I’d dropped an F-bomb. It was the first time I’d ever done it, too. Because my brother and his friends used the F-word all the time I’d taken a stand against it, but not even my brother had ever made me that mad—or embarrassed. And yes, I had a My Little Pony Show Stable. It was faded and pink and sat at Brody’s feet; before he’d died, my dad had often scavenged such treasures for me on his daily route as a trashcollector.
It never had a pony to go with it, but I liked itanyway.
Brody’s hand dropped from his face. He stood there in his faded Wheezer T-shirt, his ripped jeans and dirty sneakers, and grinnedatme.
I would later find out that despite how he dressed, Brody came from a wealthy family. His father was self-made, the CEO of some plastics empire who was too busy battling environmentalists, counting his millions and managing his multiple affairs to find time for his son. His mom was little more than a trophy wife, too busy popping pills to care. As a boy Brody acted up in school, probably in an effort to get their attention, and even though he was so smart he’d ended up flunking sixth grade at his posh private school. His parents then dumped him into the public school system, which in their minds was probably some sort of punishment. And big surprise, he just kept disappointing them. The incident at my school, where he’d made a couple of fifth-graders eat shit (I would’ve sworn it was mud, but no one bothered to ask me at the time) was the final straw. After that, his parents yanked him out of school and sent him to a military academy on the other side of the country for the next twoyears.
He’d just returned to start ninth grade with my brother’s class, already had a tattoo, and since he was obviously totally badass (and not just because he had a tattoo), Zane had immediately recruited him to theirgroup.
None of which was knowledge to me in thatmoment.
I just stood there freaking out, completely at a loss as to why the universe was punishing me by depositing the coolest boy I’d ever met in my house, in my bedroom, when I had my newboobsout.
“See you around, princess,” he said. Then he turned andsaunteredout.
I ran after him and slammed the door behind him as hard as Icould.
To my surprise, after that day, I did see him around.Alot.
And my crushonJude?
Whatcrush.
I’d never known a crush until fifteen-year-old Brody Mason sauntered back into my life, smiled at me, and called me princess. From that day on I was ruined,ruinedfor every other male on theplanet.
Iwashis.
Even if he didn’tknowit.
I took a breath, took a sip of my daiquiri, and decided not to share that particular story with the girls in the hot tub. Even if Amanda wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have shared thatstory.
My memories of Brody, good or bad, were mine. They were all I had, but at least they would always be mine; even if I hadnothingelse.
Memories, and a T-shirt.
ChapterFive
Jessa
Sometime later,the sexy bartender man was getting his flirt on with Roni—andBecca—and Maggie had started taking bets on who was going to make out with him before the night was through. Hopefully not Becca, since that probably wouldn’t go over too well with herhusband.
We were all gathered around on the designer couches in front of the big fireplace, and there was a general speculation going on about how much fun we were actually going to get away withhavinghere.
Was the bartender just a spy? On Jude’s security payroll? No one seemed sure. Not evenMaggie.
Then the volume of the music went up. Way up. Ludacris’ “What’s Your Fantasy” started pumping through the room. The lights, rather suspiciously, dimmed. And the bartender, as he continued to make drinks, started todance.
As it turned out, he was a pretty great dancer. Or rather,stripper.
Kind of reminded me of Channing Tatum’s panty-wetting performance to “Pony” inMagic Mike XXL… but with liquor bottles instead of powertools.
“Does my brother know about this?” I asked, sipping my drink and trying to contain my laughter as the women around me dissolved into a whole lot of giggling, squealing andgasping.
“Who do you think paid for it?” was Devi’sresponse.
