The Debs Page 9

  “Avery, you’d better be here,” she murmured, glancing around in the dark at the thick clusters of trees. Their outstretched branches seemed to reach toward her like monstrous arms as they swayed in the lukewarm breeze.

  Sighing, she trudged through the dark, her high-heeled satin Christian Louboutin sandals clicking noisily on the asphalt. Twice she had to stop to pick gravel out from between her toes, but it was worth it, not getting too close to the main house or the guesthouse, where Avery said the party would be going on.

  Avery definitely seemed to be testing her, practically daring her to stand up to Jo Lynn, which was an interesting twist. Laura had always been up-front with Avery about her feelings for him. He was the one who should be walking through fire. Not that Laura hadn’t dreamed of facing off with Jo Lynn Bidwell and clawing her eyes out someday—hell, the witch deserved a lot worse for what she’d done.

  But with debutante invitations going out in mere days, Laura would rather avoid a scene and not risk having Jo Lynn tear the scab off old wounds. If she and the Queen Bee got into a catfight, Bootsie Bidwell would undoubtedly catch wind of it by morning. And the one thing Laura didn’t need right now was having the chair of the Rosebud selection committee pissed off at her before D-Day. That would be deb suicide. Laura realized she was on the bubble as it was, and she couldn’t afford to blow it.

  Tiny solar lights lined the long driveway of the Bidwells’ sprawling manor, and Laura veered to the right, following the path around the house. She heard music and raucous laughter before she glimpsed the guesthouse. Unlike the darkened main house, the windows winked with light, as did the huge oval-shaped pool alongside it. The water glowed a brilliant blue, the surface smooth and still.

  Guess no one wanted to dive in. Like Jo Lynn and her Bimbo Cartel would risk getting their hair wet, Laura thought with a smirk, knowing their habits well enough. She’d been part of the group while she and Avery had dated, so she realized how things went. When you had Jo Lynn’s stamp of approval, everything was golden. If Jo Lynn got tired of you or thought you were taking up too much of her spotlight, she could turn on you in the blink of an eye. That was what had happened to Laura, though Laura wasn’t sure which reason applied.

  If she took a guess, she figured it had to do with Avery’s history with Jo Lynn. Laura knew he was Jo Lynn’s first, and the Queen of Mean still acted like she owned him, even though she was supposedly head over heels in love with Dillon Masters. Laura imagined Jo-L wasn’t too keen on the idea of Avery being with a girl who wasn’t a perfect size two, like it somehow dissed her. Or maybe there was more to it than that, some deep dark secret between Jo Lynn and Avery. If that was the case, Laura had no clue what the secret was. Avery would never answer when she asked.

  Oh, well, she told herself. Tonight wasn’t about the bad old days—it was about the here and now. So far as Laura was concerned, Avery was her present and future, and nothing Jo Lynn could do anymore would affect that.

  Nearly a dozen cars were parked along the drive, and Laura smiled with relief when she spotted Avery’s Corvette. He was here, somewhere. She just had to find him without running into Jo-L.

  Laura jumped at the noise of a screen door slapping closed, and she realized someone had emerged from the cottage. A tall guy stumbled down the steps, heading toward her with his head down, talking on his cell in low tones.

  Is that Dillon Masters? Oh, God! He was coming her way! If he saw her and told Jo Lynn she was here, all hell would break loose.

  As Laura was making a beeline for the nearest hiding place, Dillon dropped his keys. They hit the stone path with a clatter, and he bent clumsily to retrieve them. That gave her time to slip behind a thick tree. She pressed her hands against the rough bark as she waited for Dillon to leave.

  When he climbed into his Mustang and drove off with a screech of wheels, Laura let out a breath. She removed her sandals, catching the straps around her fingers, before she tiptoed toward the guesthouse, the short grass tickling the soles of her feet as she headed toward the shrubs beneath a large unshuttered window.

  The sound of Big and Rich thumped against the night air, telling everybody to save a horse and ride a cowboy.

  Laura lifted her head carefully, peering through the glass and quickly taking in the scene. A large collection of empty beer and wine cooler bottles littered a coffee table. That was a boatload of booze for such a small crowd. She counted eight people in all, and none of them was Avery.

  Damn it, where is he?

  Clutching her Louboutins in one hand, she picked her way around the guesthouse, ducking below windows and following the carved wooden railing. As she neared the front French doors, a large black shadow rose from the porch floor and lunged at her, barking wildly. Laura yelped, her pulse skyrocketing as she backed away from the creature, trying hard not to trip over her own feet.

  That was it. She’d had it.

  Avery could rot in hell—yet again—for playing games with her.

  She turned around, heading for the steps down to the lawn, aiming to run all the way back to her car in her bare feet before she got caught.

  Just as her feet touched grass, a hand snagged her arm, preventing her from going anywhere. Her shoes fell from her grasp, and she opened her mouth to yell, but a second hand clamped across her face and smothered the sound.

  “What’re you tryin’ to do? Wake the dead?” Avery drawled in her ear, waiting until the coast was clear to release her.

  “Me? What were you tryin’ to do? Play hide-and-seek? How on earth was I supposed to find you?” Laura smelled beer on his breath, maybe even a hint of pot smoke clinging to his hair and clothes. “You jerk!” She pushed hard at his chest, and he stumbled back against the hedge. “I should’ve stayed at Ginger’s house. I must be out of my mind.”

  “Ouch,” he said, plucking a twig from his hair and following her as she strode away from him.

  Laura didn’t realize she’d headed toward the pool until she was standing on the cool tiles that wrapped around the pale blue oval. If she’d been at home or even at Ginger’s house, she would’ve been tempted to strip down to her panties and bra and jump in. The air was still sticky, and she was definitely “glowing,” as Tincy Bell delicately referred to sweating like a pig, especially after her trek from the car and after that huge dog had nearly scared the pee out of her.

  “Listen, I wasn’t even inside with the rest of them. I was sitting there,” Avery said, coming up beside her and pointing to a vacant chaise with a rumpled beach towel and three empty Spaten bottles beside it. “I was wondering where you were and wishing you’d hurry up so I could do a little of this”—he reached for her, catching her fingers in his—“and a lot of this.” His mouth came down gently on hers as he kissed her.

  Oh, my.

  Laura’s shoes fell to the patio, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him like she hadn’t seen him in a year. Even though she hadn’t had a lick of booze, she felt intoxicated, all dizzy and light-headed, as the touch of their lips eased from gentle to rougher, his tongue sliding past her teeth, teasing.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The angry voice cut through the night like a knife, and it jerked Laura out of Avery’s embrace, the spell shattered.

  She quickly stepped away from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to find Jo Lynn Bidwell, flanked by her cronies, Camie and Trisha, standing not four feet away, their fists set squarely on their skinny hips.

  “My, my, my, look who it is,” Jo Lynn drawled, and the venomous tone made Laura’s insides start to crumble. “If it isn’t Laura Bell, fresh out of fat camp. Who invited you, Swamp Donkey? Because it wasn’t me and this is my party. You’re not wanted here now any more than you were a year ago, so why don’t you get out before you regret it.”

  “Yeah, get out, you piece of trash,” Camie spat, while Trisha added, “You’ve got some balls, bitch.”

  Laura opened her mouth, but nothing
came out other than “uhhh.” This was exactly the scene she’d feared most, and it was unfolding right before her eyes. Visions flashed through her head, of a summer night much like this, of being too trusting and drinking way too much liquor, of passing out on the floor of the guesthouse and waking up the next morning to find—Oh, God. She swallowed. She had to go, or Jo Lynn would do it again. She’d dig up the pictures.

  “I—” Laura was starting to say, “I’m gone,” feeling deflated, like all the wind had been knocked out of her. A familiar sick sensation filled her belly, and she wished she could close her eyes and disappear.

  “Stop hassling Laura. She’s here ’cuz I invited her,” Avery said, stepping up beside her, and reached for Laura’s hand. His skin felt so warm against hers, which had turned cold as ice. “So if you don’t want her around, we’ll both leave.”

  Laura nodded, biting her lip, relief gushing through her. Avery had actually stood up to Jo Lynn rather than quietly retreating. That took guts, more than most people had when it came to squaring off against the Bimbo Cartel.

  Laura bent to gather up her shoes and heard Jo Lynn laugh.

  “You can’t be serious, Avery. What in God’s name do you see in her?” Jo Lynn asked. “You can have any girl you want, and you’d settle for that? I mean, she’s still got that ginormous ass.”

  “Oink oink,” Camie kicked in, and Trisha followed suit.

  Laura told herself to breathe, to ignore them, while the angry voice inside her head kept nagging, Are you gonna let them push you around again? Let them take you down like this, in front of Avery?

  She straightened up slowly, her whole body trembling as the hatred she’d bottled up a year ago surged straight to the surface. She’d been nice until then, a good Texas belle, minding her manners and killing with kindness instead of going after Jo Lynn with a vengeance. In a blink, the good girl was gone.

  “Screw you,” Laura shouted at Jo Lynn, then turned on Camie and Trish. “Screw all of you!” If she’d been smart, she would’ve left, but she couldn’t stop the hurt from boiling over. “Why don’t you go back in your glass house and stop throwing stones, huh? Because I’d rather have a big ass than a boyfriend who can’t stand to stay over on a Saturday night.”

  The oinking stopped, and Jo Lynn stared at her, slack-jawed and bug-eyed. “What did you just say?”

  “I said that I saw Dillon leaving, all hot and heavy on his cell like he had another date. What’s that about, huh?” Laura threw out, emboldened, her adrenaline rushing too fast for her to stop and think about the consequences. “Has Big Dill stopped jonesing for you too, like every other guy does when he realizes you’re as hollow inside as a cheap chocolate Easter bunny?”

  Laura heard the collective gasp after she’d said it and the heat in her veins turned ice cold again.

  “Whoa, this is getting out of hand,” Avery whispered, and gave her a tug. “Let’s go, Laura. Now.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Jo Lynn spat, her face the ugliest shade of purple Laura had ever seen. Then she charged at Laura like a bull, shrieking, “Aaaaaaahhhh!”

  The force of Jo Lynn’s body slamming into hers knocked Laura off her feet, and she felt herself falling backward into nothingness until her back slapped against the surface of the pool. Water splashed up around her before she started sinking, breathing bubbles up her nose.

  She hit the bottom fast, and she realized she was at the shallow end. She quickly set her feet down and surfaced, gasping and sputtering.

  Jo Lynn was flailing in the water beside her, screeching, “My hair, my hair!”

  All that Laura could remember afterward were Avery’s strong hands helping her up the steps and out of the water, and then him wrapping a dry beach towel around her before he carried her all the way to her car. He set her down gently, the asphalt of the road warm under her feet, and she leaned against the Mercedes, looking up at him, feeling her wet hair drip onto her shoulders.

  “Are you crying?” he asked, brushing her cheeks with his thumb, but she shook her head.

  “It’s just pool water,” she told him, a little white lie. She didn’t want him to know how shaken up she was, how worried she was about what Jo Lynn and her crew might do in retaliation. “Really, I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” She tried to wring water out of the hem of her dress but quickly gave up, letting the material cling to her thighs. “I should be used to this by now, right? Pretty much the only way to completely avoid Jo Lynn Bidwell would be to leave town.”

  “She doesn’t like you,” Avery said matter-of-factly, and glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid Jo Lynn might come after them.

  “Well, duh.” Laura rolled her eyes. Like that wasn’t stating the obvious!

  “It’s because she can’t control you. You’re just who you are. You don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, and put her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I care what you think, Avery. Why can’t you just be with me? Why does Jo Lynn even have to be in the picture? Has she got something on you? Because that’s what it feels like.”

  Avery didn’t speak for a long moment. Was it her imagination, or did he actually flinch?

  He did that funny one-eyed squint guys seem to do when they’re trying to come up with an answer that won’t get them into trouble. “I wish I could explain,” he finally said, “but I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Laura didn’t get it.

  “Maybe she’s jealous,” he offered softly.

  “Of me?” Laura raised her eyebrows, incredulous. “Right.” She laughed dryly. “Like I have anything she wants.” And Jo-L sure seemed to make sure Laura didn’t have Avery for long, whenever she did manage to “get” him for a while.

  Avery met her eyes, and he wasn’t smiling. She could tell he wasn’t joking around. “Maybe you do and you don’t even know it.”

  She stared at him, puzzled. If he didn’t mean himself, what else was there? Could Jo Lynn Bidwell hate Laura for the mere fact that she liked who she was, no matter what size she wore, and that she had two best friends who loved her for who she was and not for what she could do for them? She opened her mouth to ask, but Avery spoke first.

  “Look, I’d love to see you home…or back to Ginger’s house…wherever you’re going, but I need to go back and smooth things over.” He shifted on his feet, clearly not comfortable. “I don’t want this to turn into anything big. It’s my fault for asking you to show up in the first place.”

  “It was my decision,” Laura objected, not liking where their conversation was going. “You didn’t force me to come.”

  “Didn’t I?” he asked, and twisted a damp strand of hair around his finger before he let her go. “Drive safely, all right?”

  “I will,” Laura said, and felt like crying again, suddenly very tired. This night hadn’t gone at all the way she’d hoped. In fact, it had ended pretty horribly.

  Avery looked at her for a long moment, finally whispering goodbye before he turned away and picked up the sodden beach towel from the ground. He flung it over an arm and took off, loping back down the Bidwells’ driveway.

  Laura waited until she couldn’t see him anymore, not even his shadow in the moonlight. This night totally sucked, she thought, and closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath as she yanked open the car door and got behind the wheel. She could barely function, operating by rote.

  Somehow, she made it back to Ginger’s house without running into a light pole or getting a ticket for speeding. She let herself in with Ginger’s key, climbed the stairs, and walked into the bedroom.

  Her two friends instantly stopped watching MTV, and their eyes bugged, no doubt a wee bit surprised to see she was drenched from head to toe, not to mention barefoot.

  Before either could open her mouth to ask what happened, Laura held up a hand and said, “Don’t ask.”

  And like the true BFFs they were, they didn’t say another
word.

  * * *

  There’s not a game in the world you can play without some risk of getting hurt.

  —Katharine Hepburn

  It’s not true that I prefer books to boys. They’re just a lot easier to put down when you need a break and then pick up again where you left off.

  —Mac Mackenzie

  * * *

  Ten

  As soon as she got home from Ginger’s late on Sunday morning, Mac went straight upstairs and locked herself in her room. She put on her iPod and played Michael Bublé singing Sinatra at full blast while she danced around, shaking her hips and belting the lyrics into an imaginary microphone. Not that Mac was any good at singing or dancing, but it didn’t matter. Like watching old black-and-white movies, listening to swing music relaxed her and made her forget whatever else was bugging her. And that was exactly what she needed right now.

  When she had worn herself out, she sprawled across her bed, closing her eyes and catching her breath. She had to decompress after being over at Ginger’s the night before. If that hadn’t been the weirdest sleepover ever, it came awfully close. What the heck was wrong with Laura? Where had she gone last night and why wouldn’t she spill?

  One minute Ginger had been trying on her grandmother’s ball gown on a dare, and the next, Laura had grabbed Ginger’s house key and taken off after jumping all over Mac just because she was undecided about becoming a deb.

  Mac didn’t see what was so wrong with being confused about what she wanted, or with being a Honda Civic, for that matter. Just because Laura was obsessed with becoming a Rosebud—and Ginger, too, had embraced her deb destiny—it didn’t mean that Mac felt the same way. If an invitation was hand-delivered to her door, and she decided to decline it, would that be the worst thing in the world? Would she be letting down her mother’s memory and disappointing her two BFFs in one fell swoop?

  Crud.