“It’s officially started now,” Taylor replied, feeling like the belle of the ball from the looks we were getting. I suppose when you showed up to a party with inebriated guys rocking a scrap of fabric and a heap of makeup, oogling was par for the course.
“What’s your poison, ladies?” Morrison asked, weaving towards the bar area set up on Sawyer’s mom’s Italian buffet. She would bust something if she saw what was littered on it right now.
“Make it a screwdriver,” Taylor yelled over at him.
Morrison’s mouth curved up. “I believe I can accommodate that request.”
And I still had to put up with two hours and fifty nine minutes of this hedonism. Looked like someone was going to spend their time down on the hopefully vacant beach.
“Lucy?” Morrison called.
I was smart enough to know you didn’t take an open drink from a guy, most of all someone like Luke Morrison.
“I’m good,” I said, shooting him a thumbs up. Leaning into Taylor, I said, “Be good and call me if anyone tries something. I’m getting some fresh air.”
“Somebody better try something on me,” she replied, putting on a smile as Morrison made his way back to us with a drink in hand.
“Statistics,” I said, heading for the back door. “Don’t become one.”
“Don’t become a cobweb growing old hag!” she shouted after me.
Winding my way through the maze of students in the kitchen, I shoved a couple making out to the side so I could open the refrigerator. One can of pop was stuffed behind all the beer, and that’s what the designated driver snatched.
“Hot dress, Lucy!” someone yelled from somewhere in the kitchen. I didn’t validate it with a response.
“Sawyer’s looking for you. Something tells me he’s going to be a happy man when he finds you!”
I couldn’t get down to the beach fast enough. It was quiet and almost vacant save for a couple doing the nasty in Mrs. Diamond’s lounger. The night was warm and the water was so still it almost seemed like I could walk out on it without falling beneath the surface.
I slipped out of Taylor’s nude peep-toes and walked out to the end of the dock. I was going to have my own little party right here. Just me and Mr. Lemon Lime. I cracked open the can and took a sip. What the hell was wrong with me? When had the girl who used to love being the life of the party become the girl who found a quiet little corner to sulk?
Like most the questions I posed to myself these days, it always came down to the same answer. The same name.
“Not really my scene either.”
I jumped so hard I managed to spill a quarter of lemon lime soda all over Taylor’s very inappropriate dress. It would be the last time she’d lend me something from her wardrobe and that made me rather happy.
“Yeah, me neither,” I said, wiping the beads of pop off the champagne colored shiny material. “Obviously.”
“Nothing’s obvious about you, Lucy Larson.”
So those words, and that voice, very much got my attention now I wasn’t enraptured with pop removal. Even her voice was prettier than mine.
Looking over my shoulder, there was Holly, wearing a dark pair of skinny jeans and a white tee shirt, looking down at me. I didn’t know whether to offer her a seat or bail into the lake and swim for the opposite shore. I didn’t know what she knew, if she knew anything at all about me and Jude, and I sure as hell didn’t want to round robin our relationships with Jude together.
In the end, I decided to be civil. “Hey, Holly,” I said, “pull up a chair.”
She’d obviously sought me out, this wasn’t some happenstance meeting, so she had something she needed to say. I wanted to get this out of the way so I could continue to fail at trying to move on with my life.
She sat down, setting her red plastic cup to the side, and rolled up her jeans. “I thought I’d have a tough time getting you alone,” she said, dipping her feet in the water and scooting closer. “I hear you’ve become Southpointe’s ‘it’ girl this year.”
I didn’t want to think about who she’d heard that from.
“If you mean ‘it’ girl in terms of the one who’s had more rumors and half-truths shot at me than an entire club of strippers, than yeah, I guess I did wear that sash this year.” I was sounding a little more defensive than I wanted, but I was having a conversation with the girl who my ex-boyfriend had a love child with. Defensive wasn’t as bad as it could be.
She nodded, staring out into the lake. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to hand that crown over personally. My reign ended last year after I dropped out.”
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t ready to sympathize with her and I should have been able to emphasize, but I was coming up short in that department.
“Is Jude here?” I asked, immediately wanting to whip myself for asking. If she didn’t already believe I was a desperate loser, that question just certified that presumption.
“Not sure,” she said, taking a drink from her cup.
“Home with the baby?” It was an honest question that came out sounding every kind of bitchy.
“No,” Holly stiffened, her bright blue eyes flashing. “My mom’s babysitting tonight.”
“Holly, I’m sorry,” I said, wishing now I had stayed inside so I wouldn’t be having this conversation from hell. “I’m not trying to be a bitch—”
“It just comes naturally?” she filled in, giving me a fake smile.
“I deserved that.”
“Yep,” she agreed, taking another sip.
We were silent for a while, for so long I wasn’t sure if she was waiting for me to say something or if she was having a tough time getting out what she wanted to say.
So I blurted out something neither of us was expecting. “Is he a good dad?”
She looked as surprised by my question as I was. “I’m sure he will be some day.”
A nasty case of realization whip lash hit me. “Wait,” I said, turning towards Holly. “Did you just say some day, as in not present day?”
She bit her lip, thinking something over. “I don’t know how much of this I should be the one to tell you, but—”
“Tell me everything,” I interrupted, scooting closer. “Because no one else will.”
She looked at me under her lashes. “That might be because you drew your own conclusions before asking questions.”
I’d held the same breath now for a solid minute.
“Are you ready to ask questions now?” she said, leaning back on her hand. “The right questions?”
I nodded.
“Ask away,” she said.
Did I want to go down this road? Did I want to have assumptions confirmed or denied at this stage in the game? When a face eclipsed my thoughts, one with a long scar and silvery gray eyes, I had my answer. “Is Jude your baby’s dad?” Might as well get the first one out of the way.
“No.”
Oh my god. The guilt was as sudden as the relief. “Do you and Jude have some sort of relationship together?”
“Yeah,” she answered, taking a sip. “He’s been my best friend since we were in first grade.”
Again, I wanted to slap myself across the face at the same time I wanted to jump and holler for joy. “And that night I followed him to your place,” I said slowly, trying to process everything. “He brought diapers and formula and you guys hugged and you said you had big plans for him and you hugged.” I was reliving the scene, but seeing it with different eyes. Eyes that were less likely to draw conclusions without asking questions.
“And I thought Jude had trust issues,” she muttered, looking at me like she kind of wanted to wring my neck. “I called him earlier that day because I was out of money and the baby was going to be out of food and diapers in about twelve hours if I was lucky. Jude’s been a support from the very beginning since little Jude’s real father wants nothing to do with him.”