Page 65 of Sweet Girl
“No problem. Now hurry up and get down there. We’re just about to open the champagne and turn the countdown on!”
She rushes up the stairs, as I head in the opposite direction. When I finally make my way down to the basement where everyone is congregated, I’m greeted by Kady, who stands next to a tatted guy with piercings and a trucker hat covering most of his eyes. She wiggles her brows at me and hands me an empty champagne glass. She leans over to whisper.
“Nice hickey.”
My hand slaps over my exposed chest and she just laughs. Brat.
I move through the crowd, the noise of laughter, music and shouts of those mingling around adding to my already amped up excitement. I’m sure I’m grinning like a fool and my cheeks and neck are still flushed from my earlier down-and-dirty with Van. It’s a good thing I checked myself in the mirror when I was in the bathroom because my hair looked a fright. What had been nice and smooth, was sticking up in every direction. The miracles of a flatiron when you need it.
There’s a number of people I’ve never met before all milling around, some I recognize, and some I only know peripherally. Kady invited some of her high school friends, with whom I’m acquainted, but they were never my clique of kids. Kady was the artist and hippie funkster, who actually wore dreads for a large portion of our junior year. The kids she hung around all looked like they were in need of a bath and smelled of patchouli oil – a scent I could definitely live without.
I wind up in corner of the room, my back to the exterior doorway that opens to the patio. The slider door is open and there’s a few smokers out on the patio lighting up. I hold onto the empty champagne flute I was given (plastic, of course), and scan the room to find Van. My eyes latch on to Cade, Lance, Carver and some girls who are playing beer pong, but no sign of my tall, dark and handsome man.
My gaze shifts left toward the large screen TV that hangs on the wall, the Times Square ball drop on replay, as it hovers with just about one minute to go. I’m about to give up on finding Van when I feel his hand gliding up the back of my leg, similar to what started our sexcapades earlier in the kitchen.
Van is close – close enough for me to catch the scent of him – as he leans down to my ear. His breath is warm and inviting. “In case I didn’t say it earlier, you look beautiful tonight.”
If one can die from a compliment, I think I just did and am now in heaven. The room does this shift and sway thing – or maybe it’s just me on my unbalanced feet. My face flushes and I close my eyes, feeling him brush my hair away from the back of my neck.
Someone from across the room yells out, “Everyone quiet down! The countdown is starting!” The room instantly turns to a low buzz of hushed voices and murmurs of excitement. I can’t contain the wide smile on my face, as I hold out my plastic flute for the girl that’s coming around to fill them. Since Van is standing behind me, I can’t see him, but I hear him tell her, “No thanks.”
Turning my head and shoulders, I notice he has a beer bottle in his hand, which he lifts up in a toast. And then the counting begins from voices surrounding us.
“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two...”
With a quick yank of my elbow, the champagne in my cup sloshes over the sides slightly, as Van pulls me toward the opened door behind us, gently guiding me around the corner of the patio. Once we stop, his hand slips behind my head and he pulls me hard into a deep and urgent kiss. I lose my breath as his tongue plunges into my open mouth, which was still gaping from the surprise of his action.
Forgetting about everything and everyone around me, I let myself get swept away from the touch of his lips, the sounds of his moan. I have to stand on my tip-toes and clutch one arm around his neck, keeping our connection as close as possible. We’re so lost in one another that we don’t hear the footsteps, but the shocked gasp does register. As does the very loud exclamation.
“What the fuck, Van?” I tear my mouth away from Van’s at the sound of my brother’s angry voice.
While our mouths no longer fused together, we still have connection as Van’s hand remains on my waist, giving me a squeeze of reassurance.
My eyes bounce between Cade and Van, assessing the tension between the three of us that’s growing by the second. The vein in Cade’s neck is corded tight, and I can tell he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket. He’s going to lose his shit. I subconsciously take a step back, but Van’s firm grip keeps me in place.
“Cade-” I begin, but Van interjects.
He’s soft-spoken, but composed. “Kylah and I are together.”
My brother practically sputters in disbelief. “Since when?”
He moves forward, posturing himself against Van, his chest puffing up like a sentinel on watch. Van doesn’t move or back down. He simply stands there, brooking no argument over his position. All I can think of at this moment is,Holy Shit, we’ve been outed.
“It’s really not any of your business, Cade. I understand you might have an issue with...”
“You’re damn right I have an issue with this.” His finger juts out and pokes Van hard in the shoulder, but does little to move the impenetrable wall he’s created. Then Cade’s eyes land on me.
“Is Van the guy you’ve been talking about? The one who you hooked up with and then left you hanging? Who made you feel like shit cause he didn’t contact you for days?”
My eyes go wide with embarrassment that Cade is spewing all the salacious personal details about us, as a small crowd begins to gather at the door, curious as to what all the ruckus is about.
Van looks at me sharply, asking me with his eyes if I shared this information with my brother.
Oh God, this is awful.
I’m sorry...I’ve already fucked this up for us.
I need to find the biggest rock and crawl under it right this minute.
