My confusion must be palpable, because Sarah nods towards the front windows, her voice considerably lower. “Mr. Rivers covered the expense.”
Again,huh?
A few minutes later,when I’ve changed back into my own clothes, I exit the boutique with my shopping bag in hand and my mind in a daze—something Jase Rivers is an expert at putting me into today. I immediately spot him on the sidewalk, two shops down, talking on his phone. When he sees me, he makes his way back over with a couple of soda bottles in hand.
“Yeah, man. I’ve gotta run, but call me when you have something,” he says, wrapping up the conversation and extending one of the Dr. Peppers to me.
I don’t take it. “What’re you doing?”
He lowers the phone and looks around, confused. “Not sure if you noticed, but traffic’s pretty bad right now. It’s going to be a pain in the ass driving to the gas station, so I figured we could go on foot. And the drink’s to help cool you off.”
In this, he’s not wrong. Traffic along the main drag is bumper to bumper, as it looks like one of the stop lights down the road is out.
“I meantthis.” I raise the shopping bag. “You’re driving around in a car that costs less than my phone, yet you’re buying me a dress that costs more than my entire closet?” And one I’ll be wearing on a date with someone else… I don’t add that last part, but I may as well have by the look on his face. I can’t even begin to contemplatehowJase could possibly afford this. And after what he said last night, I can only imagine that this is some kind of power play, to force me into thinking abouthimwhile I’m on my date with Wes.
He must be psychic, because he holds up his hands, the bottles secured only by his thumbs. “Think of it as my attempt at a peace offering. I was a dick last night, and I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
I notice he’s not apologizing for hisactions, but he’s looking at me in earnest, so I take one of the bottles and begin making my way down the street towards the nearest gas station. “Thank you.”
We fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as we head along the sidewalk, or at least it would be if not for the stares.
After what happened senior year, I’m more than familiar with the looks being thrown our way. That doesn’t make it any easier, how uncomfortable some people look or the way others whisper and snicker to their friends. It’s enough to trigger my PTSD…
Only, those stares aren’t directed at me.
I doubt word spread this quickly from the boutique, since the looks being leveled at Jase aren’t that many. Not to mention, they’re all from people around our own age. But word has gotten out no less. It’s only a matter of time before it spreads to the upper echelon of the rumor mill. Much to Blythe’s impending rage, I have a feeling everyone in town will know who Jase really is long before the wedding.
Although, I doubt that he particularly cares, especially not at the moment. His cell rings, and I catch the name “Natasha” and her accompanying picture on the screen as he answers it.
The girl from Murdock’s.
I know I shouldn’t care, especially when I’m carrying a bag containing a dress for my own date, but hearing him confirm to her that they’re “on for Friday night” feels like a boulder has been dropped into my stomach.
CHAPTER 27
PAINTING FLOWERS
PRESENT
I spent pretty muchmy entire freshman year fantasizing about this night, playing out every scenario in every location, and…this isn’t anything like what I pictured. Granted, all of my imaginary dates with Wes took place around campus, at a party, in a nearby bar & grill, at the movie theater, or what have you. I imagined wearing something sexy yet comfy, like a pair of leggings and a fitted top that showed off justenoughskin to be alluring. I imagined dancing so close we became one with the music or curled up with each other in the reading nook of the campus library where he’d leave me with a hickey. I imagined something playful and a little mischievous.
Instead, I’m standing in front of my mirror, donned in the high-necked black dress Jase bought me, matched with ankle-booted heels. It’s not that I’m physicallyuncomfortable, but I thought after wearing the dress for a while that my nerves would relax. With every passing minute, however, I just grow more anxious. And not in a good way. The butterflies that should be in my stomach have seemingly been replaced by angry hornets.
I’ve got fifteen minutes to kill, and staring at my reflection doesn’t help soothe the anxiety, so I head downstairs. It’s perfectly silent, so I can safely assume nobody’s here, leavingthe television up for grabs. I put on an old sitcom rerun and drop onto the couch’s armrest, thinking and rethinking about my choice of hairstyle. Given the exclusivity of the restaurant, I wanted to appear as well polished and ladylike as possible, so I took a page out of my sister’s handbook and went with a pin-straight side-parted ponytail. I can see why Vanessa favors the look. It draws attention to my eyes while also softening the prominence of my cheekbones.
But catching my reflection in the mirror between the family room and kitchen, I’d swear I’m looking at my sister if not for the eye and hair color.
Fraud.
The word rings through my head, and I try to smother it, turning up the volume on the TV.
“What are you wearing?”
I shriek and even jump enough that my ass slides off the armrest, making me topple into the actual seat cushions. Amid my thundering heart, I peer over the backrest to find Jase strolling into the kitchen, his hair damp and skin smelling of body wash. Oh, and he’s missing a shirt. Hell, he doesn’t have socks on. The only article covering him is a pair of sweatpants that sits dangerously low on his hips, revealing the V-shaped muscles of his lower abdomen.
I scowl. “I’m wearingclothes. You should try it sometime.”
“Did you borrow that from your sister?”
