Читать книгу Summer After Summer - Ann DeFee, Ann Defee - Страница 8

“Oh, my God! I’m dying.” My head was in the toilet so I wasn’t sure anyone heard me. “I’m puking my guts out,” I wailed.

“Here,” Bunny said, handing me a bottle of Coke. “This’ll make you feel better.”

“Nothing will make me feel better.” At least nothing short of a permanent adios, and I wasn’t ready for that. I flopped on the cold linoleum floor. “Why are you so perky?”

Her answering smile was enough to make me want to deck her.

“I didn’t drink that much.”

“Yeah, well.” I was on the verge of coming up with a great answer, really I was, but my brain short-circuited when my tummy did another barrel roll.

“You’d better get well, PDQ. If you back out on going to the party, you’re dead meat,” Bunny threatened.

“Yew!” Why did she have to mention dead meat? Or any kind of meat, for that matter?

It took a six-pack of Cokes and a sleeve of Saltines before I truly thought I could make it through the day. Now I was at Bunny’s house doing what I did best—providing cover for my friend.

“You know your sneaking around is gonna to get us both in trouble,” I griped as Bunny searched the bottom of her closet. “If your parents catch you going out with Charlie when they specifically told you not to, you’ll be grounded for life. And if by some miracle you get out of the house before you’re twenty-one, they’ll never let you see me again.”

Bunny seemed oblivious to my complaints as she continued to look for something. When that girl got focused on a goal, she got focused. And her single-mindedness always seemed to get me in trouble.

“Here it is,” she crowed triumphantly, holding up a Scarlett O’Hara corset, minus the laces.

“What do you mean, here it is?” I was lounging on the bed getting a really bad feeling about this. But I consoled myself with the fact that I was bigger than she was, and I could overpower her if push came to shove.

“I found this in my mother’s closet.” She waved the offending piece of lingerie in my direction. “I know, I know. You don’t wear a bra. But for tonight, you’re gonna be the sex goddess of south Texas. We’re doing a makeover.”

“Like hell,” I snorted. “You’re not about to get me into that thing. It couldn’t be more than a size two and I’m a ten.”

“Size is not a problem. And yes, you are going to wear it. Since we’re leaving from here, you won’t have to sneak past the Baptist brigade.”

She was referring to my parents—pillars of the Baptist church and ardent opponents of anything that smacked of sexy.

“So get this on while I find the dress I have in mind. Just you wait till I get you all dolled up!” She tossed the instrument of torture at me.

Did Bunny really believe I’d strip down and put that thing on? “No way. I’m perfectly happy in my current state.” Unfortunately, my resolve wasn’t nearly as tough as Bunny’s, and eventually I capitulated. Darn it! I needed to work on my backbone.

“Hold your breath. I’ve almost got the hooks done up.” She was pulling and tugging to fasten me into the Merry Widow.

Poor, poor Scarlett. I suspect the infamous Southern belle was a bitch because her corset had restricted the flow of blood to her brain.

“Stay right there while I get this sundress on you,” Bunny instructed, holding up an emerald-green, low-cut dress with spaghetti straps. After she waved the little scrap of material, she turned me away from the mirror.

“I can’t wear your clothes. I’m at least eight inches taller than you are, and I’m at least twenty pounds heavier.”

Now that was something I hated to admit.

“Exactly,” Bunny said smugly as she yanked the dress over my head and somehow managed to get it zipped. She put her hands on her hips and circled me.

“Don’t you dare look in the mirror,” she admonished as she grabbed the stool from her tulle-covered vanity. “Sit there.” She pointed at the bench. “I’m going to do your hair and makeup.”

After she finished working her magic, she stepped back to admire her creation. At best, I usually gave the makeup process a lick and a promise. A little powder, a swipe of mascara and a dab of lipstick, and I called it good. Not tonight.

I could subdue her, I thought as I sat in a fragrant cloud of Aqua Net and Estée Lauder awaiting the verdict. Bunny walked around me humming some inane tune.

“You are gorgeous! Absolutely fan-tab-u-lous. I’ve outdone myself this time.” She broke into an immense smile and turned me around to check my appearance in her cheval mirror.

“Holy cow! I’ve got boobs.” Did I ever! They were falling out of the top of the dress for God and everyone to see. As short as the skirt was, it looked like my legs went on forever.

The problem was that Bunny’s little dress barely covered the essentials. I didn’t know whether to pull it up or pull it down. As for the rest of it, Bunny was right. I was gorgeous. Could I possibly be a swan?

“Your parents would have a cow if they could see you. You are one bitchin’ chick!” Bunny exclaimed.

She was right. Mama and Daddy would stroke out if they set eyes on me. I loved them dearly, really I did, but being a good girl was tiresome sometimes. I sympathized wholeheartedly with all the preachers’ kids I knew. Living in a fishbowl was hell.

“It shouldn’t take long for your transformation to hit the grapevine.” Bunny giggled, then went into her Captain Bligh impersonation. “Don’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll get dressed and we’ll get rolling.”

When Bunny was right, she was right. Being a foxy mama was quite a high. What was Charlie going to say? And why did I care? Could it be because I was obsessed with someone I couldn’t have?

Conversation ceased when we walked into the party. Guys I’d known since kindergarten stared at me, their mouths hanging open. Pretty cool, huh?

I was reveling in my new state of glamour when Charlie showed up.

“Hey, Sunshine. You’re looking mighty good,” he said, putting his arm around Bunny’s waist. It wasn’t a bad reaction, but it wasn’t especially good, either. What did I think he was going to do, ditch Bunny and declare his undying love for me?

Get real.

I’d driven to the party with Bunny, so I hoped I wouldn’t have to hitch a ride home. That was getting old. And seeing her with Charlie was even more depressing.

“Jazzy, I’m glad you came. I’ve been waiting for you.” Petey grabbed my hand and pulled me across the room. He was the only guy who was immune to my new attractions. The whole sexy thing was fun, but normalcy was good, too.

“I’ve got someone I want you to meet. My cousin is here from Dallas. I told you about him, remember?” Petey kept tugging on my hand. I could have easily pulled him to a halt, but everyone was staring. So I went into docile mode and followed him.

Petey halted in front of the most gorgeous guy I’d ever clapped eyes on. This person was related to Petey— band-geek Petey?

The hunk had dark hair and ice-blue eyes. Oh, wow, was that a deadly combo.

“Jazzy, this is my cousin Clint Whitworth. Clint’s going to be a sophomore at Southern Methodist.”

Only Petey would call SMU Southern Methodist.

“Clint, this is my friend Jazzy.” Petey was grinning as if he’d just won a jackpot. “Her name is really Jasmine but we all call her Jazzy,” he explained, and continued to stare at us as if he was expecting something exciting to happen.

“Miss Jasmine, you are beautiful,” the Adonis said, taking my hand and kissing my palm.

I was almost afraid I’d faint dead away. I didn’t know whether the dizziness came from lust or the waist-cincher that was restricting my blood flow.

“Let’s find a quiet place to get to know each other.” Clint guided me through the crowd to the pool, where we sat in lounge chairs and talked. We interrupted our conversation only to raid the buffet and dangle our feet in the water. It seemed we had everything in common. We enjoyed the same music, books, school subjects, and we even saw eye to eye on politics.

Clint told me he’d just finished his freshman year and that he planned to go to law school. When I explained I wanted to be an architect, he didn’t laugh. I even confided that I’d been drawing houses since I was in elementary school. Very few people were privy to the information that I got off on the idea of designing homes.

Although it was the 1970s, male chauvinism was alive and well in Meadow Lake, and women were not encouraged to step outside the few professions deemed acceptable. Even the school counselors said I should reconsider my choice. What did they know?

Clint, however, said he thought it was a great idea. And that alone sent him to the top of my favorite-people list.

This newfound comradeship was very cool. It felt like I’d known him forever. Petey grinned like a kid in a candy store every time he looked at us. Discretion wasn’t exactly his middle name.

“Cousin Petey is a matchmaker,” Clint said. “He’s been trying to introduce us for over a year. He claims we’re made for each other.”

“Really?” Sounds lame, I know, but what else could I say to his comment?

“Yeah, imagine that.”

What did that mean?

I glanced around and didn’t see either Charlie or Bunny. Darn it! “This has been great, it really has, but it looks like Bunny went off with Charlie so I need to hit up someone for a ride home.” I wasn’t hinting for him to take me home, honestly I wasn’t. Uh-uh.

“I’ll take you whenever you’re ready to go.”

I hated to admit my social shortcomings to a college guy, especially one with Paul Newman eyes. “Midnight is my curfew,” I finally admitted, although it took a few false starts for me to get it out.

“Oh.” Although he looked a bit nonplussed, he recovered quickly. “I’ll tell Petey we’re going.”

And that’s how we ended up parked out by the river in his new Datsun 240Z.

“Petey showed me this place. I thought since we had half an hour to kill, we could talk.”

If that was his euphemism for necking, it seemed like a great idea to me. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like better than to get into a good lip-lock with him. Obviously Charlie would be my first preference, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever.

“Sure,” I said.

So there we were, sitting in the moonlight with the cicadas creating their own brand of soft music. It was romance at its best—if you discounted the damned stick shift between us. I leaned my head back against the soft leather seat and fantasized about what would happen next.

Guess what? Nothing happened, because Clint kept yakking on and on about freshman English.

Freshmen English! I was about to melt into a puddle of hormonal angst and he was analyzing Hemingway?

Enough was enough. If he wasn’t going to make the first move I’d have to take matters into my own hands.

Ignoring everything ladylike that Mama had tried to drill into my head, I launched myself at him.

It took about half a second to realize I’d made a terrible mistake.

As a virgin I wasn’t familiar with erotic sounds; however, even I knew that a yelp wasn’t a harbinger of lust.

After he disentangled our body parts, he planted a kiss on my forehead. Nope, that definitely wasn’t lust.

“Um, Jaz, um, there’s something I need to tell you.”

If it was possible to die from embarrassment, I was about to expire on the spot. By that time I had managed to wiggle back into my seat. Something was drastically wrong.

“What?”

He sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Oh, my God, he thought I was too skinny, or maybe he thought I was butt-ugly. Or worse, I had a stray piece of spinach in my teeth.

“Told me what?” I managed to squeak.

“I, uh…” He paused. “Crap, this is hard.”

This time I didn’t interrupt him.

“I have a good friend who’s a guy.”

So what? “Some of my best friends are guys.”

He stared at me in amazement and then lapsed into a heartfelt chuckle. “Sometimes I forget about life in a small town.” He gave me one of those looks that said hey, dummy, I’m saying something important here. “He’s a really good friend.”

Oh. My. God! If they gave out stupidity awards I’d have a blue ribbon. “You mean you’re…” Somehow I couldn’t finish the sentence, especially considering the fact that I’d almost ravished him.

“Yeah, I am.” He leaned over the console and looked me in the eye. “I’ve really enjoyed being with you tonight. I hope we can be friends.”

“Sure, I’d love to be your friend.” He was smart, he was funny, he was a great conversationalist—and unfortunately, this major dreamboat wasn’t interested in girls.

If that didn’t beat all!