Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(54)

Instead he wanders to my nightstand and picks up a picture. “Your mom?” he asks.

I don’t bother looking up. I have the photograph memorized. It’s my parents and me the night of the homecoming game. I’d just been crowned the sophomore homecoming princess, and they were proud. I remember thinking that nothing in my life would ever feel as good as that moment.

So far I’ve been right.

Ethan isn’t saying anything, and when I turn to make sure he’s not up to his elbows in thongs, I see him still staring at the picture.

“You were a cheerleader,” he says.

“Good eye,” I mutter, resisting the urge to rip the picture from his hands.

“And a tiara.”

I say nothing. I know what he’s thinking: What the hell happened to you? Except he already knows.

“Some guys have a thing for cheerleaders,” he says, his voice easy.

I roll my eyes as I start tossing socks into the bag. “Let me guess. You want to know if I still have my old uniform.”

He sets the picture back on the nightstand and moves toward the door. “Nah. Not my speed. But I think I could develop a thing for girls in combat boots.”

I spin around in surprise, wanting to see his face, wanting to know if he means what I think he means.

But he’s already gone.





Chapter Eighteen


Ethan


I’m on a boat with Stephanie again. Only this time the boat is actually an enormous chartered yacht, and the tiny little swimsuit she wore last time would absolutely not be appropriate.

My parents aren’t exactly the type to break with tradition, and they kick off their Hamptons weekend spectacle the same way they do every year: a “black and white” cocktail party on a pimped-out mansion of a boat, in which everything from the food to the requested guest attire is—you guessed it—black and white.

I grab two flutes from the champagne fountain, only to realize that I’ve lost Stephanie in the crush. I told her I’d be right back with the bubbly but was stopped by about a dozen of my parents’ already tipsy friends, and I’ve left her alone for a good fifteen minutes now.

Weaving through the crowds, I keep my eye out for her shiny dark head. She’s wearing heels, which means she won’t be quite as minuscule as usual, but she’s still short. A good deal shorter than say, Olivia, whom I’m also keeping an eye out for, but not in the excited-to-see-you way.

My father warned me that she’d be here. I already knew, of course. Although her family isn’t an official co-host, they always host the clambake and bonfire extravaganza that follows this fancy cocktail party. My only consolation is that my mom muttered something about Michael having a conflict. She’d asked me for details—like I’d know.

But at least it’s looking like I’ll have to face only one demon this weekend. Although the thought doesn’t seem as heinous as long as Stephanie is by my side.

The crowd parts briefly and I finally see her, my breath hitching a little in a way that annoys me. If forced to choose, I prefer the swimsuit version of Stephanie on a boat, but this version is pretty spectacular.

Her dress is strapless and white, but there’s a black belty thing just under her boobs to keep it from being too boring and bridal. And I don’t have a foot fetish or anything, but I’m digging the white sandals combined with the black toenail polish. I know the black polish is for the sake of this evening’s theme, but it also reminds me of the dark polish she wore when we first met, and I love the subtle nod to the real Stephanie that’s lurking beneath the good-girl dress and makeup.

She’s talking to some dude our age I don’t recognize, and I can tell from the way his gaze keeps dropping away from her face that I’m not the only one who appreciates her primping effort. A stab of something hot and bitter creeps up my back, and I recognize it as the same emotion that went through me when I walked into our apartment and saw her and David together.

Jealousy.

I slide up beside her, putting a hand on her back. She glances up at me as she accepts the glass of champagne, and I can sense the amusement there. She knows exactly what I’m doing: I’m claiming.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” I say back.

The other dude’d have to be a moron not to get the hint.

Our eyes hold for a beat longer than necessary before she puts on what I recognize as a society smile. It’s the same one I’ve seen on my mother and Olivia countless times, and I don’t know whether I’m proud or annoyed that Stephanie seems to have mastered it.

“Ethan, this is Austin. He goes to NYU too.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, extending a hand. “What major?”

“Econ,” he answers as he shakes my hand. He’s friendly enough, but I can tell he’s lost interest after learning that Stephanie’s taken, and after a few minutes of stale chitchat about favorite professors and what’s next after graduation, he moves away, leaving Stephanie and me to ourselves.

She clinks her glass to mine before turning toward the water and bracing her forearms on the railing. “I’ll give you this, Price, you filthy-rich kids certainly know how to do a party right.”

“You don’t think it’s pretentious?” I ask, turning to mimic her posture.