Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(49)

“Hey.” Vanessa was in no mood to take crap from some bimbo stranger. “Next time watch where you’re going.”

“Vanessa?” Mr. rollerblader-who’d-fallen-on-his-ass demanded, struggling to sit up.

Vanessa’s eyelids flapped up and down in disbelief. Was she seeing things?

There, splayed out on the asphalt under the oaks, in the middle of Central Park, wearing rollerblades, dorky athletic shorts, and a clingy white spandex tee, plus wristbands, kneepads, and elbow pads, with a flushed face and messy, sweaty hair, was Dan. Her Dan.

“Dan?” she gasped with so much horror and confusion in her voice that Edgar actually stopped blubbering and stood up.

“Hi.” Dan grinned sheepishly. The blond bimbo in the skimpy jog bra extended her hand and helped him to his feet. He swiveled unsteadily on his blades.“Hey Vanessa .. . what’s up?”

“What’s up is she’s not paying attention to these little animals running around,” the blonde started, tugging her shorts so high she was in grave danger of causing some severe camel toe. “And I’m really trying to be very Zen about this, but—”

“Who are you?”Vanessa demanded.

“Who are you?” the girl retorted bitchily.

“I’m his girlfriend,”Vanessa replied.

Lycra Butt recoiled a little.

“Wait,” Vanessa insisted. “What are you doing?” She studied Dan critically. His outfit was so completely ridiculous she could barely look at him. She turned back to the girl. “You must be the reason I never see Dan around the house anymore.”

“You guys live together?”

The words from Dan’s poem flooded into Vanessa’s head:

Pure love. Pure lust. Trust trust.

Buddha was no Jesus. Neither am I.

I’m just a guy.

“Who are these kids, anyway?” Dan wondered aloud.

“We’re her friends,” snapped one of the twins—Vanessa still couldn’t tell them apart—sticking his tongue out at Dan.

“Your friends?” Dan repeated.

“Right,” Vanessa snapped. “Kind of like she’s your friend, right, Dan?”

A church bell rang down on Fifth Avenue. The sound was so pure and so totally inappropriate for the moment, it made Vanessa want to scream.

“Vanessa?” The other twin tugged on her hand. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Not now,”Vanessa responded sternly.

“I’m confused,” Dan stuttered. “Why aren’t you on set right now?”

“I was fired. Not that you’d care.”

“Let’s just pause before we say anything we’re going to regret,” interrupted Short Shorts. Pigeons were picking at the sticky remains of the twins’ ice creams. If only one of them would peck the bitchy blonde in the ass.

“Vanessa?” the same twin whined. “I really don’t—” But before he could finish his sentence, he vomited chewed-up ice cream sandwich all over Dan’s acid green Nike rollerblades.

So that’s the definition of bad karma.





Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams

he’s lost that lovin’ feelin’

Nate’s legs felt a little shaky, the way they did when Coach caught him goofing off at practice and sentenced him to run laps as punishment. It had been a long day of ferrying new fence posts from the driveway, where they lay piled up higher than he stood, to various points around the yard. He lurched into the house, arms aching and knees wobbling.

Weak in the knees—and not even because of a girl.

On his way to his bedroom he stopped in the bright, white-and-steel kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator. Regina, his parents’ maid/caretaker/chef, kept the place well stocked but Nate pushed aside the terrine of homemade paté and the heirloom-tomato-and-orzo salad to grab a bottle of Lorina orangeade. It had always been his favorite when he was a kid, but for some reason they only ever had it when they were out in East Hampton, so he associated the light, fizzy taste with the carefree summers of his childhood, when he’d hosted out-rageous skinny-dipping pool parties and cleaned out his parents’ wine cellar.

Those were the days, he thought to himself as he made his way into his bedroom. There’d been nothing to worry about except whether it would be sunny enough to spend the afternoon at the beach, or if he was high enough, or if he’d ever manage to hook up with Blair.

These days life was so much more complicated. Even though it was summer vacation, Nate was stressed out about a bunch of stuff: what Tawny’s townie buddies would do to him if he ever ran into them without Tawny, what he would say to Blair when he saw her at Yale, whether what Chuck Bass had told him about her was true.

Clutching the open bottle, Nate collapsed into his soft, unmade bed with a groan. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, but there was one person he couldn’t stop picturing.

Guess who?

Suddenly he wished he hadn’t returned the moss green cashmere V-neck Blair had given him the spring before last when her dad took them skiing in Sun Valley. He’d put it on, close his eyes, and remember simpler times, when he and Blair were together and all seemed right with the world. Because, except for those times when he’d pissed her off by saying the wrong thing or getting baked and flaking out on plans, being with Blair— however difficult she was—made Nate feel complete, like everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be. Now Blair was going to marry that English guy. Was it really true? Suddenly, Nate had to know.