A Midsummer's Nightmare(25)

“Hey,” I said, crossing my legs and leaning a little toward him. “Nice party.”

“Thank you. It took me forever to convince my parents to leave long enough for me to have something like this. But I figured a year away at college deserves a big welcome-home party.”

“I think it does, too,” I agreed. “Where do you go to college?”

“Columbia. I’m a business major.”

“Wow. Smart and ambitious. That’s a pretty big turn-on for girls, you know.”

“That’s what I’m told,” he said. “Anyway, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier, and even sorrier I didn’t get your name.”

“Whitley.” I didn’t mention my surname. Last time I’d done that, the guy had totally admitted to crushing on my dad. No way was I letting that happen again. “And let me guess—you’re Wesley, right?”

“That’s right. Good guess.”

“It was, huh?” I said, rubbing my lips together. “Hmm… In that case, I think I deserve a prize.”

“A prize?” He laughed.

“Of course,” I told him. “I totally deserve to be rewarded. On TV, when people guess the right answer, they get a prize. I want a prize, too.” I scooted a little closer, my leg brushing his. “But I’d be glad to share. I’m not greedy.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but before the words came out, a girl collapsed onto the cushion on his other side.

“I hate parties,” she growled.

Wesley turned his head to face her. She was short, with wavy auburn hair and a horrific sense of style. Her red Converse tennis shoes looked about six years old, and her T-shirt was so faded it looked like it would be a prime choice for a detergent commercial. Not the cool, store-bought faded, either. She needed a severe wardrobe check. Harrison would have had a field day with this girl.

“Hello there,” Wesley said. To my surprise, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I see that it’s working, then?”

“What is?” she asked.

“My strategy. The bigger the party gets, the sooner you’ll retreat upstairs to my room, and then my victory can be secured.”

She rolled her eyes as he placed a kiss at the junction between her shoulder and neck. “Perv.”

He laughed. “Plus, you’re hotter when you’re annoyed.” He looked back at me. “Whitley, this is my girlfriend, Bianca. Bianca, this is Whitley, the amazing name guesser.”

Wait. His girlfriend? Seriously? In my experience, boys this hot rarely committed to anyone less than a supermodel. He was way out of this girl’s league. Hell, Wesley was way out of my league.

“Well,” she said, glancing at me, “it won’t be long before I retreat if every girl here is going to insist on flirting with you.”

“Can you blame them?” he asked.

“Of course I can. A smart girl would find your egomania repulsive.”

“You know you like it.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it took me a while. Your first impression? Not exactly charming.”

“Hello to you, too,” I muttered, even though I’d already been forgotten.

This was the second time I’d been shot down since arriving in Hamilton. Once because the boy was more interested in my dad, and now I’d been rejected for a girl in saggy jeans.

He kept his arm around her, and they started having a whole conversation that I was clearly not a part of. Names I didn’t know. Places I’d never been. After a while, I stood up and left them on the couch. I wasn’t drunk enough yet to think this was funny.

I didn’t see Bailey when I pushed through the crowd. I thought about looking for her, since I’d promised Nathan I’d keep an eye on her, but after a second I decided against it. Nathan was being ridiculous and uptight. Bailey was probably having a great time, meeting kids from her school. She would hate me if I interrupted her fun or embarrassed her by checking in on her. Bailey was smart; she could handle herself. Smarter than I was at her age, anyway.

I poured myself another shot. Two more shots. Within ten minutes, I was smiling from ear to ear. Tequila made everything better.

“Hi.”

I turned around and found a guy—kind of cute, nothing special, but I wasn’t picky—smiling at me. I grinned, putting my glass on the counter and leaning back against the cabinets. “Hey.” I giggled. He had a nose like a pug’s, and his hair was all spiky—it reminded me of a porcupine. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’ve met you.”

Wow. That was lame. I snorted with laughter.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Whitley.”

“That’s a sexy name.”

“You bet your ass it is.”

He smirked.

Five minutes later, the guy and I were going at it in a downstairs bedroom. Around the time his hand slid under my top, I realized I was really, really bad about getting boys’ names.

I needed to work on that.





12


Less than twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bedroom with my hair in a state of total disaster. And all for nothing. About ten seconds after getting my shirt off, Pug Face had passed out on top of me. Ew.