Wrong About the Guy(9)

I told her to stop being such a drama queen, and then Jacob suddenly let out a wail. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t answer, just sat there, his mouth open in a roar so wide you could see bits of french fries caked around his teeth. Grandma said, “It’s because you let him try the pizza,” and I said, “No, it’s not,” and Jacob kept bawling, and the noise was unbearable, and I was losing my temper with them both, so I said I was going down to the lobby and stomped out.

I punched the down button as hard as I could. It didn’t bring the elevator any faster but it felt good.

Once I was in the lobby, I wasn’t sure what to do. I heard distant music so I followed the sound across a breezy walkway to what looked like the entrance to a dance club. I peered in, but I was wearing sweatpants and a cotton tank top and everyone inside was dressed up. Plus they probably didn’t let in anyone under the drinking age. Plus it looked kind of lame—everyone there was middle-aged. Plus I would never go to a dance club by myself.

Still, it was fun to watch for a while. Most of the women were wearing flowery sundresses and the men had on Hawaiian shirts—it was all so tacky it was kind of endearing.

I turned away just as two youngish guys in suits reached for the door.

“Hey there,” one of them said, sidestepping right into my path, blocking my way. “Thinking about coming in?”

“Not really.” I flashed a tight smile.

“Come on,” the other one said. He had slicked-back hair and his suit was a little shiny. “The night’s young and you look like you’re a dancer. Don’t sit this one out.”

“We need you in there,” the other added. His hair was thinning, triangles of bare skin making wings at his temples. “Never enough cute girls.”

“Wrong shoes,” I said, pointing down at my flip-flops.

“Kick ’em off,” the other guy said.

“Take off whatever you want,” his friend agreed, and giggled.

The first one said, “Don’t mind him. We’re harmless. Would you rather grab a drink at the bar?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, and turned.

Slicked-back hair grabbed my arm. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t leave so fast.”

I pushed his arm away and said, “Really, no.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so it was a huge relief to see someone familiar emerge from the restaurant near the lobby. “Oh, there’s my friend,” I said, then dodged around them while they were still absorbing that and ran toward George, calling him. He turned around.

“Keep going,” I said as I caught up to him. “Don’t look back at those guys.”

He immediately looked over his shoulder. “What guys?”

“I told you not to look!” I glanced back. They had disappeared. “They must have gone into the club. It’s fine. I’m just glad I saw you.” We headed back into the lobby.

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing really.” We reached the elevator and I hit the up button. “They just wanted me to go dancing with them and were kind of bugging me about it.”

The elevator arrived, but George hesitated, holding it open with his hand instead of following me inside. “Should I be doing something heroic like finding them and telling them to leave young girls alone? Maybe slugging them? How big were they?”

“Let’s just go up.” I tugged him inside the elevator.

“You’re on seven, right?” He punched the button. “Why are you wandering around the lobby at night in a camisole anyway?”


I crossed my arms, slightly embarrassed but defiant. “What are you, slut shaming me? Blaming the victim?”

He flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. But you look like you’re wearing pajamas.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because they are my pajamas. I was so desperate to get out of my room I didn’t bother changing. My grandmother is driving me crazy, just like I predicted.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto my floor. “Where are Jonathan and Izzy?” I asked as we headed down the hallway.

“They’re still at dinner. The restaurant’s really beautiful—it looks out over the beach and there are torches everywhere and the sound of the waves and soft music. . . .” He smiled ruefully. “It was incredibly romantic. And there they were, gazing into each other’s eyes . . . and there I was . . . totally in the way.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “Mom and Luke were so in love when they first met—I ruined a lot of romantic evenings for them.”

“They probably didn’t mind. They both adore you.”

“And I’m sure your brother is very fond of you.”

“Yeah, okay, good point.”

I glanced over at him as I waved my key card in front of the sensor to unlock the door. He was wearing his usual khakis with a dark blue jacket over a jarringly different shade of blue button-down shirt. “Is there a dress code at the restaurant?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at himself. “This is my suit jacket—it’s the only one I packed. Does it look stupid with these pants?”

“Not with the pants. With the shirt.” I opened the door to a scene of chaos: Jacob standing naked on the sofa screaming and Grandma scuttling around on the floor below him, picking up food that was scattered everywhere as she scolded him for throwing it. Neither of them noticed us standing there, so I quickly slammed the door shut again before we were spotted. “See?” I said to George. “See what I’m dealing with?”