I put on my flip-flops and started walking downstairs. They were waiting by the door, Bailey fidgeting with her dress. She looked like she was ready for a Homecoming dance, not a nightclub. On the other hand, Nathan was totally casual. Ripped blue jeans, faded band T-shirt, sloppy hair. He looked like a mess next to his sister.
I was surprised Perfect Sylvia let one of her Perfect Offspring dress with such imperfection.
“Ready?” Nathan asked, pulling car keys from his pocket.
“You kids have fun,” Dad said from the sofa, turning a page in the novel he was reading. “Get to know each other. You’re family now.”
Yeah, I thought. Family who’ve banged each other.
“Be careful,” Sylvia said. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked a little on edge. One minute this chick was bubbly as could be, and the next she looked all uptight and anxious. “I’ll expect you home by ten thirty.”
“No problem,” Nathan said, giving the adults a casual wave before turning to his sister and me. “Let’s go, shall we?”
Bailey was already out the door, running down the steps, golden hair streaming behind her. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder at us. Her face turned a little pink, as if she were embarrassed by her own excitement.
Nathan looked at me and shrugged. “Ladies first,” he said, holding the front door open.
I moved past him and headed for the car. Bailey smiled at me as she climbed into the backseat.
“I’ve never been to a club before,” she said once I’d gotten comfortable in the passenger’s seat. “I mean, like, I’ve been to my friends’ parties and stuff—obviously. But they were kind of boring. A club will be cooler, right?”
“Um… sure.”
Nathan climbed into the car and immediately turned on the air conditioner. The sun was still out, and despite it being mid-evening, the air was scorching hot and so humid I thought I’d drown. “Buckle up,” he said to me, hitting the button for the radio.
He waited until my seat belt had clicked before he even pulled out of the driveway. As if traveling those three extra feet without restraints might actually kill me or something. I didn’t expect someone who had one-night stands with strangers or threw crazy parties to have such a stick up his ass.
I didn’t say anything on the way to the Nest. Bailey jabbered away at us from the backseat, speculating on the kind of music they’d play, what the other girls there might be wearing, how crowded the place might be. After a while, Nathan cranked up the radio as a subtle hint that she should quiet down. A hint that she, eventually, took.
The silence didn’t last long, though. A minute later Nathan was singing along with the radio, tapping his fingers against the wheel to keep the beat. I couldn’t help watching, a moment from the party sliding into my memory. We’d been kissing in the armchair, amid the chaos of dancing and drinking, when Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” started playing through the speakers.
Nathan had pulled back a little, giving me a second to come up for air. He grinned at me and started singing along with the song—off-key, but he was pretty drunk by then, so I guess that was to be expected. I reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth, laughing. “Stop. You can’t sing at all.”
Clumsily, he took hold of my wrist and eased it away from his lips. “I love this song, even if it is really old,” he slurred.
“Me, too.”
“Good, then it can be our song. You’re my brown-eyed girl.”
“But my eyes are blue,” I told him.
“I know. But there aren’t songs about blue eyes.”
I started laughing harder and almost fell off of Nathan’s lap. “Yes there are. ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,’ ‘Behind Blue Eyes,’ ‘The Bluest Eyes in Texas,’ and then there’s just ‘Blue Eyes’ by Elton John.”
“Yeah?” he said. “Well, those suck.”
“You suck.”
And then we were kissing again. It couldn’t have been long after that that we migrated to the bedroom.
Three days later, sitting in the car beside him, part of me wondered if it had really happened. He’d said that as far as he was concerned that night had never occurred, but could he really forget so easily? Probably not, but he acted like he could. He acted way better than I did.
He parked the car in front of the small brick building and cut the engine. “Behold,” he said. “The Nest.”
Honestly, the place looked kind of run-down, but the parking lot was packed with cars. Either it was actually a cool place (I kind of doubted it) or there was nothing better to do in this town.
When Nathan pushed open the front door for Bailey and me, I knew it was definitely the second theory.
First of all, the band blew. Though I admit I was impressed to see a band at all. The lead singer had zero talent, and the drummer had no rhythm whatsoever. It was just sickening, really. I knew people who had more musical ability than these guys when they were plastered. Myself included. And the sad excuse for a dance floor was half the size of the guest room at Dad’s new place. The walls were lined with booths, all packed with teenagers sipping on sodas or bobbing their heads to the music.
“Wow,” I heard Bailey murmur, and I could tell she was overwhelmed—whether by how pathetic the place was or by the number of people, I wasn’t sure.
“I’m thirsty,” Nathan said. “Let’s get drinks. What do you want, Whit?”
“Nothing.” I was already walking away from them. “I’ll get it myself.”
I’d decided early on that if I was going to track down some fun—i.e., boys and booze—I needed to ditch Nathan and Bailey. I couldn’t afford to have them cockblocking me tonight.
After scanning the room once, I came to the conclusion that the selection of guys here sucked. I mean, they were average, I guess, but none of them were hot. Because of this, I was feeling a little disappointed when I made my second turn around the dance floor.
Then I saw the sexy tanned boy sitting at the bar.
He wasn’t tall, but he had the dark and the handsome parts down. His hair was a sleek, shiny black, and his eyes were huge emerald spotlights in the dim lighting of the club. Smoldering hot, and well dressed, too. He had on a nice, neat button-up shirt and black jeans.
Target acquired.
I approached the bar, tossing back my long hair and giving him my best seductive smile. I eased up right next to him. “Hey,” I said, winking. “What’s up?”
He grinned. Rows of straight, glittering white teeth. “Do I know you?”
“Nope, but you want to.” I slid onto the barstool next to his.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Yours first.”
“Harrison Carlyle,” he said, sounding a little amused. “Now do I get your name?”
“Whitley Johnson.”
Harrison’s eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter as he looked me over. My moves must have been working—he was already interested. Awesome, I thought. Even if he didn’t know where I could find a party, I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him. That was one thing I loved about boys—if I wanted a quick, meaningless hookup just for fun, they were never very hard to convince.
I was wondering how much chitchat we’d have to make before I could get Harrison to take me somewhere private… and then he started talking.
“Oh my God!” he said excitedly. “Are you—You have to be! You’re totally related to Greg Johnson, aren’t you? The news guy. Are you his daughter? You are, right?”