I tried to act normal, but I stuck as close to Dawson as I could.
I catch him smiling at me. He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a soft tan dress shirt that is just slightly darker than the nude color under my dress, a black suit with a tan pinstripe, a black tie, and shiny black wingtips.
I watch the assistant dean place a bouquet of red and yellow roses in Peyton’s arms.
Peyton beams and her smile lights up the stage.
But another brightness catches my eye. Aiden is smiling at his sister. I can tell he’s so proud. And he looks extremely handsome standing there. He’s wearing a grey Armani suit, the palest of blue shirts, an artistic gray and blue striped tie, and by far the coolest shoes of the night. I had seen them earlier and hadn’t noticed. They just looked like basic black Prada dress shoes, but up here in the bright light you can see the perforated pattern on them and the bright blue undertones.
He catches me looking at him and gives me a little wink. At least, I think he’s winking at me. There’s no one behind me and I don’t think he was winking at Ariela or Maggie, who are standing beside me. I give him a little smile back.
Music starts playing again and Dawson and Peyton descend from the stage for the Royal Dance.
I glance at Whitney. There’s no mistaking the venom in her glare.
She’s pissed.
Pissed she isn’t out there dancing with Dawson.
Pissed her perfectly scripted life hasn’t gone according to plan.
About halfway through the dance, Dawson and Peyton break apart. Dawson dances with his mom and Peyton with her dad.
I picture myself dancing like that with Tommy.
But if I danced with Tommy, that would mean the truth about who I am would have to come out.
Vincent would have to be in jail.
And if he was, would I come back?
Would everyone hate me for lying?
Or would I go back to my old school?
My old life?
Everyone claps, breaking me out of my reverie, and indicating the end of the song.
Dawson comes up to the stage and holds his hand out to help me descend the stage.
I’m happily swaying in his arms when Whitney says, “May I cut in? For old time’s sake?”
Jake holds out his arm to me, so I politely let her dance with Dawson.
Dawson looks stiff, but she looks happy.
She doesn’t look like a scheming bitch when she dances with him.
And, while I’m not the jealous type, I’m practically giddy when Dawson ends their dance halfway through and takes me back in his arms.
Like a red Solo cup.
11:15pm
Dawson and I walk down to the dorms, so we can pick up our bags to take to the hotel. Then we stop off at the student center, show our school IDs, and get our wristbands.
The school was really concerned about students inviting friends to come to the event, so, for liability reasons, we had to devise a way to make sure the party stayed closed.
The rule is: no wristband = no entrance. No exceptions.
Whitney and Jake meet us at the limo. Jake gives me a hug and whispers, “Thank you. But, beware: she’s in a pissy mood after not winning.”
Dawson had taken his crown off and put it on me at the dance. I realize I’m still wearing it, so I pull it off my head and tuck it into Dawson's duffle bag. I don’t want to make her feel worse.
“Champagne is in order, I think,” I say to Jake.
He opens one of the bottles he brought along and pours some in a flute for Whitney.
She doesn't even bother to wait for a toast. She just drains it.
Jake refills her glass and then grabs another flute.
“Oh, here,” I say to Jake and hand him two red Solo cups. “Put ours in here.”
“Very classy,” Whitney sneers.
“It has nothing to do with class, Whitney. I’ll never drink out of limo glasses. They don't wash them. Just sort of Windex them off between uses. Way to many germs for me. Besides, nothing says party like a red Solo cup.”
“Maybe your kind of parties.”
“Yes, my kind of parties. Shots. Dancing on the bar. You know, fun stuff.”
Jake asks Dawson for a red cup, fills his glass, and toasts, “No more parents. No more alums. Watch out club. Here we come."
“Whooh!” I yell, and take a sip.
Dawson pulls me into his arms. “Are you going to dance on the bar tonight? That sounds hot.”
“Definitely.”
Dawson is all over me in the limo.
"I can't wait to help take this off,” he says, touching the bow on my shoulder.
Jake puts his arm around Whitney and as hard as she’s trying to pretend things are perfect, she looks like she's ready to cry.
And I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm sitting here getting mauled by her King.
I grab Dawson's hand and place it on my thigh, keeping my hand firmly on top of it.
Jake says, “So, tell us about the after-party.”
“Although, at first, I wasn't supportive of the idea,” Whitney admits. “After spending the last three days with my family, I'm very much looking very forward to cutting loose.”
Jake grins and promptly refills her flute. She chugs it and then leans into Jake, clearly a little more relaxed.
When we get to the hotel, Jake asks Whitney, “How long do you need to change?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Jake says to us, “Okay, so we’ll meet back here at 11:45.”
As we walk into the lobby, Dawson puts a shoulder into Jake’s. “I’m gonna need a little more time than that. Let’s shoot for 12:30.”
“But the party starts a midnight,” Whitney pouts.
Dawson shrugs his shoulder. “The party won't start until we get there. That's how it's always been."
Whitney beams at him.
As we walk to our room, I say to Dawson, “You gave Whitney a nice compliment.”
“Yeah, Jake hasn't quite learned how to deal with her yet.”
“But you know,” I say, not quite able to conceal the hurt in my voice.
He rolls his eyes at me. "We dated for a long time. She needs her ego stroked. Always has. That's why she and Jake won't work long term. He's too stubborn."
My stomach drops. Does he want her back? Does he want to stroke her ego?
He continues. “I’m so glad you're not like that. And, besides, it was worth it. I’m going to need every bit of that hour with you.”
“Oh really, why?”
He opens the door to our room and says, “This is why.”
He barely gets the door shut before he's got me pinned against it and is untying the bow at my shoulder.
The front of the dress falls down to reveal my nude-colored strapless bra.
“This needs to go,” he says, unhooking it and flinging it on the floor. I push his suit jacket off his shoulders as he bends down to kiss my chest. He tries to push the rest of the dress down off my hips, but it’s very fitted and has a zipper.
“There's a zipper,” I moan as he sucks his way across my chest.
He fumbles with the zipper, gets it undone, and pushes it and my panties to the floor.
He picks me up and carries me to the couch, quickly undoing his own zipper.
"God, that dress has been driving me crazy.”
Then he’s moving like we have two minutes instead of an hour.
I throw on a hotel robe, carefully darken my eye makeup, and add more blush. Then I hide in the bathroom and get dressed for the after-party. I want to surprise him with the full look.
I walk out into the living room. Dawson has changed into a pair of dark jeans, leather loafers, and a black shirt with silver stripes. He looks so incredibly hot.
“Whoa,” he says, grabbing my hands and taking in my metallic crepe strapless dress. “Now that’s a dress. What there is of it.”
He smacks my ass and tells me we better get downstairs.
Whitney and Jake are waiting in the lobby. Whitney looks perfect, not a strand of hair out of place. Completely different from the messy pony I'm wearing. But when you dance, you sweat, and there's nothing attractive about wet hair.
Whitney's club clothes, well, they aren't really club clothes. She's wearing a simple red silk dress with a black cardigan over it. She looks like she should be going to brunch at the country club.
I grab her hand, drag her back to the elevator, and tell them we’ll be back in five minutes.