“You know damn well who. Lucas. What did you do to him?”
“Why don’t you go talk to Lucas, Henry?”
“I tried. All I got was a story about how you let him screw you in dad’s Bentley. Then he got all upset. So what did you do to him?”
I looked at Henry as if the story were made up. I rolled my eyes and mumbled some kind of he wishes or in his dreams kind of reply to his accusation and hurried to my car.
Henry didn’t follow and for that I was glad. Once I opened the door, scooted behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, started the engine and pulled out of there the tears were racing to fill my eyes.
What had I done? I totally humiliated myself. I fell for a couple of smooth lines and tender touches like an idiot.
"No, Tilly." I scolded myself. "You had a good time. You did it. It's over. You're going to New York in a matter of weeks. What do you care what Lucas thinks of you? You had one amazing experience with him. So he bragged to his friends about having you. You had him, too. It wasn't one-sided. He broke down whining about his dad's girlfriend. It w
asn't you complaining about your million dollar life being so hard. If anyone should be embarrassed about anything it should be him."
I nodded my head as I drove home. Sure. I had nothing to be ashamed of. But I knew he wasn’t going to call me. I’d probably never see him again.
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.
It probably wasn’t. It was probably for the best I never saw him again. But as my eyes filled with tears I recalled him kissing Monica Smith just minutes after we’d gotten back from the garage. She knew it too. She knew we had done something with Lucas and it made her mad. Nothing was worse than a mad ex-girlfriend.
“Is she an ex-girlfriend?” I couldn’t be sure. The crowd Lucas rubbed elbows with swapped partners faster than square-dancers.
Chapter 10 – Lucas
Monica was a hot mess.
“What the hell, Monica?” I growled.
“It’s your fault.” Monica slurred. “If you were up here instead of playing doctor with that trash from, I don’t know where she’s from but I’m sure it’s trashy.”
“You’re going to sober up and then you are going to get out of my house. Forever.”
I couldn’t say I felt bad kicking Monica out. She looked up at me like there was nothing to it. She thought she had my number. That I’d quickly forgive and forget that she was making a fool of herself and me.
Leaning down close to her face I could smell the alcohol seeping from her skin. Her eyes were glazed red and her make-up blurred the edges of her eyes making it look like she was wearing a mask and ready to rob a bank.
"Did you hear what I said?" I took her hands in mine and squeezed them hard. She didn't flinch. I'll doubt she noticed.
"You don't want me to go, Lucas." She tried to stand but nearly fell over backward hitting her head against the side table that didn't have any people sitting on it.
“I do.” I held her up by one arm.
“No, you don’t. Because I will verify your story.” Her eyes swam dreamily as she tried to make sense. “Jenna is going to come home and see this mess. She’s going to see that painting broken. Who’s going to pay for that? You? Me? No. But I saw that trashy girl intentionally push it off the wall and walk away giggling. I saw her, Lucas.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Don’t get me wrong. I’ve lied more than once to get what I want or to avoid trouble. But when Monica suggested I blame Tilly for what she did I felt a strange twist in my gut. Sure. I could go along with this plan. Blame Tilly and let Jenna go after her with a threat to go to jail. But Tilly wasn’t from here. She wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Monica and Henry and me. Even if she did break the painting there would be no way for her to pay any restitution. It was a bonehead idea. “That’s stupid, Monica. I’m not going to blame Tilly.”
"Her name is Tilly? My God, she sounds absolutely charming." Monica snickered. "I'll bet she uses an outhouse and is promised to her first cousin Jed to marry after high school."
“Keep it up, Monica.” I hissed. “Just keep talking.”
I was giving myself away. I didn't want to. I didn't want anyone to know what I had done with Tilly. I wasn't embarrassed by her. Not in the traditional sense. It's just that she was nothing like Monica or any of the other girls here at the party. If I'd done Monica again I'd be telling every dick-wagging gent in the place.
But I wanted to keep Tilly a secret. There was a feeling twisting in my gut like if I told anyone it might never happen again. I might not see her again. Or someone else might swoop in and scoop her up.
Why do you care? I couldn’t say. Not even to myself.
“Why do you care?” Was Monica reading my mind? “Are you into that girl?”