“Both inside and outside of the bedroom,” Jacob said, placing a hand on either side of me, huge form taking up my entire field of vision. I smiled and snaked my arms around his neck. He almost whispered his request. “Come out to dinner with me and my parents this weekend.”
“What?”
“Homecoming is Saturday, so they’ll be in town Friday night.”
“Your parents,” I said, stunned.
“You want to know you’re special? I’ve never taken anyone to meet my parents. I’ve never wanted to.”
“You’re serious. You want me to meet your parents,” I asked. My heart was suddenly pounding again, this time for an entirely different reason.
“I’m very serious,” Jacob said. “But can I make a suggestion? We quit talking about my parents and go back to my place. I know I said tonight, but Sasha, I think I need to have you right now.”
I grinned, then bit my lip eagerly. “Let’s go.”
15
I had never been famous before. Technically, I probably wasn’t really famous now, but damn if it didn’t feel like it. All it took was one photo in the school newspaper, which was picked up by the local newspaper, which was tossed around online among football enthusiasts, which was sent to my friends back in Tifton, which was emailed to me basically every hour, on the hour, by somebody new.
THE BEAUTY WHO TAMED THE BEAST
The headline was ridiculous, as was the photo Jacob had let a friend take of us to go underneath the silly headline.
It wasn’t front-page news or anything, but it was enough that Piper’s icy glares reached new heights (or lows?) and that in my classes, I became incredibly aware of people whispering nearby, watching me, studying me.
The thing everyone seemed to be asking was, “why her?”
“Does it bother you?” Jacob asked as we sat across from one another at The Grille— a place famous for feta fries and infamous for its low health scores. The feta fries were worth the risk of food poisoning, and we were quietly sharing a plate. It felt strange to be out in public with Jacob like this, but not at all bad. Freeing, almost.
“Sasha?” Jacob asked when I’d gone a long time without answering. “Does the attention bother you? Should we have kept things quiet longer?”
“Oh— no. I mean, it bothers me a little, when I can tell people are thinking shitty things about me. But it’s fine. No one that matters to me has said anything terrible.”
“Good,” Jacob said, smiling. He was crammed into the far side of the booth, almost too large chested to fit in— the restaurant had crammed as many booths as fireside allowed into the space.
“Alright. Ready?” Jacob asked, slapping cash down on the table.
“Probably not,” I said warily. “Thanks for taking me here to eat something first.”
“No problem. Meeting parents is always crazy. I’d rather you not go all hangry on them.”
“I don’t get hangry,” I said.
“No, but it’s not worth the risk,” Jacob answered, sliding out of the booth and offering me his hand. I accepted it, and left the grease-scented restaurant to head across the street, to the alumni resort— where Jacob Everett’s parents would meet me for the first time over an incredibly expensive meal at the resort’s fancy restaurant.
Feta fries give me strength, I said to myself as we darted through traffic, crosswalks be damned, and to the resort’s front doors. I smiled, remembering how Jacob led me in here that first night. How badly I’d wanted him, even before I realized I could have him.
“Mom!” Jacob called out, and waved an arm. I planted a pleasant smile on my face and smoothed the front of my dress, then allowed Jacob to lead me over to a woman standing near the check in table.
Jacob’s mother— Mimi Everett, née Frazier, born in Texas, likes pearls, hates rubies, votes Republican, doesn’t trust women in politics— smiled, cherry red lipstick pulling across her teeth. She was a pretty enough woman, but in a very purchased sort of way; it was clear she’d had Botox, at some point, and her eyebrows were carefully drawn on. She slipped the designer handbag onto her shoulder as Jacob approached, then wrapped her arms around her son. She was tiny in comparison— the woman couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, even with the handbag— but she emanated size the same way Jacob did. Something about them both was larger than life.
“Look at you! Darling, how’s the shoulder? Are you sure we can’t bring you home so Dr. Pritchard can take a look?” she asked immediately, reaching up to fuss with the shirt sleeve over Jacob’s injured arm.
“It’s fine, Mom. Harton’s team is doing a great job. If I doubt them for a second, I’ll go back to Dr. Pritchard.”
“He just always took such good care of you as a baby,” Ms. Everett said, dismayed.