problem." Thinking proactively calmed my pulse to an almost normal rate. I was in control. I could fix this. I turned off the water and stared at the mirror. Stared into my own eyes. Tomorrow I would change my e-mail address. That would put an end to this insanity. Once and for all.
* * *
Saturday night, thanks to the Driscoll Alumni Dinner, I was finally forced to come out of hiding, and after the night before, I was more than ready to get away from my computer and my room. With a new e-mail address and a new password all set up, I was confident that I had heard from Cheyenne Martin for the last time. It was time to rejoin the land of the living.
The Driscoll Dinner was being held at the same posh hotel my friends and I had lunched at the week before. It was Headmaster Cromwell's pet project. At the beginning of the year, when he'd made all the students sign up for a committee, Sabine and I had joined the waitstaff. So I was to spend Saturday night dressed in a black skirt and white tuxedo top, serving hors d'oeuvres to illustrious alums. And if Dash happened to be there, there was no hope of avoiding him. As I circulated the loud, packed Driscoll ballroom with my tray of crab puffs, carefully avoiding silk gowns and wingtip shoes, my heart pitter-pattered uncomfortably. Maybe he'd decided not to come. This was kind of a stodgy event, after all.
Surely a Yale freshman had better things to do with his time than schmooze with the elderly set. A kegger or a poetry reading or something must have been calling his name.
A half hour of grinning and serving and small-talking went by without a glimpse of him, and I finally started to relax. Cocktail hour would be over in thirty minutes. All I had to do was get through this and then I could spend the rest of the night hiding out in the kitchen, maybe even sneak in some pantry smooching with Josh. I was practically home free.
And then, as I turned away from a group of pin-striped Wall Street types with booming voices, a hand gripped my upper arm. I almost dropped my tray, but saved it two inches before it could make the clatter heard round the world. It was him. It was him. "Hey. You look sexy in that uniform."
My lungs filled with air. It wasn't him. It was Josh. "Thanks," I said, hoping he'd attribute my blush to his flattery. He looked adorable in his black tux, a long white tie tucked into his jacket. His curls were, as always, doing their own thing, but their disheveled state only made the whole look all the more perfect. What could be hotter than a scruffy artist all suited up? Josh slid his eyes from side to side and, finding the coast generally clear, leaned in to kiss me. Ah, Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. He smiled teasingly when he pulled away. "I'll be checking on things in the kitchen if you want to pick up where that left off."
See? We even think the same. We're so perfect for each other. "Noted," I said with a grin.
He turned around jauntily. I took a deep breath to calm my skipping heart and turned the other way. Where I found myself face to face with Dash. Okay. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered. Broader. Taller. More chiseled. Completely at home in his perfect tux.
His usually warm brown eyes were piercing. His blond hair fell casually over his forehead as he looked me dead in the eye.
Smoldering was the only word that came to mind. "Dash," I heard myself say--gasp, really. This guy had almost kissed me last summer. This Adonis of perfection had almost kissed me.
Dash stared at me for a long moment. Then he glanced past me at, I could only assume, my retreating boyfriend--his friend. His jaw worked, as if he was trying to hold something back. What?
What?
"We need to talk," he said to me. And he didn't even bother to check whether the coast was clear. He simply took my free hand and led me away.
JUST FRIENDS
It took Dash five seconds to find a secluded hallway near the back of the hotel. Clearly he had been here before. I dropped my
* * *
Saturday night, thanks to the Driscoll Alumni Dinner, I was finally forced to come out of hiding, and after the night before, I was more than ready to get away from my computer and my room. With a new e-mail address and a new password all set up, I was confident that I had heard from Cheyenne Martin for the last time. It was time to rejoin the land of the living.
The Driscoll Dinner was being held at the same posh hotel my friends and I had lunched at the week before. It was Headmaster Cromwell's pet project. At the beginning of the year, when he'd made all the students sign up for a committee, Sabine and I had joined the waitstaff. So I was to spend Saturday night dressed in a black skirt and white tuxedo top, serving hors d'oeuvres to illustrious alums. And if Dash happened to be there, there was no hope of avoiding him. As I circulated the loud, packed Driscoll ballroom with my tray of crab puffs, carefully avoiding silk gowns and wingtip shoes, my heart pitter-pattered uncomfortably. Maybe he'd decided not to come. This was kind of a stodgy event, after all.
Surely a Yale freshman had better things to do with his time than schmooze with the elderly set. A kegger or a poetry reading or something must have been calling his name.
A half hour of grinning and serving and small-talking went by without a glimpse of him, and I finally started to relax. Cocktail hour would be over in thirty minutes. All I had to do was get through this and then I could spend the rest of the night hiding out in the kitchen, maybe even sneak in some pantry smooching with Josh. I was practically home free.
And then, as I turned away from a group of pin-striped Wall Street types with booming voices, a hand gripped my upper arm. I almost dropped my tray, but saved it two inches before it could make the clatter heard round the world. It was him. It was him. "Hey. You look sexy in that uniform."
My lungs filled with air. It wasn't him. It was Josh. "Thanks," I said, hoping he'd attribute my blush to his flattery. He looked adorable in his black tux, a long white tie tucked into his jacket. His curls were, as always, doing their own thing, but their disheveled state only made the whole look all the more perfect. What could be hotter than a scruffy artist all suited up? Josh slid his eyes from side to side and, finding the coast generally clear, leaned in to kiss me. Ah, Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. He smiled teasingly when he pulled away. "I'll be checking on things in the kitchen if you want to pick up where that left off."
See? We even think the same. We're so perfect for each other. "Noted," I said with a grin.
He turned around jauntily. I took a deep breath to calm my skipping heart and turned the other way. Where I found myself face to face with Dash. Okay. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered. Broader. Taller. More chiseled. Completely at home in his perfect tux.
His usually warm brown eyes were piercing. His blond hair fell casually over his forehead as he looked me dead in the eye.
Smoldering was the only word that came to mind. "Dash," I heard myself say--gasp, really. This guy had almost kissed me last summer. This Adonis of perfection had almost kissed me.
Dash stared at me for a long moment. Then he glanced past me at, I could only assume, my retreating boyfriend--his friend. His jaw worked, as if he was trying to hold something back. What?
What?
"We need to talk," he said to me. And he didn't even bother to check whether the coast was clear. He simply took my free hand and led me away.
JUST FRIENDS
It took Dash five seconds to find a secluded hallway near the back of the hotel. Clearly he had been here before. I dropped my
Similar Books
