Riding the Thunder by Deborah MacGillivray Page B

girl, acid to Laura’s wounds.
    Heading off trouble, the chaperones confronted the group. The junior class had paid for the party, so Laura hoped they’d send them packing. If Tommy were closer, she’d likely dump the punch bowl over the jerk’s head.
    After words were exchanged, the group from the University of Kentucky was permitted to go up on the sundeck and dance—as long as they behaved. “Fat chance of them behaving.” UK kids wanted nothing to do with a teen dance where there wasn’t liquor. That left trouble. The chaperones were shortsighted to think otherwise. Laura noted a few guys already staggered while navigating the narrow staircase. “I bet my pale yellow shoes they’ve been drinking.”
    The last one to the stairs was Tommy the Rat—with his date, Joy Dinwiddie. He paused with his hand on the railand smiled at Laura. Joy pushed at his back, nudging him to go on up. His smile faded as he felt the blast of Laura’s icy fury, and a question lit his dark green eyes.
    Tommy stared at her with an unreadable expression. Flashing Laura a dirty look, Joy pushed at him again. He shrugged the blonde off and started toward Laura. Unable to face him, she turned away. He caught up with her in a couple strides. Grabbing her bare upper arm, he pulled her around. His incisive stare lanced her heart.
    â€œLaura, what’s wrong?”
    â€œBastard. Are you that cruel and insensitive?” Her long lashes batted away the tears.
    He seemed puzzled. “Cruel? What do you mean?”
    â€œGod, you’re thick!” she growled. “Did your IQ suddenly drop? Or is this punishment for me daring to hang around, hoping someday . . . ?”
    Laura couldn’t go on. What a silly fool she’d been. It stopped here and now. Tommy Grant was bane to her. She tried to jerk away from him.
    Tommy tugged her back to face him again. Before she knew what she did, she slapped him. Hard. She read the shock on his face. Part of her was stunned, too. Part wanted to do it again.
    â€œWhat the hell was that for?” He blinked, still not believing that his adoring acolyte dared raise a hand to him or stare with such loathing.
    â€œYou have to ask? Well, Mr. Suddenly-Stupid, I begged you to bring me to this dance. But no. Something about no college man in his right mind would be caught dead at a party for a bunch of juniors. Now, what do I see? Seven BMOCs here. You arrogant, think-you’re-so-damn-hot college men are here to cause trouble and make fun of us. Well, jump in your cars. You aren’t wanted here.” She tried to shove away from him, but he held her by the upper arms. “Leave me alone. In fact—just leave.”
    One of the chaperones—Mr. Taylor—came over. “Laura, is everything all right? Is there a problem here?”
    Tommy held up his hands, backing off. With a strange expression of regret, he spun on his heel and headed to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Laura glanced up to the sunroof, still seething with anger. Tommy stood, staring down at her, his hands on the white railing. Even from this distance, she saw his uncertainty. Unable to bear staring at the man she both loved to the depths of her soul and now hated with a warrior’s passion, she rushed inside the clubhouse and into the ladies’ changing room. She wanted to bawl like a baby, but wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
    A box of Kleenex was on the shelf before the long mirror. She beelined to it. Pulling out three, she carefully dabbed at the tears to keep her mascara from running. Hearing chatter headed into the women’s lounge, she rushed toward the changing rooms; she couldn’t face anyone now.
    She scooted into the last stall and closed the louvered door as the voices drew near. Sitting on the bench, she leaned her head against the wall, trying to find some peace. Maybe they wouldn’t linger.
    â€œWell, I feel sorry for