Love the One You're With Page 3

  “Right now, we’re watching Bertolucci. Last Tango in Paris. A masterpiece,” he explained to Owen.

  Owen nodded. So that was Hugh’s plan: to act like an artsy, sensitive, foreign film–loving guy when he really just wanted an excuse to screen a pseudo-porn movie in mixed company. And with girls from L’École, nonetheless—the girls from the all-female French school had a reputation for being, ahem, looser than their American counterparts. They certainly seemed to develop faster.

  “Hey.” Owen flashed a smile at the four girls. Each of them smiled back.

  Parlez-vous français?

  “Here’s a seat,” said one, practically shoving puppyish freshman Chadwick Jenkins off the couch and onto the floor. Chadwick didn’t even notice. His eyes were still glued to the screen, where the characters were engaged in some extremely explicit foreplay involving a stick of butter.

  “I’m cool, but thanks.” Owen scanned the room for Rhys, brushing past another one of the girls Hugh had introduced. She had dyed black hair, a nose ring, and a belly ring Owen could see through her off-white off-the-shoulder T-shirt. What was her name again? It began with an S….

  Skanké?

  “Hey man!” Rhys called from a corner, standing up hurriedly. His blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt was unbuttoned, and his dark brown hair was mussed.

  “Dude, did you see that girl I was sitting with? She’s crazy,” he hissed, pulling Owen into the large, country-modern kitchen. “She’s not wearing a bra or underwear. She told me that. Then she showed me. She showed me. Is that what girls do now?” Rhys shuddered.

  Owen grinned at his uptight buddy. He sounded like his mom, the society hostess of the television show Tea with Lady Sterling. It was a talk show about manners in contemporary society, shown in the afternoon and rerun on the screens in the backseats of cabs. For some reason, Avery was obsessed with the show.

  “Dude, just grow one,” Owen said, not unkindly. “She’s not going to bite.”

  “Oh, she does bite.” Rhys rubbed the side of his neck, and Owen could just make out two sets of faint reddish toothmarks. “Seriously, these girls are fucking dangerous,” Rhys finished, shaking his head.

  “I need a beer,” Owen announced. “You need, like, ten,” he added, laughing at Rhys’s shell-shocked expression.

  “You’re telling me!” Rhys pulled open the door of one of the two matching Sub-Zero refrigerators that flanked the rear wall of the kitchen. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, opening the bottle. “First I was attacked by a French vampire girl, and tomorrow I have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to go to England.”

  He sat down on one of the stainless steel stools surrounding the marble island in the center of the kitchen. “Just for once, I’d like to do a real Thanksgiving, you know? Instead I have to go to my awful cousins’ awful manor house. You know what we do there? Go on a foxhunt. It sucks.” Rhys shook his head grimly.

  “Well, consider this your lucky year.” Owen chugged his own beer, slamming the empty bottle against the hammered stainless steel counter. “We’re all going to the Bahamas. It’s this lame family bonding trip with my mom’s boyfriend,” Owen explained. He couldn’t say the word boyfriend without cringing. It wasn’t like he wanted his mom to be lonely or alone, but she and Remington had only been dating for a little over a month. Still, there was the prospect of warm weather, lots of booze, foreign girls… “Anyway, you’re invited.”

  “Seriously? They’d be cool with that?” Rhys’s eyes lit up.

  “Of course they would. You should come. It’d be good for you to get away,” Owen said. Rhys had seemed a little down ever since his breakup with Kelsey at the beginning of the year. Owen generally tried to avoid the subject, since he had pretty much single-handedly destroyed that relationship when he and Kelsey hooked up. But now he and Rhys were both over Kelsey. What better way to really smooth things over than a bachelor weekend?

  “What’s going on, men?” Hugh appeared in the kitchen, a drunken Sabine clinging to him for support. She was the same one who’d bitten Rhys. The strap of her tank top had fallen off her shoulder, her skirt barely covered her super-skinny ass, and she looked way too drunk for 7 p.m.

  “I was looking for you guys,” Hugh continued. “Sabine and I decided it’d be educational for us all to do some reenactments. You know, to fully understand the context of the film.”

  “I can show you what you missed,” Sabine said, pulling the other strap of her tank top off her shoulder, as if she were ready to strip right in the middle of Hugh’s kitchen. “What do you think, Rhys?” Rhys wordlessly shook his head and shot a pleading look at Owen to rescue him.

  “We were just coming out,” Owen said, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth. Earlier in the school year, when he was hooking up with Kelsey covertly, the guys on the team had thought he was being secretive because he was gay. Even now, when it was common knowledge he’d basically stolen Kelsey from Rhys, he was still sensitive about gay jokes.

  “You know I’m nothing but supportive.” Hugh waggled his eyebrows. “Do whatever you want, guys!”

  “What are they going to do?” Sabine slurred, obviously angry that no one seemed to notice her impromptu striptease.

  “Carlyle and I are going to the Bahamas,” Rhys explained.

  Because that doesn’t sound gay.

  “Oh! You need a goodbye kiss!” Sabine pulled up her tank top straps as she lurched toward Rhys. She dragged her red-painted fingernails against the back of his neck as she pulled him toward her. Rhys took an automatic step backward. What the hell? Since when were girls so predatory? Sure, she was hot, but she was also hammered. He didn’t want just a drunken hookup. Whatever happened to romance?

  Don’t ask the girl who thinks tequila shots are foreplay.

  “I… uh, have to pack,” Rhys said desperately.

  “No you don’t.” Sabine made puppy-dog eyes at him. “You know what I always say?” She leaned closer to Rhys so he could smell the tequila and Life Savers on her breath. “Je ne regrette rien.”

  Suddenly, a look of terror flashed across her face. “I don’t feel so good!” she apologized, throwing open one of the doors to the terrace. Rhys could hear retching sounds.

  “Happens to the best of us,” Hugh called out cheerfully. He turned back to the guys, his face now serious. “Listen, Rhys. You have to do more than pack,” he announced, thoughtfully stroking his bearded chin. At the beginning of the school year, as a show of solidarity after Kelsey broke up with Rhys, the swim team had made a pact that all of them would stop shaving, and that none of them would get action until Rhys had. The rest of the team had abandoned the plan after a few weeks, but Hugh had soldiered on. The fact that facial hair made it easier for him to avoid getting carded was certainly a plus. “You need to lose your virginity, stat. And here’s your opportunity. Sometimes it’s easier to get outside of your comfort zone if you’re in a different geographic region. It expands your thought horizons and stuff like that. You better get laid in the Bahamas. If you don’t, I don’t even want to see you back here,” Hugh finished, as if that settled the matter. “I’ll go make sure she’s okay,” he added, and went outside to check on Sabine.

  Rhys shook his head at Hugh’s lewd suggestion. It was true—he was still a virgin. The swim team guys had been trying to get him to lose his V card this entire year. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had any opportunities: At any given party, he could pull a girl like Sabine away to one of the guest rooms upstairs and just get it over with. But he didn’t want that. He wanted a nice girl whom he could go to dinner with, kiss while watching romantic comedies, make playlists for and send cute e-mails to. And then, when they were ready, they could have sex. And have it actually mean something.

  This week on Tea with Lady Sterling: freak-of-nature high school boys.

  “You okay?” Owen asked Rhys sympathetically, once they were alone again. He pulled out two more beers and placed them on the counter. He knew Rhys had been bent out of shape over the
whole virginity thing. He’d wanted to lose it to Kelsey, only to discover Kelsey had lost hers to Owen. It was pretty messed up, actually, and Owen really hoped Rhys would be able to put the past behind him and move on.

  “Better than her.” Rhys gestured toward Sabine’s still-retching form. Okay, so he sort of felt like a loser.

  “You better not come back from the Bahamas a virgin,” Hugh called from the terrace, where he was rubbing Sabine’s back. “Carlyle, make sure of it!” he added.

  Thus spoke the Master of Multitasking.

  Rhys considered this. As drunk as Hugh was, he had a point. Why not just lose it in the Bahamas? Maybe out of New York, and out of his mom’s sight, he’d be able to lose his hang-ups. Maybe if he just got it over with, away from Hugh and the swim team guys, he’d be in a better place to find a real relationship once he got back. He needed to stop acting like a shy pansy.

  “I’m going to do it!” Rhys announced. He drained the entire Sierra Nevada in one gulp and slammed down the empty bottle as if in victory. “Watch me!”

  Not literally, we hope….

  home for the holidays

  “Do you want to watch Belle de Jour or Amélie?” Jack called to J.P. as she rifled through the DVDs in her dad’s lame collection. Even though Jack had been living in her dad’s Bank Street town house for over a month, she didn’t think of it as her home. She definitely didn’t feel like she belonged there.

  The rest of the world—including the Laurents’ Irish nanny, Saoirse—had begun their Thanksgiving holiday tonight. But Jack had to stay home with Colette and Elodie, her three-year-old twin stepsisters. Luckily J.P. had come over to help out. Jack wrinkled her nose as she yanked open the glass cabinet next to the flat-screen television and flipped past an entire collection of Gérard Depardieu films. Her dad had such an embarrassingly obvious French fetish.

  “I don’t care,” J.P. called from the adjacent playroom.

  “What are you doing?” Jack stood and pulled her jeans further up her hips. Her Antik Denims had felt a tiny bit tight when she put them on this morning, and they definitely weren’t the best pants for crawling around on the floor.

  She stood in the doorway of the pink-and-purple playroom, where J.P. was wedged into a chair at a tiny white wooden table, a pink teacup balanced on his knee. Elodie sat across from him, and Colette was in the corner of the room, lying on Theo, a stuffed polar bear that had been Jack’s when she was a child. Originally white, now the oversize stuffed animal was a dingy gray. Jack had never liked stuffed animals, but it still bothered her that her dad had gone through all of the trouble to save the toy, only to give it to the stepbrats.

  “Tea?” J.P. asked. He winked as he held the cup out to her.

  “Jack’s not invited!” Colette cried, jumping off Theo as if to physically bar Jack from entering the room.

  “No, she’s not. J.P. is ours!” Elodie added.

  “Well, good, because I don’t like tea. I only like vodka.” Jack tried to sound less annoyed than she felt. Who were they to tell her she wasn’t invited to their tea party? She was their sister, for fuck’s sake!

  “I think we could arrange a private v-o-d-k-a party,” J.P. said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Guess what, girls? It’s bedtime!” Jack lied. Her Rolex only said seven thirty. Not like they knew how to tell time, thank God.

  It was strange to actually spend time with the stepbrats, after years of pretending they didn’t exist. Colette and Elodie both had light blond hair like their former yoga instructor mom, Rebecca, but their freckly faces and slightly upturned noses looked like Jack’s when she was a toddler. Of course, even back when Jack was three, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in the Pepto-Bismol pink matching Bonpoint outfits Rebecca had dressed them in.

  “No!” Elodie whined.

  “Vodka!” Colette yelled randomly as she wandered over to J.P., wrapping her arms around him. Elodie crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at Jack.

  “Sorry, girls. Party’s over. It’s bedtime for me, too.” J.P. stood up awkwardly, Colette still clinging to his khaki-clad leg.

  “You okay, gorgeous?” J.P. whispered into Jack’s auburn hair.

  Jack nodded, even though she felt kind of weird. She knew it should be adorable to watch her boyfriend play with her step-siblings, but it wasn’t. Watching J.P. with Colette and Elodie was like watching her life, fast-forwarded ten years. Was this what it was going to be like when they had kids?

  “Come on!” Jack leaned down and pried Colette’s disconcertingly sticky hand off J.P.’s leg.

  “Ow!” Colette whined. “You hurted me. Mean Jack!”

  “Mean Jack!” Elodie chanted, using her tiny hands to hit Jack’s knees.

  “Bed,” Jack hissed, hooking her hands under Elodie’s armpits and picking her up. “If you don’t go to bed, you might never see Theo again.”

  Colette’s large blue eyes widened in horror. She opened her tiny mouth and let out a wail. Elodie soon followed suit. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “Okay, ladies!” J.P. leaned down and scooped up Colette, then deftly grabbed Elodie from Jack. He balanced one twin on each hip as if he’d been doing this for years. “Jack was just kidding about Theo. Ready for bed?”

  “No!” Elodie shouted. Colette took up the chorus, their fair, freckly faces turning a dangerous, tomato red.

  “Want to just put in a movie they can watch until they fall asleep? It might be easier,” J.P. suggested quietly.

  “Fine.” Jack sighed as she stalked back to the overstuffed Jonathan Adler leather club chair.

  “We love J.P.!” Colette yelled.

  “This is okay, right?” J.P. asked Jack, already rifling through the shelves of developmentally appropriate DVDs.

  “Movie!” Elodie yelled, stomping her tiny foot.

  “Okay, movie!” J.P. said. “Do you like this one?” He held up a Dora the Explorer DVD case.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” the girls yelled in chorus. J.P. stuck the disc into the DVD player and the twins immediately fell silent, entranced by the show.

  Jack pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. She wasn’t sure who to call. Sarah Jane had been in Aspen since Monday, Jiffy and Genevieve were crashing a lame benefit party that Beatrice was hosting, and Avery had a family dinner. Still, she needed to do something to distract her from her ridiculous night.

  She was supposed to be drinking a large well-deserved glass of Côtes du Rhône, eating cheese and crackers, and contemplating the fact that in just two days, she and J.P. were going to do it. It it. They’d been so close for so long, but finally, they had special Thanksgiving plans—a cozy, private rendezvous. Jack’s dad, Rebecca, and the stepbrats were all planning to go to New Jersey to celebrate with Rebecca’s extended family, so she’d have the entire town house to herself for the night. All J.P. had to do was come over after he’d had dinner with his family. It would be perfect. After all, one month after their what were we thinking? breakup where J.P. had spent less than a week dating Baby Carlyle, they were stronger than ever.

  Jack felt stronger than ever too. Sure, living with her dad, Rebecca, and the stepbrats wasn’t ideal, but normally the toddlers had their nanny to amuse them. Jack’s ballet classes had never been better, and her teachers were talking to her about conservatory programs for college. Even her friendships were good. While she’d have preferred it if Avery weren’t related to Baby, Avery had turned out to be more interesting than she’d originally thought. She had a snarky side to her, and would definitely let Jack know if her butt looked flat in her jeans. She’d never really met anyone like that before.

  As if on cue, her phone burst into The Nutcracker Suite. Avery.

  “I’ll go upstairs,” Jack announced. Not like it mattered. J.P. was laughing along with the twins at Dora, looking like he was having the fucking time of his life.

  “What’s up?” Jack asked as she stepped into the upstairs den. Rebecca had an unfortunate Danish modern-and-pastel fetish. Jack settled into the u
gly low salmon-colored couch.

  “Sorry, I know you’re with J.P.! I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Avery’s voice was teasing on the other end.

  “Nope, it’s preschool power hour here.” Jack sighed. “Seriously, remind me to never have kids. I can’t even talk about it.” She shuddered. “How’s your family?” she asked. Even though they were getting close, she didn’t want Avery to know just how pathetic her life was.

  “Good, actually—I just found out we’re going to the Bahamas tomorrow!” Avery squealed. “My mom’s boyfriend invited us. Can you come? I think Owen’s bringing Rhys. It’ll be soooo much fun! Please?”

  Jack sighed heavily. Part of her really wanted to go. She knew she and Avery would have a blast together, and it felt like forever since she’d gotten out of the city. But she didn’t want to postpone it again. The four-day weekend was the perfect time. Tomorrow, she’d go shopping for new lingerie; Thursday, she’d officially become a woman; and then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday she and J.P. would repeat the performance. After all, your first time was supposed to be sort of clumsy, so Jack wanted to have at least one good experience before school on Monday, where she’d dangle not-telling details in front of her friends and watch their faces go green with envy.

  Practice does make perfect.

  “I understand if you can’t,” Avery said, recognizing Jack’s silence as a no. “I know it’s hard to leave J.P. and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I have to stay. I’m sorry.” Jack sighed. She did feel sorry—a little sorry for herself, actually. If she and J.P. had already had sex, like normal people, she could go on vacation with Avery and have fun and not worry about planning out every second of her four-day holiday like some desperate housewife.