Puck Buddies (3 page)

“He’s so hot,” she mumbles as she raises
the drink to her lips.

“And he knows it.”

He’s also a bit older than we are, which
with him translates somehow into superiority and adds a wonderful accompaniment
to the completely narcissistic way he already carries himself. In comparison, he
makes my entire family appear as if we don't even share a single hair of
conceit amongst us. Which is saying a lot. My dad reminds me of
Sir Walter Elliot
from
Persuasion,
another one of the movies Nat made me watch. I didn't
tell her I loved it and have watched it several times since. My favorite is the
one with Rupert Penry-Jones. He’s hot as hell.

“What?” Nat turns, giving me a sour
frown.

“What?” Maybe I mumbled something about
hot guys of Austin.

“You said something.”

“It was nothing. Oh God, he’s coming
over,” I groan.

“I know.” Her face lights up, gushing
pathetic crush all over us both. “Do I look okay? Is my makeup too much?”

“Better than he deserves,” I mutter.

“What?” She leans in again. “Why are you
talking so low?”

“I said you look beautiful.”

Her gaze narrows, but he’s at the table
before she can question me.

Her bright-blue eyes and pale blonde hair
give her a sweet girl-next-door look that science says guys like William should
fall for, but she’s naive on how to work it, and him. So he works her instead.
It’s been going on since we were twelve, and I don't know how much more I can
take.

He’s an idiot.

He doesn’t deserve to wipe the shit from
her shoe, but she’s so beaten down by her mom she doesn’t see it.

I have nightmares about the day she tells
me they’re getting married and he only hits her because he loves her.

I hate him. He’s
an asshat.

But I love her so I tolerate him. Until I
can have him killed off, which is my ultimate plan.

“
Ladies,
how are
you this evening?” William approaches with a grin, speaking directly to me
because Nat’s so into him. He does it all the time, like he enjoys being chased
by her, which is super not manly.

“Great,” I sneer.

“Where’s Colin?” He scans the bar for my boy
du jour.

“He’s home. Reading the breakup text I
just sent before we left the house.” I don’t even blink as I say it.

“A text? Harsh, Sami.” William laughs.

“I received an anonymous email with a
link to his Tinder account.
His
active
Tinder account.
Nat made a fake profile and asked him
to meet up, and of course he agreed to.” I keep the part where I’m glad I never
had sex with him to myself.
Him or Drew.
Disgusting
asshats.

“Holy shit! Tinder! Damn. What an idiot.
The guy’s high all the time. You’re better off,” he adds, like he’s not also an
idiot.

“Yeah, whatever.” I shrug.

My eyes drift behind William to the guy
he’s introducing to Nat, “This is a friend of mine, Carson Bellevue.”

“Sami and I are well acquainted with one
another.” Carson gives me a knowing grin as if a memory has flashed in his
mind. Likely it involves me sitting on his lap while he drives his dad’s
Porsche with the top down. We were top down times three.

“This is my friend Natalie Banks. She
went to the academy with me.” I distract him with Natalie so he’ll stop making
that face and thinking about me with no shirt on.

Everyone has seen me with no shirt on.
It’s not even a big deal anymore.

“Hello, Natalie.”

“Hey.” Natalie nods at Carson but bats
her long thick lashes at William the D-bag.

“Natalie. How are you?” William tries his
usual bullshit where he pretends they’re vague acquaintances.

“Great.” She hardly even flinches at the
way he acts.

It’s pathetic.

And the meaner I am to him the angrier
she gets with me, not him.
Even when the flaws are so
obvious.

She is the truest example of love being
blind.

Sometimes I cry about the hopelessness of
the situation in the shower when I’m alone, or just sob on the inside like a
winner when we have to hang out with him.

Like right now.

Carson’s eyes leave mine and dart back to
Nat’s, which is an inevitable outcome. Nat is gorgeous and she doesn’t know it,
the perfect toy for boys like Carson and William. “Lovely to meet you.” He
offers her a hand, taking hers and pressing a kiss into it.

William raises his eyebrows when Nat
blushes. “All right, Bellevue, don't slobber on her.” He glances down at our
drinks and turns his head toward the bar. “I’ll go get us something better to
drink.” He turns and leaves.

Carson takes the opportunity to slide
into the booth next to Nat. “So are you going to Columbia with us?”

Us?

He’s going to Columbia too?

He never mentioned that was where he
wanted to go.

“No.” Nat shakes her head, averting her
eyes. “I’m going closer to home.”

“Oh, in Greenwich. Which school?” His
lips twist into a wry grin.

I open my mouth to defend her right to go
to a random community college when something catches my eye. I want to say it’s
just a cute face because I am a sucker for a cute boy. But that’s not the
reason I’m staring.

It’s him.

Black-cab guy.

My heart races and my mouth
dries
, thinking about the kiss. The whole event has chapters
in my journal, diary thingy, dedicated to it.

It’s still the single greatest ending of
any night, ever.

And now he’s
here . . . in New York.

In the same bar as I am.

And I look hot this time.

And I smell good, not like old beer.

Blood leaves my entire top half when I
realize he’s strolling over, with perfect swagger. He smiles wide and I wonder if
he saw me across the bar or even better—he came here because he heard I
was here.

That would be how it works out in my
journal, something romantic like that.

But his eyes don’t meet mine; they
brighten as he slaps Carson on the back. “Bellevue!”

Carson turns, his face lighting up the
moment he sees the gorgeous creation next to him. “Brimstone!
Holy shit, bro.
I haven’t seen you in ages.” Carson jumps up
and shakes hands with the guy beaming at him and ignoring me—
me
—the person black-cab guy shared
the greatest kiss in the history of kisses with. “Are you in the city to play or
play?”

“Just hang out. Maybe soon I’ll be
playing here though. I’m still in Michigan for now. Gotta finish school so the
old man doesn’t have a stroke.” Black-cab guy answers him so casually, not
darting a single glance my way. Is he avoiding me or does he not even recognize
me?

Was I that
unmemorable?

“So still with the hockey?”

“Yeah.”

“To your father’s dislike, I’m sure!
Still the black sheep then?”

“You know it.” He shrugs. His casual
indifference contrasts well with Carson’s obvious man crush. Not that I blame
Carson. I’m crushing from over here in the cheap seats, fully eavesdropping.

Black-cab guy looks different here,
better.

No suit.

No lipstick.

Just a tee shirt and some old
worn jeans.
The ensemble looks soft over his hard body, better than the suit did. He’s more
in his element like this, I think. Like he could pump gas into his truck and
not worry about spilling any of it. He’s drinking beer from the bottle for
God’s sake. I didn’t even know you could buy a bottle of beer here.

He’s completely casual and relaxed and
underdressed, and yet the club let him in, which can only mean he’s someone who
can underdress. And even weirder, he knows Carson.

He doesn't come across as somebody Carson
would even flick dirt at. Nonetheless, he’s practically gushing all over him.
So whoever black-cab guy is, he has to be someone of importance. Carson is a
bigger snob than William the Douche.

But even weirder than all of that is the
fact that if he knows Carson, he must know me too.

Which means he pretended not to know me.

Who the hell is
he?

I recognize him from somewhere but I have
no clue where.

My gaze drifts to his hands gripping the
beer.

I shiver, just slightly, or a lot,
recalling the moment those hands cupped my face so delicately, while he
pretended not to know me.
Just as he’s doing now.
Only
now it hurts more because he’s also pretending he didn’t kiss me.

But he did.

And I have relived the moment for six
long months. I didn’t date for months after Drew because of that kiss.

So much so that some days it
was the highlight of my entire day.
I would fall asleep wondering where he
was and if he was thinking about me too. Apparently, the answer to that
question is no. No, he wasn't.

I want to call him out on it, but I can’t
be the one to remember him when he clearly doesn't remember me. Not a chance. I
don't do desperate with boys. I might be dumb when it comes to guys, but I am
not needy. Not out loud.

My self-esteem, which has been known to
take a beating here and there, crashes as I wonder at my being as memorable as
he was.

My eyes lower to my drink as my heart
cracks in disappointment, just a small piece of it. I had visions of how this
moment would go. I’d made a list:

We would meet up in some foreign country,
just like last time, both blown away at the randomness of the second meeting.

We would go for a walk filled with
awkward tension and our hands would accidentally brush against each other but
not actually touch.

We would laugh about running into one
another and recommend the sights of the foreign city we both liked.

It would start to rain and we would duck
into a doorway.

The pounding rain would quell the noise
of the city, and in that moment, he would confess he hadn’t stopped thinking
about that kiss.

He would tell me that he hadn’t stopped
thinking about me.

And we would kiss again.

“Sami Ford. Of course you know who she
is.”

I lift my eyes at my name, losing the
daydream. “What?”

“Hi.” Black-cab guy nods casually as we
have a moment. It’s the kind you hear about but never have, where your eyes
lock and there’s no one else in the room.

But he ends it.

He blinks, forcing me to blink too and
it’s over.

“And this is her lovely friend Natalie
Banks. They’re from Greenwich.” Carson points his thumb at Brimstone. “Ladies,
this is my bro, Matt Brimst—Brimley—we call him Brimstone. It’s a
long story.”

Matt.

His name is Matt. It’s a disappointing
name. I wanted it to be something better. Captain Wentworth perhaps.

But Brimley sounds familiar.

I give Matt my best indifferent look. I
don’t know what he’s thinking, but I definitely won’t be the one to admit I
remember him.

Whatever.

Forget him.

Matt smiles politely. “Ladies, nice to
meet you.” He doesn't linger a moment before his eyes dart back to Carson’s.
“So how’s your sister?” He nudges and grins wider.

I’ve been dismissed for Carson’s stupid
sister.

I don’t even have a response to that.

“You better not even think about my
sister, man. Keep your ginormous hands off.” Carson shoves him. They both laugh
and I fight not to notice the way he smiles and how his eyes squint just the
right amount and his teeth are so straight and white.

He’s perfect.

It’s unfortunate I will have to hate him
for the rest of my life.

My self-esteem might have weak moments
but my inner bitch doesn’t.

He wants to slight me?

He wants to pretend he doesn’t remember
the cab?

He wants to ruin the best kiss I ever
had?

Fine.

Good.

Screw him.

There are millions of boys in the world
who kiss just as magically. It probably wasn’t even that magical; he was just
the first nice person all night.

“Wanna dance?” Nat nudges me out of my
silent argument that plotting revenge sex with strangers to slight a boy who
doesn't even know I exist is not a solid plan.

“What? Sure.” I suck back my drink and
let her drag me from the booth.