The Cad and the Co-Ed
Page 42
“No, Josey. He’s thirty.”
“Really? I thought he was older.”
“Nope. He’s six years older than us.”
“Huh.” She blinked, her eyes losing focus. “This is completely mad.”
“Tell me about it.”
We sat in silence for a stretch, both staring into space, lost to our own thoughts.
Abruptly, she broke the silence. “This is so great.”
“I know,” I said, because it was great. At least, I hoped it would be great, for Patrick’s sake.
“And you don’t believe in happily ever afters.” Josey’s face split with a grin.
“What?”
My friend clapped her hands together. “You and Bryan, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—except first comes baby in your case. Then love. Then marriage. Or maybe marriage, then love. Who cares, just as long as there’s lots of H-O-T S-E-X.”
“No!” I rejected much too loudly, holding my hands up. My outburst earned me a few sidelong glances, which I ignored. “No, no, no. This isn’t about me. Nothing is going to happen between Bryan and me.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because it’s not.” Because I kissed him, and he rejected me. I made a fool of myself. Again. He doesn’t want me.
She studied me, appearing disgruntled. Then, apropos of nothing, said, “Is this because of your father?”
I stiffened, my gaze lowering to the table between us. I needed to clear my throat before I could respond; when I did, my voice was much too tight. “No. Of course not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s not.” I glanced at her, finding she’d narrowed her eyes.
“It is. You’ve always had daddy issues—and mommy issues, not that I blame you—but, Eilish, you are not your mother. For one thing, you’re a lot hotter.”
The laugh that escaped my lips was slightly hysterical. I suppressed it by rolling my lips between my teeth. “I know I am not my mother.”
“Do you?”
I met Josey’s piercing stare straight on. “Yes. I do.”
“Good. Because she is unkind, controlling, and frosty as that snowman, except she’s got the corn-cob pipe stuffed up her arse. And we’ve already established that you’re too nice.”
“You mean personality-less.”
“No. Too nice.” She waved away my interpretation of her words from our conversation weeks ago. “Being a parent didn’t change your mother, didn’t make her nice. She used you and your brothers and sisters, and your hot cousin for that matter. Your dad left your mother because she’s a spiteful witch and he was tired of being controlled.”
“Yes. He did. And he didn’t love any of us enough to stay, or—I don’t know—call on our birthdays.” These words arrived much more bitterly than I’d anticipated. To my surprise, I had to blink away sudden moisture stinging my eyes.
Josey’s face softened, and she reached across the table to hold my hand. “Listen to me, sexy lady. You are not your mother. Bryan is not your father.”
“I know Bryan is not my father,” I whispered, gritting my teeth. “My father didn’t forget my mother after sleeping with her once.”
“Oh, honey.” Josey’s tone was laden with sympathy, and I pulled my hand away. “He was drunk.”
“Exactly.”
She sighed, it sounded frustrated. “Give him a chance.”
“He doesn’t want a chance.” I sniffed, shaking my head. “He doesn’t want me, he wants to know his son. This isn’t about me, it’s about Patrick.”
A small part of me—a very small part—had held out hope that Bryan would remember our night together once I told him. If not the full details, then at least some small glimmer of recollection. In my heart of hearts, I’d hoped that I’d made some impression.
Silly, right?
Pathetic, right?
Crazy and stupid and selfish, right?
He hadn’t.
He hadn’t remembered me at all. I was . . . completely and utterly forgettable.
But this isn’t about you, loony bird. This is about Patrick.
“This is what I mean, Eilish.” She motioned to me, looking and sounding exasperated. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“You’re too nice, too responsible.” She leaned forward, a hint of mischievousness entering her voice, and whispered, “Don’t tell me you don’t have the hots for this guy. He’s Bryan-fucking-Leech. He’s the total package. He’s always been charming and sexy as hell, but now he’s a reformed bad boy, and you’re the mother of his child.”
“So what?”
“So what?” Her eyes widened as they darted between mine. “So, get laid and report back. Seduce the man. If you don’t leverage the fuck out of this, then you’re dead to me.”
I choked on nothing, staring at my friend, trying to figure out if she was serious. I couldn’t tell.
“You’re nuts.”
Josey leaned back, shaking her head at me. “Too nice.”
“You’re like one of those devils sitting on my shoulder, trying to get me to do bad things.”
“I am. I am exactly like that.” She nodded, grinning. “Go do bad things to him, do very wicked things. Enjoy yourself for once. Use him like he used you.”
“Really? I thought he was older.”
“Nope. He’s six years older than us.”
“Huh.” She blinked, her eyes losing focus. “This is completely mad.”
“Tell me about it.”
We sat in silence for a stretch, both staring into space, lost to our own thoughts.
Abruptly, she broke the silence. “This is so great.”
“I know,” I said, because it was great. At least, I hoped it would be great, for Patrick’s sake.
“And you don’t believe in happily ever afters.” Josey’s face split with a grin.
“What?”
My friend clapped her hands together. “You and Bryan, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—except first comes baby in your case. Then love. Then marriage. Or maybe marriage, then love. Who cares, just as long as there’s lots of H-O-T S-E-X.”
“No!” I rejected much too loudly, holding my hands up. My outburst earned me a few sidelong glances, which I ignored. “No, no, no. This isn’t about me. Nothing is going to happen between Bryan and me.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because it’s not.” Because I kissed him, and he rejected me. I made a fool of myself. Again. He doesn’t want me.
She studied me, appearing disgruntled. Then, apropos of nothing, said, “Is this because of your father?”
I stiffened, my gaze lowering to the table between us. I needed to clear my throat before I could respond; when I did, my voice was much too tight. “No. Of course not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s not.” I glanced at her, finding she’d narrowed her eyes.
“It is. You’ve always had daddy issues—and mommy issues, not that I blame you—but, Eilish, you are not your mother. For one thing, you’re a lot hotter.”
The laugh that escaped my lips was slightly hysterical. I suppressed it by rolling my lips between my teeth. “I know I am not my mother.”
“Do you?”
I met Josey’s piercing stare straight on. “Yes. I do.”
“Good. Because she is unkind, controlling, and frosty as that snowman, except she’s got the corn-cob pipe stuffed up her arse. And we’ve already established that you’re too nice.”
“You mean personality-less.”
“No. Too nice.” She waved away my interpretation of her words from our conversation weeks ago. “Being a parent didn’t change your mother, didn’t make her nice. She used you and your brothers and sisters, and your hot cousin for that matter. Your dad left your mother because she’s a spiteful witch and he was tired of being controlled.”
“Yes. He did. And he didn’t love any of us enough to stay, or—I don’t know—call on our birthdays.” These words arrived much more bitterly than I’d anticipated. To my surprise, I had to blink away sudden moisture stinging my eyes.
Josey’s face softened, and she reached across the table to hold my hand. “Listen to me, sexy lady. You are not your mother. Bryan is not your father.”
“I know Bryan is not my father,” I whispered, gritting my teeth. “My father didn’t forget my mother after sleeping with her once.”
“Oh, honey.” Josey’s tone was laden with sympathy, and I pulled my hand away. “He was drunk.”
“Exactly.”
She sighed, it sounded frustrated. “Give him a chance.”
“He doesn’t want a chance.” I sniffed, shaking my head. “He doesn’t want me, he wants to know his son. This isn’t about me, it’s about Patrick.”
A small part of me—a very small part—had held out hope that Bryan would remember our night together once I told him. If not the full details, then at least some small glimmer of recollection. In my heart of hearts, I’d hoped that I’d made some impression.
Silly, right?
Pathetic, right?
Crazy and stupid and selfish, right?
He hadn’t.
He hadn’t remembered me at all. I was . . . completely and utterly forgettable.
But this isn’t about you, loony bird. This is about Patrick.
“This is what I mean, Eilish.” She motioned to me, looking and sounding exasperated. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“You’re too nice, too responsible.” She leaned forward, a hint of mischievousness entering her voice, and whispered, “Don’t tell me you don’t have the hots for this guy. He’s Bryan-fucking-Leech. He’s the total package. He’s always been charming and sexy as hell, but now he’s a reformed bad boy, and you’re the mother of his child.”
“So what?”
“So what?” Her eyes widened as they darted between mine. “So, get laid and report back. Seduce the man. If you don’t leverage the fuck out of this, then you’re dead to me.”
I choked on nothing, staring at my friend, trying to figure out if she was serious. I couldn’t tell.
“You’re nuts.”
Josey leaned back, shaking her head at me. “Too nice.”
“You’re like one of those devils sitting on my shoulder, trying to get me to do bad things.”
“I am. I am exactly like that.” She nodded, grinning. “Go do bad things to him, do very wicked things. Enjoy yourself for once. Use him like he used you.”
