with one style. For you, I’d say that style is sexy-casual. Oh, some nice wedge sandals would be perfect for you.”
“You don’t even know me,” I reminded him. “What gives you the right to analyze my
style
?”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t know you, but I do know fashion. I’m gay, remember? Do you really want to argue wardrobe choices with me?”
“Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get to bandy about that horrible stereotype. I’ve partied with tons of gay guys who sucked with clothes,” I pointed out.
Harrison shrugged. “They weren’t me.”
Reluctantly, I looked down at my flip-flops. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Now that I thought about it, they really didn’t go with the rest of the outfit. They looked kind of tacky with the little plastic flowers along the straps. It just didn’t work for me. Less sexy, more little-girl cutesy.
“So, are you going to argue?” he asked again, clearly watching as I examined the footwear faux pas.
“No,” I mumbled. “I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Good call.”
It didn’t seem like any time had passed when I saw Nathan approaching us, jingling car keys in his right hand. Somehow, Harrison had managed to pull me into a conversation about the best and worst name-brand fashion designers,so I didn’t even see him coming until Harrison’s emerald eyes lit up like lightbulbs and a Cheshire Cat smirk began to spread across his face.
“Hey,” Nathan said, stopping next to my stool. “Ready to get out of here?”
“This soon?”
Nathan looked over at Harrison, then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said. “But Bailey’s ready to go. She says she doesn’t feel well.”
Classic cop-out
, I thought.
Is that the best excuse the kid could come up with?
“Hello there.” Harrison winked at me as he extended his hand toward Nathan. “I’m Harrison Carlyle. You must be Whitley’s stepbrother.”
“Not yet,” Nathan said. “Our parents don’t get married until sometime in September. I’m Nathan, by the way. I’m sure Whit told you that.”
“
Whit-ley
,” I snarled. “With two syllables.”
“She is so lucky to see your handsome face every morning,” Harrison told Nathan. “Many people would kill to be in her position.”
“Ha. I doubt that, but thanks.” Nathan laughed. “I’ll meet you in the car, Whit. Bailey’s already outside.”
“Fine.”
Nathan nodded to Harrison once before turning and walking out the front door of the club.
Harrison practically swooned. “Now
that
is beauty. Imean, that body? Tall and lean… You can’t tell me there aren’t a few dirty things you’d like to do to him.”
“Not really,” I said, mentally adding,
I’ve already done them.
Slowly, I stood up. “I should go.”
“Okay,” he said. “But I really liked talking to you. We should do this again.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
The truth was, as cool as Harrison had seemed, what I’d told him was true. I didn’t really do the whole “friends” thing. Not since middle school, anyway. In my experience, friends turned on you, abandoned you, lied about you. The best kind of “friends” were the ones you played beer pong with at a party and never saw again. I just wasn’t looking to make friends.
I was already moving away when he caught my elbow.
“Actually,” he said, spinning me to face him again. The guy was pretty strong, I’ll give him that. “My best friend is having a party at his house. You should come.”
I wasn’t looking for friends, but I
was
looking for a party.
“Will it be as lame as this place?” I asked, gesturing to the stage, where the shitty band attempted to fix their malfunctioning sound equipment.
“Oh, God, no,” Harrison assured me. “This party will be killer. He lives in a freaking mansion. You should come and hang out. I’ll introduce you to everyone. It’ll be fun.”
“Will there be drinks?”
“Yes.”
“Besides Coke. I mean, like,
“You don’t even know me,” I reminded him. “What gives you the right to analyze my
style
?”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t know you, but I do know fashion. I’m gay, remember? Do you really want to argue wardrobe choices with me?”
“Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get to bandy about that horrible stereotype. I’ve partied with tons of gay guys who sucked with clothes,” I pointed out.
Harrison shrugged. “They weren’t me.”
Reluctantly, I looked down at my flip-flops. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Now that I thought about it, they really didn’t go with the rest of the outfit. They looked kind of tacky with the little plastic flowers along the straps. It just didn’t work for me. Less sexy, more little-girl cutesy.
“So, are you going to argue?” he asked again, clearly watching as I examined the footwear faux pas.
“No,” I mumbled. “I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Good call.”
It didn’t seem like any time had passed when I saw Nathan approaching us, jingling car keys in his right hand. Somehow, Harrison had managed to pull me into a conversation about the best and worst name-brand fashion designers,so I didn’t even see him coming until Harrison’s emerald eyes lit up like lightbulbs and a Cheshire Cat smirk began to spread across his face.
“Hey,” Nathan said, stopping next to my stool. “Ready to get out of here?”
“This soon?”
Nathan looked over at Harrison, then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said. “But Bailey’s ready to go. She says she doesn’t feel well.”
Classic cop-out
, I thought.
Is that the best excuse the kid could come up with?
“Hello there.” Harrison winked at me as he extended his hand toward Nathan. “I’m Harrison Carlyle. You must be Whitley’s stepbrother.”
“Not yet,” Nathan said. “Our parents don’t get married until sometime in September. I’m Nathan, by the way. I’m sure Whit told you that.”
“
Whit-ley
,” I snarled. “With two syllables.”
“She is so lucky to see your handsome face every morning,” Harrison told Nathan. “Many people would kill to be in her position.”
“Ha. I doubt that, but thanks.” Nathan laughed. “I’ll meet you in the car, Whit. Bailey’s already outside.”
“Fine.”
Nathan nodded to Harrison once before turning and walking out the front door of the club.
Harrison practically swooned. “Now
that
is beauty. Imean, that body? Tall and lean… You can’t tell me there aren’t a few dirty things you’d like to do to him.”
“Not really,” I said, mentally adding,
I’ve already done them.
Slowly, I stood up. “I should go.”
“Okay,” he said. “But I really liked talking to you. We should do this again.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
The truth was, as cool as Harrison had seemed, what I’d told him was true. I didn’t really do the whole “friends” thing. Not since middle school, anyway. In my experience, friends turned on you, abandoned you, lied about you. The best kind of “friends” were the ones you played beer pong with at a party and never saw again. I just wasn’t looking to make friends.
I was already moving away when he caught my elbow.
“Actually,” he said, spinning me to face him again. The guy was pretty strong, I’ll give him that. “My best friend is having a party at his house. You should come.”
I wasn’t looking for friends, but I
was
looking for a party.
“Will it be as lame as this place?” I asked, gesturing to the stage, where the shitty band attempted to fix their malfunctioning sound equipment.
“Oh, God, no,” Harrison assured me. “This party will be killer. He lives in a freaking mansion. You should come and hang out. I’ll introduce you to everyone. It’ll be fun.”
“Will there be drinks?”
“Yes.”
“Besides Coke. I mean, like,
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