his finger in mock threat. Wait a minute. Were they under the assumption that I was ever going to be in a car with Perry? Like on dates? No. Just no.
Dad had started discussing business stuff with Mr. Beresdorfer, which left me conversationally stranded with his son, a boy who was about as interesting as burnt toast.
“So, uh … have you met any of my friends yet?” I asked him, craning my head to look for one of them to rescue me. Where on earth were they?
“Not really,” he answered. “I don’t know many people over on this side of town.” Perry went to some private school in Oak Park that I’m sure cost more than some college tuitions. I couldn’t tell if there was an air of superiority in the way he spoke about our neighborhood, but decided not to assume the worst. He already had enough strikes for him in the “Ugh” column that it wasn’t necessary for me to find any reasons to add more.
“Okay, well, I’ll try to introduce you to some people. My friends should be around here somewhere ….”
“No worries,” he said, good-naturedly. “I’m thinking I’ll just stick like glue to you all night. I mean, what’s the point of doing the chit-chat thing with strangers, when I’m really here to hang out with you?” With that, any tiny remnant of hope I had that this party might border on fun vanished like an ant blasted off a driveway by a high-pressure hose. I craned my neck again to find my friends, looking past Perry’s shoulder as he prattled on about his dairy allergy, of all things. My eyes had gotten used to the dark lighting by now, but I forgot all about the girlfriends I was supposed to be scouting when I saw a guy—a jaw-droppingly gorgeous guy, I might add—enter through our restaurant’s back door. The way he’d sidled in, leading with one shoulder, reminded me of a stray tomcat slinking through a chink in some garden wall. He glanced around the room as if looking for someone—his parents, perhaps? My folks had invited so many random friends to the party that there was really no telling who he might have been connected to. Resting against a brick pillar, he dug both hands into the pockets of his dark denim jeans. A black skinny tie dangled insouciantly from the collar of his workaday white oxford shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to just below his elbows. His slouch mirrored the cool informality of his attire, and he studied the scuffed toes of his black Converse sneakers. Like the statue of David, his face looked focused and calm, yet poised for action. But I’d bet even Michelangelo couldn’t have carved anything more perfect than this guy.
“ … and while I
love
cannoli,” Perry blathered, “they need to be filled with a soy-based cream.” I nodded absently, never shifting my gaze from the boy standing ten feet behind him. Perhaps the boy sensed as much, for he slowly turned his head in my direction and looked straight at me, engulfing my chest cavity in flames.
“ … it’s not so much the lactose that’s the culprit,” Perry droned on, delving into the mind-numbing topic of whey proteins and shifting his body so that my preferred view was suddenly blocked. I sidestepped half an inch to the right and found his eyes again, to my sweet relief. I smiled, quite involuntarily, and was amazed to see the faintest hint of a grin echoed in his perfect face. I could happily have stood there frozen in time—even if it meant being forced to listen to Perry’s dissertation on the perils of dairy. The only things I suddenly required in life were those angelic eyes, that devilish grin ….
“Earth to Gigi!” The voice of my friend Bethany ripped me out of my reverie, and I tore my eyes away from his. She was flanked by four of my closest friends from school.
“Oh … hi! There you guys are!”
“So, are we even going to get to hang out with you at all?” demanded another classmate, Anna Lopinsky, looking pert in her flouncy navy blue frock.
“Well, yeah, uh
Dad had started discussing business stuff with Mr. Beresdorfer, which left me conversationally stranded with his son, a boy who was about as interesting as burnt toast.
“So, uh … have you met any of my friends yet?” I asked him, craning my head to look for one of them to rescue me. Where on earth were they?
“Not really,” he answered. “I don’t know many people over on this side of town.” Perry went to some private school in Oak Park that I’m sure cost more than some college tuitions. I couldn’t tell if there was an air of superiority in the way he spoke about our neighborhood, but decided not to assume the worst. He already had enough strikes for him in the “Ugh” column that it wasn’t necessary for me to find any reasons to add more.
“Okay, well, I’ll try to introduce you to some people. My friends should be around here somewhere ….”
“No worries,” he said, good-naturedly. “I’m thinking I’ll just stick like glue to you all night. I mean, what’s the point of doing the chit-chat thing with strangers, when I’m really here to hang out with you?” With that, any tiny remnant of hope I had that this party might border on fun vanished like an ant blasted off a driveway by a high-pressure hose. I craned my neck again to find my friends, looking past Perry’s shoulder as he prattled on about his dairy allergy, of all things. My eyes had gotten used to the dark lighting by now, but I forgot all about the girlfriends I was supposed to be scouting when I saw a guy—a jaw-droppingly gorgeous guy, I might add—enter through our restaurant’s back door. The way he’d sidled in, leading with one shoulder, reminded me of a stray tomcat slinking through a chink in some garden wall. He glanced around the room as if looking for someone—his parents, perhaps? My folks had invited so many random friends to the party that there was really no telling who he might have been connected to. Resting against a brick pillar, he dug both hands into the pockets of his dark denim jeans. A black skinny tie dangled insouciantly from the collar of his workaday white oxford shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to just below his elbows. His slouch mirrored the cool informality of his attire, and he studied the scuffed toes of his black Converse sneakers. Like the statue of David, his face looked focused and calm, yet poised for action. But I’d bet even Michelangelo couldn’t have carved anything more perfect than this guy.
“ … and while I
love
cannoli,” Perry blathered, “they need to be filled with a soy-based cream.” I nodded absently, never shifting my gaze from the boy standing ten feet behind him. Perhaps the boy sensed as much, for he slowly turned his head in my direction and looked straight at me, engulfing my chest cavity in flames.
“ … it’s not so much the lactose that’s the culprit,” Perry droned on, delving into the mind-numbing topic of whey proteins and shifting his body so that my preferred view was suddenly blocked. I sidestepped half an inch to the right and found his eyes again, to my sweet relief. I smiled, quite involuntarily, and was amazed to see the faintest hint of a grin echoed in his perfect face. I could happily have stood there frozen in time—even if it meant being forced to listen to Perry’s dissertation on the perils of dairy. The only things I suddenly required in life were those angelic eyes, that devilish grin ….
“Earth to Gigi!” The voice of my friend Bethany ripped me out of my reverie, and I tore my eyes away from his. She was flanked by four of my closest friends from school.
“Oh … hi! There you guys are!”
“So, are we even going to get to hang out with you at all?” demanded another classmate, Anna Lopinsky, looking pert in her flouncy navy blue frock.
“Well, yeah, uh
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