We’d attended prom together for lack of other options. Drew had just broken up with his girlfriend—they were nearing his dreaded six-month mark—and I had stayed single most of my high school years.
I brought a flask and kept spiking my punch. Drew said he didn’t need to drink, that he had just as much fun sober. By the end of the night, I was sufficiently drunk and led him to the rear of the school. My hair, once piled in ringlet curls on my head, had come unpinned during the dancing and was hanging haphazardly down my back. I wore a strapless light pink gown, a satin mistake that had become blotched with punch and rum. Drew’s bowtie was draped around my neck, a badge of entitlement. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the neck, the typical end-of-the-night mayhem of formal attire.
My face burned from the alcohol, and the air outside smelled ripe of summer and pheromones. I pushed him against the back wall of the school, aware then of the power I’d had over him, but the alcohol made me reckless, selfish, willing to risk our friendship. I leaned against him, feeling the entire length of his body against mine, and kissed his neck at the soft dip of flesh near his collarbone. I heard his intake of breath, and his hands ran down my back, pulling me into him.
“Claire.” He kissed me. He tasted of sunshine and childhood, and conversely, seduction and sex.
He pushed me away. “Claire, you’re drunk. I don’t want this, not like this.”
My anger came quick and hot. Rejection, seriously? I laughed. “Are you kidding? It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”
“I still do. But I want it… forever, not just for tonight, when you’re drunk and can pretend this never happened.”
“You get me now. It’s your chance. Now. We get a hotel room like everyone else and make love on prom night like seniors are supposed to do. Or we don’t. You choose.” I stepped back, arms outstretched, like a game show host showing off a prize.
He turned his head to the side. “Claire, don’t…”
I let my arms fall and shook my head. When he didn’t move, I stormed away and left him against the wall.
“It would have been fun, you know.” I laughed, then flipped back the covers. The action seemed dramatic, larger than life, because of the tequila. I felt humiliated all over again and didn’t know why I’d brought up the memory. I rarely thought about it over the years, and we never spoke about it. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. It was a cruel thing to say, and his stricken expression had stayed with me. Drew stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles, and I burrowed beneath the blankets.
He looked over at me and, smiling, patted my head, Cindy Lou Who style. “Nah, we wouldn’t have stayed friends, then.”
When my head hit the pillow, I felt my eyes drift, sleep coming in waves, despite the spinning sensation in my head. I longed for sleep that was deep and dreamless, absent of images of Greg in danger. I reached out blindly and patted his arm. “Then I’m glad you said no.” Before I had time to figure out if that was true, I passed out.
Chapter 9
Morning wasn’t friendly. I sat up, my head pulsing, and drank from the glass of water on the nightstand. I spotted a bottle of Advil beside the lamp and threw back two of them. Bless Drew.
He lay next to me on the queen-sized bed, sleeping on top of the covers, always the gentleman. He looked older than I remembered, still handsome with his dark hair and Roman nose. He was thinner, lankier. He had always been good to me, and I’d always taken advantage. I knew of some of his girlfriends, and I knew some of the breakups were painful, but he’d never called me in the middle of the night to talk, never showed up at my front door unannounced. I put my hand on his stubbled cheek.
He opened his eyes and broke into a wide grin. “You have got to feel awful.”
“No, I’m okay.” I kissed his forehead. “Thank you. I mean that. I don’t know what I would have done on this trip without you. And thank you for the water and the Advil. That’s so you.”
“No problem.” He stretched, yawning loudly. “So… what’s today’s plan?”
“Same as yesterday’s—find Greg. I have ideas. Go get a shower and meet me back here?”
He saluted sleepily and trudged heavily into his room, shutting the door behind him.
We left the hotel an hour later, got a table at Starbucks, and formed some kind of game plan. My newfound kick-ass attitude was more comfortable with the game analogy than I’d been previously. We outlined a list of stops and walked the quarter-mile to Advent Rochester.
At the front desk, I flashed my Advent badge and asked to see Burt Rainer. Burt was the compliance contact at Rochester, and I knew he’d have a complete list of training classes and be able to talk about Greg’s schedule. I asked Drew to take a seat and wait for me. I explained that everything in the company was badge access, and an outsider wasn’t likely to be admitted past the lobby.