? ? ?
I wasn’t sure if Simon would still want to go to the reunion. He seemed so blue when we left the Whites, after having such a good visit with them. I think seeing the house had shaken him more than he thought it would. But once we got back into town, he seemed to rally. His spirits up, he drove me by his high school, the field where he played Little League, and the place down by the creek where everyone went to make out.
I offered. Can’t blame a girl . . .
But once we got back to the hotel, we did share a shower. To conserve water, obviously. And to make sure my Simon had a little extra pep in his step, I dropped to my knees and sucked him off right there in the shower. Because I’m thoughtful like that.
As Simon and I pep-stepped into the lobby of the Wainwright Hotel, he was cool, calm, and collected. With a touch of afterglow. Dressed in black pants, a white button-down, and a leather jacket, he was sophisticated but cool. A man about town, a globetrotter, a secret cat whisperer who would sell his soul for an apple pie. And he was mine.
We followed the signs for the Newbury High School Ten-Year Reunion, stopping outside the ballroom to check my coat. As he helped me slip the coat down my arms, he whistled.
“Babe,” he said in a low voice, “I realize I said this earlier, but you look fucking fantastic.”
I grinned, spinning around so he could see my dress. I went bombshell, as you do when you’re going to your boyfriend’s high school reunion. Red skirt, black leather boots, and wouldn’t he be surprised later on when he found out that’s all I had on. I figured, go big or go home. And if he needed some cheering up later on, I wasn’t opposed to sneaking his hand under my skirt and letting him get a little touch.
Now we were less than ten feet from the check-in desk, and as we neared the group that was gathered there, he stalled just the tiniest bit. I squeezed his hand, and his eyes met mine. Those sapphires were bright tonight.
“Come on, Wallbanger, show me off,” I teased, and he grinned.
We moved toward the desk, and when he told the lady his name, I heard a gasp behind us in line.
“No fucking way. Simon Parker’s here? He came?”
Word quickly spread, and by the time I had his name tag affixed to the front of his jacket, everyone was buzzing. Walking inside, I suddenly could appreciate the feeling movie stars must have when they get out of a limo at a premiere.
Everyone was staring at us.
chapter twelve
We walked into the ballroom amid whispers and darting glances. The place was packed, young professionals decked out in their finest junior partner/corporate raider/banking magnate’s kid check-me-out clothes. And the guys were impressive too.
High schools were the same across the country. This one happened to be set down in one of the wealthiest towns in America, but there are still universal truths. Every single one of the Breakfast Club archetypes was represented here, and a few hybrids as well. And they all had their eyes on Simon.
Who was oddly relaxed. Once we hit the room, his shoulders went back, his stride lengthened, and he cruised. Along the walls were blown-up pictures from yearbooks: cheerleaders, football players, someone in a wig from a play, and someone in a wig streaking the soccer field. And there was Simon, up on the wall with a crown on his head and a hottie on his arm. Homecoming king.
“I just got it,” I said, looking up at him a little starry-eyed.
“You just got what?”
“You were the shit in high school!”
His eyes crinkled, and he blushed the tiniest bit.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned. I wondered if you’d show,” I heard behind us, and as we turned, a strange look appeared on Simon’s face. Johnny Wall Street stood there, backed by the Billionaire Boys Club. All of them great looking. All of them bigger than life.
Simon looked at them all, narrowing down on the guy in the middle. “Henderson.”
“Parker.”
I watched the testosterone spark. If it had been a Western, tumbleweeds would have blown through. But since it was Wall Street . . .
Cue cocaine.
The tension only lasted as long as a chorus of Usher’s “Yeah” before—
“What the fuck, dude! I can’t believe you’re really here! Fucking A, man— Parker’s back in town!”
Wall Street backslapped a now-grinning Simon and pulled him into a giant, swarming man hug amid calls of, “Now, that’s what I’m talking about” and “So fucking stoked that you’re here, man” and “Dude, Tammy Watkins got new tits and they’re fucking huge, you gotta see ’em!”
I stood back and watched as he was swallowed whole by this group of guys. I’d never met them, never heard him mention any of them before, but they knew Simon in a way that I never could.