A Midsummer's Nightmare (6 page)

“Harrison Carlyle,” he said, sounding a little amused. “
Now
do I get your name?”

“Whitley Johnson.”

Harrison’s eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter as he looked me over. My moves must have been working—he was already interested.
Awesome
, I thought. Even if he
didn’t know where I could find a party, I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him. That was one thing I loved about boys—if I wanted a quick, meaningless hookup just for fun, they were never very hard to convince.

I was wondering how much chitchat we’d have to make before I could get Harrison to take me somewhere private… and then he started talking.

“Oh my God!” he said excitedly. “Are you—You have to be! You’re totally related to Greg Johnson, aren’t you? The news guy. Are you his daughter? You are, right?”

“Um… yeah. He’s my dad.”

“That is
so
cool,” he cried. “I still can’t believe he moved here. No one famous lives in this place. I know he’s not a movie star or anything, but still. He’s on TV, which is a big deal around here. We love him.”

“Thanks.” Great. I was the one with boobs, but the boy had a thing for my dad. What the hell? Okay. It was time for a subject change.

“So,” I said, crossing my legs. I was wearing a short white skirt, showing off plenty of skin. Too bad it wasn’t quite tanned yet. “What all is there to do around here?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he answered, shrugging his broad shoulders. “We live in the lamest town ever. You just kind of get used to it.”

“Well…” I swiveled in my seat a little, turning so I could press my leg right up against his. My signature move. Worked every time. “We could make it exciting, if you want. I’m a pretty exciting girl.”

Then he started laughing at me.

Not the reaction I was going for.

“Oh, honey.” He reached out suddenly and took my hand in both of his. “You’re cute. You really, really are, but I’m not interested.”

“Why not?” I asked point-blank. No use wondering about it for weeks or letting my self-image plummet because of this loser. Might as well cut to the chase.

Harrison sighed and took one of his hands away from mine. “See that guy over there, with the blond?” he asked, pointing.

My eyes followed in the direction he indicated. Across the room, sitting at a booth by themselves, were Nathan and Bailey. Even from here, I could tell Bailey looked disappointed. Nathan was chatting with her, moving his arms in big, over-the-top gestures. He must have been trying to cheer her up.

“I see him,” I said, nodding. “That’s my… future stepbrother.” I choked on the last two words.

“For real?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah.”

“That sucks for you. I could just eat him up.”

I gawked at him. “What?”

“That’s why I’m not interested,” he explained calmly, like I was an irrational five-year-old. “Your stepbrother over there, he’s more my type… if you know what I mean.”

And, of course, I knew what he meant.

It figured. The one boy in this place I was interested in
was not interested in me. After all the shit I’d dealt with over the last two days, getting shot down was just the icing on the cake. But I tried to soothe my ego with the fact that it wasn’t
me
he wasn’t interested in, it was all girls. Still, not what I needed tonight.

“Shit,” I muttered, slumping back against the bar with my arms folded over my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s nothing personal. You’re a hottie, but boobs just aren’t my thing.”

“Whatever.”

He smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re Greg Johnson’s daughter. That’s so awesome.”

“It isn’t that glamorous…. Actually, it sucks ass at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” Harrison asked. “He is so
hot
.”

“My dad? Christ, that’s gross.”

“He is.”

“Ew.”

He reached forward and put a hand on my knee. It was the least sexy knee-rub in the history of knee-rubs. “You get your looks from him, if it helps.”

“Thanks. But that is still gross.”

He laughed and grabbed his glass of soda. “What a pout you’ve got on you,” he said, lifting the drink to his lips.

What a jerk. My misery was
not
funny. Or cute.

“Here,” he said, putting his glass back down on the rickety bar. “Let me buy you a drink. What do you want?”

No matter how frustrated I felt, a free drink just wasn’t something I could turn down.

“Something strong,” I groaned.

“Coca-Cola strong enough?”

“Hardly.”

He shook his head and looked down the bar. “Joe!” he called. “Hey, honey, can you get the pretty girl a Coke?”

“Only if you stop calling me
honey
,” the bartender, a bearded man in his thirties, replied. “We’ve had this discussion before, Harrison.”

“Aw, Joe. It’s so cute that you think I listen.”

The bartender poured some Coke into a glass and slid it toward me. Harrison winked and handed the cash to Joe, who rolled his eyes before walking back to the other end of the bar, where more customers waited.

“He hates it when I flirt with him,” Harrison whispered to me. “Which just makes it funnier.”

I laughed and reached for my Coke. “Thanks,” I said, taking a big gulp. I tried to pretend it was tequila—or even just beer—but my body knew better. Goddamn it, I couldn’t even trick myself out of sobriety. Like those cases you hear about sometimes, when people have convinced themselves they were drunk through the power of persuasion. I wanted to persuade myself that I was wasted.

Apparently, I’m not very gullible.

I took another drink, wishing I’d thought to smuggle my bottle of cheap tequila in with me.

“So, how long are you in Hamilton for?”

“Just the summer,” I said. “Then it’s off to University of Kentucky.”

“Nice. What major?”

“No fucking idea.” I sighed. “Kind of hoping Dad will help me figure it out this summer. He went to UK, too. What about you?”

“I graduated a year ago, but I took a year off to figure out all the ‘rest of my life’ stuff, so I know how you feel. But I’m off to UCLA this fall. I’m majoring in fashion design. Maybe not the smartest choice, but it’s what I love.”

“California,” I mused. “I bet you’ll be happy to get out of this shithole.”

He shrugged. “I guess. You know, the place is lame, but it’s home. And it’s not that bad if you know where to go. You just have to have friends.”

“Then I’m screwed.”

He chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll be your friend, okay?”

“I don’t really do friends,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to ‘do’ me. We’ve established the flaws in that plan already. But we can hang out. Oh, or shop. Your outfit is super cute…. Though I’m not a fan of the flip-flops. They look cheap.”

“Thanks, Tim Gunn. Anything else you’d like to critique?”

“I’m just being honest. You’re a fashion slut.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have good taste, but you’re stepping into too many
styles,” he said. “Those flip-flops might be all the rage this season, but they don’t fit you. The rest of your look doesn’t scream ‘beach babe.’ Nope. You need to stick 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. I
mean, 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, beer or—”

“
Yes
,” Harrison insisted. “There will be.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

“Fabulous. Don’t wear those flip-flops, for God’s sake.”

“I won’t,” I told him, handing over my cell so he could program his number into my phone book. I’d call and get the address later. “I promise.”

“Great.”

He handed back my phone and I started to walk away again, but Harrison yelled after me, managing to raise his voice over the loud feedback from the ancient speakers. I turned to look at him one more time.

“It’s this Saturday night,” he said. “Do you think you could get Nathan to come?” There was that hope again. That same bright sparkle I saw in Bailey’s eyes. But this one… this one I had to crush. For Harrison’s own good.

“He’s straight,” I said.

“How straight?”

“He sleeps with girls, so I’d say pretty straight.”

Harrison’s face fell, but only for a second. “Oh, well. He should still come. The party will be a blast. I’ll see you there.”

I nodded and, finally, managed to walk all the way out the door.

It was
way
too early the next morning when Sylvia knocked on the door of the guest room.
Like, eight-o-freaking-clock. I rolled out of bed, feeling distinctly murderous, and stumbled across the room.

“Yeah?” I said, pulling the door open a crack.

“Do you want breakfast?” she asked, showing all of her perfect teeth when she smiled. I saw a sudden flash of what she might look like if I knocked out a few of them.

She was already dressed in a navy suit and those super-high heels. For a second I was confused about why. Then I remembered she must have work, which meant it was Monday. The summer always had me screwed up like that.

“I’m good,” I replied, already starting to close the door.

She stuck out the toe of her shoe, forcing me to keep it open. “Do you have plans for this morning?” she asked.

“Um, yeah. Sleep.”

She laughed.

That hadn’t been a joke.

“Well, there is some money on the counter in case you decide you want to go out,” she said. “There’s not much to do in Hamilton, I know, but there’s a mall and a movie theater in the next county—about twenty minutes from here. I’m sure you or Nathan could look up directions on the computer. And there’s plenty of food in the fridge when you get hungry. Your dad will be home around noon, but you can call my cell if you need anything. The number is on the counter.”

“I’m eighteen,” I told her. “I know how to take care of myself.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I know you do. I’m just… trying to be helpful.”

“Well, thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Sylvia said, eyeing me for a second more. Slowly, she slid her foot out of the door opening. “Then I guess I’m off to work. It’s my first day at the new firm, so wish me luck. Bailey and Nathan are downstairs watching TV.”

They were seriously awake at this hour?
Dear God, I must be living with aliens.