Attempting Elizabeth (2 page)

“Hey!”

I almost jumped out of my skin, Tori’s voice was startlingly close. I hadn’t heard her come up.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I demanded.

“What are you doing out here? I thought the point was to have fun and dance.” Tori handed me another drink. “I went back to the bar and Hottie is missing...” she trailed off, glancing over my shoulder. “Don’t look now, but Hottie is right there. Oh my god, I think he is coming over here. Maybe he’s gonna ask you to dance!”

I sighed. “Tor, I don’t care. I don’t want to dance with anyone, especially not some slacker who tends bar for a living. I don’t care how hot everyone else thinks he is. I want to go home and take off these stupid shoes and go to bed.”

Tori’s eyes were getting wider and wider as I spoke, and I had a sudden sinking feeling. “He’s right behind me isn’t he?”

She nodded slowly. I was pretty sure her eyes couldn’t possibly get any bigger without popping right off her face. I turned around, my mouth dry, and there he was, just a foot or so behind me. I didn’t know if he had overheard what I’d said. I hoped he hadn’t. He looked more vaguely amused than angry. There was a dimple playing around the edges of his mouth. At the sight of that dimple I felt suddenly weak in the knees. The thought occurred to me that there would be worse fates than spending some time on the dance floor with him.

“I’m sorry—” I started, just in case he had heard me.

“You’re Tori Mansfield, yeah?” He ignored me completely and directed his question at my friend.

“Yes.”

"Mark Barnes,” he extended a hand, and Tori, after a brief pause, took it and shook it. “I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re Charlie’s girlfriend, right?”

“Yes, how do you know Charlie...I mean...recognize me? I think I would have remembered meeting you.” Tori blushed.

“I go to Charlie’s poker games on Monday nights. I’ve seen your picture. I didn’t realize it was you until I saw you talking with Danny. I was taking a break, so I just thought I’d come over and say hi.”

He hadn’t looked at me since he’d cut me off, but as he said that, his dark eyes slid over to me with an amused glint.

Oh. My. God. He
had
heard me. And double oh my god—he’s been in my apartment. Charlie uses our kitchen for his stupid poker games because neither Tori or I are home on Monday nights. Those pictures Hottie, er, Mark, had seen of Tori had most likely included me. They were hanging on the walls of our living room and stuck onto our fridge with “I Love Chocolate” and “Only Mr. Darcy Will Do” magnets.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you, Mark.” Tori’s voice sounded wrong. Was she...no, she couldn’t possibly be flirting? “This is my friend, Kelsey.”

“Hi,” I managed.

“Nice to meet you.” His voice was completely disinterested, and I noticed he didn’t offer me a handshake like he had Tori.

Triple oh my god. Not only had he heard me, he was annoyed. I really hadn’t meant anything by it. I was just cranky and tired and wanted to go home. But I’d managed to insult him and his profession all in his hearing ‘cause I hadn’t believed Tori that über Hottie was walking toward us. Although, she
had
been wrong, he wasn’t coming to ask me to dance…’cause, well, right? I mean the skirt was working for me, but I doubt it was working quite that much.

I figured the best thing to do was just lapse back into silence. I wasn’t really sure what to say in the situation. So I didn’t say anything. Mark asked Tori some question, I didn’t even really hear what it was because I was too busy trying not to look like the very awkward third wheel I was obviously becoming to this conversation. I caught Charlie’s name in Tori’s reply, so I’m guessing it had something to do with where he was for the evening.

It was cold, so I crossed my arms across my chest, balancing my drink in one hand. I tried not to glance at Mark's very well defined pectoral muscles as he chatted with Tori. But I failed. After a few minutes the conversation wrapped up and he turned to me with a small half smile and repeated his earlier “nice to meet you.” I mumbled something in return and then he was gone.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Tori hit me with her purse. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed.

“I didn’t realize he was right behind us!” I said defensively.

“Well that was bad enough. But then you just stood there with your arms crossed like you couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Bitch central, babe!”

“I wasn’t trying to be a bitch! It was cold! And he was obviously talking to you, not me, so I was just sort of awkward.”

“Awkward is one word for it. Kels, I think you totally had a chance there and you blew it. He could have been your Wickham for the night. Come on! Did you see those arms? Don’t you want those arms to do Wickhamesque things to you?” 

I laughed in spite of myself. “I think maybe the Wickham hunt has gone to your head. All I really want to do is to go home and go to bed.”

Tori grumbled something under her breath as we moved toward the big doors leading back into the party. “Fine, we’ll go home. Depressing. Wasting a perfectly good opportunity.”

I nodded noncommittally. I wasn’t sure how much of an opportunity I would have had with Mark and his arms. My guess is none. And even if I’d had the opportunity, I’m not really sure I was the rebound fling type. I was more the eat-twice-my-weight-in-chocolate-and-watch-sappy-movies type. I was just glad to be heading back home and if thoughts of what Wickhamesque things a certain Aussie could do to me with his spectacular arms kept popping into my mind, it was because of Tori’s suggestion. And maybe the alcohol. Yeah, that’s all it was.

“Well, I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely.”

Okay, it was
time to face it. Admit the truth and own up. Let the chips fall where they may.

I was obviously in the middle of some kind of life crisis. I’m only twenty-three. I can’t even claim a quarter-life crisis for another two years. Well, maybe I can. Honestly, am I expecting to live to a hundred? Ninety doesn’t even seem that plausible, so I can go right ahead and claim a quarter-life crisis.

Consider it claimed.

I have no idea what in the hell I am supposed to do with the rest of my life.

Here I am with a BA in literature. It’s all pretty and shiny and cost me more than I’ll likely make in the entirety of the rest of my twenties. Once I got out of college my options were: a) find a real job doing something that has nothing to do with my field of study, b) get a teaching degree and spend my days trying to get ninth graders to give a rip about Romeo and Juliet, or c) go to graduate school and spend more money for a newer, even shinier and more useless degree.

Of course I went with option c.

If there’s one thing I excel at it’s procrastination. A Masters of Art in Literature is, in today’s economy, the epitome of procrastination. Therefore, it’s perfect for me! Just put off the real world for another day. I live my life like that song in
Les Mis
, except “one more day, one more dawn” isn’t me hoping for revolution on the morrow, it’s me shoving all important life decisions a bit farther into the future.

Someday I’m not going to be able to push them any later on the calendar. And that someday is May 5th of next year, when I walk up and get that piece of paper that represents the previous two years of my life and several tens of thousands of dollars.

So who am I to criticize a guy for bartending for a living? He at least was making a living. Something I had absolutely no idea how to do.

I groaned and rolled over, shoving another pillow over my head. All of this self-reflection was not the best start to a Saturday morning. But I couldn’t turn off my brain. My poor, sad, addled brain that was slightly sore from my two drinks the night before. Two drinks—really, more like one and a half; I’d never gotten around to finishing the drink Tori had brought out to me. Seriously. I should have just gone right ahead and called it a midlife crisis. I was obviously old before my time if I could feel the effects of two cocktails the next morning. Perhaps I could blame the drinks for my nagging sense of guilt over having dissed Hottie Bartender Guy.

I’d been a jerk.

“I
am
a jerk,” I sadly addressed the pillow smashed onto my face. “I spent too long with Jerkface Jordan and now
I
am the Jerkface. Jerkface Jr. Jerkface II. Baby Jerkface.” I rolled back over, cautiously opening an eyelid. The bright sun streaming in through my window almost made me cry. Why in the heck hadn’t I closed the darn drapes. I literally had no forethought or planning skills. None.

“It is possible I’m being a little too harsh on myself this morning. Also, I’m talking to myself. Neither of these are good signs.”

Coffee. Coffee would fix all the world’s problems. Or at least all of my immediate problems.

I stuck my feet into my oversized Mickey Mouse slippers and padded out to the kitchen without bothering to stop by the bathroom first. Brushing one’s teeth is all well and good, but even personal hygiene wasn’t going to stand between me and my beloved French press this morning.

Who cared anyway? The only one here was Tori and maybe Charlie. I wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but if the annoying brightness of the sun was any indication, I’d slept away a good portion of the morning.

Except, as I rounded the corner from the hallway into the kitchen it became quickly apparent that Tori and Charlie weren’t the only ones here. I froze in the doorway in shock. I don’t know why I hadn’t heard the voices. I was so out of it that I might not have noticed a bomb going off outside, but I should have heard four guys arguing and joking down the hall, right?

I almost turned to run back into my room, but it was too late. They’d seen me. Charlie, Danny and Rick, and...oh god, please don’t let that be Hottie Bartender Guy. He was leaning over looking at a map that they had spread out on the kitchen table. All I could see was his blondish red hair. And his muscles, those were a bit hard to miss. The other guys were all gaping at me. I resisted the urge to pull my oversized t-shirt down—I had to be showing an indecent amount of leg—and looked up. His dark brown eyes assessed me for a minute. That dimple I remembered so well from last night flashed at the side of his mobile mouth, but to his credit he didn’t smile or laugh. He also didn’t look as, um,
appreciative
of my leg display as both Danny and Rick did. For some reason that mildly annoyed me. Not that I was parading around in a state of semi-undress to get complimentary stares from guys that I didn’t even know were in my own kitchen.

My own damn kitchen.

“Morning, Kels,” Tori said, turning around from where she’d been slicing something on the opposite counter. “We are gonna...” she broke off as she saw me standing in the doorway in all my messy hair, baggy t-shirt and ridiculously slippered glory.

“Can I...talk…to you for a minute, Tor? In my room?”

“Um, yeah,” Tori’s eyes slid guiltily from me to the group of guys, all of whom were still staring at me in wide-eyed silence. I must look a wreck. I turned as regally as possible and stalked back down the hall to my room. “If I’m not back in five, come in after me; I might not make it out alive,” I heard Tori whisper to Charlie as she passed the table. I narrowed my eyes in rage. That girl was not helping her cause.

I waited just inside my door, arms crossed over my chest, until she came into my room looking guilty as sin.

“Tori Louise Mansfield.” She winced at my emphasis on her hated middle name. “Why are there
men
in our kitchen on a Saturday morning?”

“In my defense, it’s past noon,” she began. I glared at her.

“I know you’re upset. I probably should have come in to warn you or something, but I didn’t want to wake you up. How was I supposed to know you’d come out in your pajamas?”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to push the headache out from behind my eyes where I could feel it starting. “I will forgive you if, and only if, you bring me a cup of coffee and tell me what in the heck that guy is doing here.”

“Who?” She looked at me with wide, guileless eyes. I inhaled slowly, mentally calculating how many years any reasonable jury would give me for the murder of my roommate. If ever there was a case of justifiable homicide, this had to be it.

“Oh, Mark?” The innocence fairly dripped from her voice. I bet I could even argue it down to self-defense at this point, you know, if I got a good lawyer and wore light colored cardigans every day to court. Juries love cardigans. Cardigans scream “Innocent By Reason of a Very Annoying Roommate.” 

“Do you want to die?” I hissed between my teeth. “Like, slowly and in great pain?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t tease you before coffee. I’m a horrible person.” The wicked gleam in her eye belied her contrite tone. She was having way too much fun at my expense. It was probably all my own fault. I was being punished by Tori and the gods of caffeine and awkward social situations for being unintentionally rude to a hot guy. “Actually, some of the guys from Charlie’s poker group are going hiking up in Angeles National Forest. I’m going too. And I’d said I’d ask you if you wanted to go if you woke up before we left.”

“Oh god,” I groaned. “Please don’t tell me that Rick asked you to ask me to go.”

“Yeah, I think he was the one who suggested it. Why?”

I collapsed on my bed, and threw my arm over my face. “He totally grabbed my butt last night. I was hoping it was just the alcohol talking...or grabbing. Argh!”

“Ew, are you serious? Uncalled for. You don’t have to go then.” Her voice became thoughtful. “Although, and don’t you ever tell Charlie I said this, it’s probably worth the price of admission to watch Mark hike.”

I peeled my arm off my eyes and squinted at her. “What?”

“He’s wearing shorts,” she informed me seriously. “They’re kinda long, but they, um, fit well. And the t-shirt, well you’ve seen the t-shirt...” She gazed off into the distance with a slightly unfocused look.

“And you’re seriously counting on me not to mention to Charlie that you’re lusting after his friend when you’ve been so horribly mean to me this morning?”

“Hey, I’m not lusting. I’m just pointing out that you’re single and there’s no harm in enjoying the view.”

“Uh-huh. Somehow it doesn’t seem worth the physical exertion of hiking through a forest. A forest that’s on a mountain.”

“It’s really more in the foothills.”

“Go away, Tori.” I covered my eyes again with my arm.

“The t-shirt, Kels. It’s all soft and clingy and tight. But not like goonish tight, it’s more like ‘omg did you see those pecs?’ tight. That is all I will say as I leave you to your lonely, hot-Australian-man-free Saturday.”

I heard the door close and then a second later reopen.

“We’re leaving in twenty. I suggest a pony tail because you don’t have time to wash your hair, and babe, it’s a mess.”

~

“How did I let myself get talked into this?” I grumbled under my breath as I stared at the start of the trail. To my non-hiker eyes it looked like it went basically straight up. I was wearing my most comfortable shoes. I did horrible, evil things like Zumba at my local Y in them, but I doubted they were trail-worthy. Curse Tori and her suggestive...suggestions. Although I’d be drawn and quartered before I’d admit I’d allowed myself to be dragged along on what promised to be several hours of torture just so I could ogle a guy’s chest, and/or other body parts.

Right now I couldn’t see his chest at all. Mark was several yards in front of me, his very toned calves testifying to the fact that this was not his first hike. I vacillated between loathing at the ease with which he was striking out up the trail and admiration for his general hotness. I kind of hated him. And I was all sorts of awkward around him.

On the ride up here I’d been in Charlie’s car with him (well, him, Charlie and Tori), and I’d managed to sit in the back seat, completely mute while he and the others joked and laughed. I was a total fifth wheel even though there were only four of us. Tori kept shooting me confused glances. Probably wondering what in the heck was wrong with me. I’m not a social butterfly, but I’m not entirely inept either. Usually.

Apparently, around Mark inept didn’t even begin to cover it. I had no idea what to say to him. I felt bad about being Jerkface Jr. the night before, but I didn’t know how to apologize. The sensible thing to do would be to just act normally, but I seemed to be having problems with that too.

“Hey, Kelsey.”

“Rick,” I replied from between gritted teeth as I started up the trail, Rick following after me like a lost puppy.

“How are you doing?” 

“Fine, thanks.”

“I, uh, I wanted to say sorry about last night.”

I glanced over at him. His face was bright red. I hoped it was from embarrassment and not that he was going to have a heart attack before we were even a hundred feet up the trail.

“Okay.”

Rick didn’t look fully satisfied with my answer. “I just wanted you to know, I mean, I don’t usually just grab girls’ asses...I mean, not that you don’t have a really nice—”

“Rick,” I cut him off. “Apology accepted. There’s really no need to discuss it further.”

There was a low rumbling sound from in front of us and I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at Mark's broad back. Was he laughing? That’s just what I needed. Him overhearing Rick’s incredibly uncomfortable discussion of my butt and its grabable merits.

The day had started out crappy and was spiraling quickly out of control.

I spent the next half hour in silence, darting suspicious glances at the trees. I was just waiting for a Rodent of Unusual Size to burst from the dense foliage and attack. If I even saw a hint of a whisker I was going to drop my backpack and run, screaming, back down the mountain. As far as I was concerned, everyone else could just fend for themselves.

Our destination turned out to be a little picnic area. Tori had packed sandwiches and carrot sticks in little baggies and doled them out before we headed up the trail so everyone was carrying their own sandwich weight. When we finally arrived at the flat, grassy picnic spot I was covered in sweat, probably an unbecoming shade of light purple, hungry, and grumpy. This had been a stupid idea. Even if I’d had a spectacular view of Mark's backside and calves all the way up the infernal mountain. It was not worth the price I was paying.

I sprawled down on the grass as soon as I realized we were stopping.

“I may never move again,” I informed the brilliant blue sky above me. “Just leave me here to die.”

“It might help if you stretched out a bit. If you just stop suddenly your muscles will tighten up.” Mark's shadow partially blocked out the scorching sunlight, but I didn’t bother to look over at him. I’d seen him a few minutes ago, looking calm, cool, and not out of breath in the slightest. 

“I’d argue that I don’t have muscles, but you can probably hear them screaming from there, so that’d be pointless.”

Mark laughed. It sounded like warm honey. Okay, that’s obviously stupid, and my brain had most likely been fried by the heat and the lack of oxygen at this elevation. But if warm honey had a sound, it would totally sound like Mark's laugh. In spite of the heat, I felt a not entirely unpleasant shiver race up my spine.

“I’m planning to die here, anyway. So it doesn’t really matter if I die with cramped up muscles or not. Dead is dead.”

“True. But Rick seems a chivalrous bloke. He might take it upon himself to carry you down the mountain if you’re unable to walk.”

I scrambled to my feet so quickly that I felt all of the blood leave my head in a rush and swayed in place.