Beautiful Stranger (28 page)
There she stopped dead in her tracks. She’d found Ben and she’d found Cammie. They were straight ahead. In a lip-lock to end all lip-locks. There were friendly kisses, there were romantic kisses, and then there were kisses that were just raw sex.
This would be the raw-sex variation. Times infinity.
B
en. And Cammie. Together.
Very
together. Anna felt like retching. She knew those lips of his. What they looked like, how they felt against her own. To imagine them against Cammie’s … well, it was unimaginable and horrifying all at the same time. She tried to make herself look away, but there was some dastardly rule of attraction happening between their lips and her eyes.
She was trying to discreetly slide backward into the crowd when she saw Cammie open her eyes. That was it. She was locked on, like a deer in headlights. She tried to move her feet, or even her arms. Movement was impossible.
Cammie grinned wildly at her. “Hey. Look who’s here.”
Ben turned around; his eyes registering only mild surprise when he realized it was Anna. “Hi.” His eyes were dark and hard. “Having fun?”
“I can see I don’t need to ask you the same question,” Anna replied smoothly. She wasn’t going to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing how much their kiss had shaken her. She felt like she’d just been punched in the stomach.
Be your mother. Do not let them see you sweat.
She put on her best, most controlled Jane Percy smile.
“I just wanted to say good night, and to thank you for inviting me. Best of luck with your club. I’m sure it will be a huge success. It already is.”
“Why, thank you, Anna!” Cammie sang with exaggerated politeness. Her arms were draped over Ben’s shoulders, and his hands were carefully placed around her slender waist. They were still practically wedged against the wall. It was clear just how very much Cammie was enjoying this moment, this victory. “That’s just so thoughtful. You know, I might not get to see you often—you’re going back east to college, right? Was that what I heard? And Ben and I, we’re going to be incredibly busy over the next year. So let me tell you now how
fun
it’s been getting to know you. I want to wish you all the luck in the world!”
What could she say to that? Especially because their pose told Anna she was only a brief interruption in their cataclysmic embrace.
“Okay,” Anna replied. She was careful to avoid Ben’s eyes. “So … goodbye.” She pivoted away, concentrating on her footsteps in the hallway still crowded with partying clubgoers.
So this is what it feels like to lose your first love. Bye, bye, love. Bye, bye, happiness.
Oh, she’d already known it was over, that Ben didn’t want her. But that he still had the power to hurt her, after the hurtful things he’d said when he’d dumped her, only made it that much worse.
“Anna!” Ben called.
She heard him but kept walking, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. She stumbled forward, only to find her way blocked by a commotion in the concrete corridor in front of her. Someone was pushing through in their direction, and people were shouting at whomever it was to slow down. “Take it easy, dude!” a male voice shouted.
“Fuck you!” another male voice shouted back. And then the person causing the commotion broke through the crowd.
His hair was short now, so that the blue star tattoo just below his right ear seemed to pulsate in the strobing lights. He was dressed simply in jeans, a yellow polo shirt, and his usual basketball shoes. There was a snarl of anger in his eyes; his jaw was clenched. He moved past Anna, not even seeing her, and headed straight for Cammie. Before he reached her, Ben stepped in front.
“Welcome to the party, Ad—”
Without a word, Adam Flood uncoiled a vicious right cross that caught Ben squarely on the jaw. Ben, who hadn’t even moved to defend himself, crumpled to the linoleum floor as Cammie started screaming and three or four people launched themselves at Adam, tackling him to the ground.
“There’s more where that came from, asshole!” he bellowed. “Lots more!”
Anna rushed to him while he struggled in the grasp of the bulky guys who held him fast. “Adam, what—?”
“Stay out of this,” he yelled, not even making eye contact. “Get the hell away from here!”
Suddenly she couldn’t take one more moment of the drama, the angst, the over-the-top cult of the superficial.
She decided to take his advice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the final boarding call for Delta Airlines flight 4949, to Jakarta, Indonesia, departing from Gate 87 at 3:02 p.m. Final boarding, flight 4949. If you’re holding a ticket for Delta 4949, please board at this time. Thank you.”
Anna tore breathlessly through the seemingly endless terminal of LAX, running as fast as she could. When she realized that her three-inch white Chanel pumps were holding her back, she pulled them off and ran with them dangling dangerously loose from her fingers. When she dropped one, she didn’t stop to pick it up and just heaved its mate toward the nearest trash barrel.
At this hour—two-forty in the morning, to be precise—the international departure area at LAX was nearly deserted, save for the graveyard shift of floor-polishers, trash picker-uppers, bathroom-scrubbers, and window-washers, who looked after this strange sight sprinting toward the gate. Just her luck—Gate 87 was at the far end of the concourse. She couldn’t even jump on the people-mover or grab a ride on one of the golf carts normally used by infirm passengers.
The PA announcement for Logan’s flight was repeated again. She was never going to make it.
The irony
. Just when she was finally doing something spontaneous, she was going to screw it up. The taxi she’d found near the club had gotten stuck on the 405 due to an accident. Two of the entrances to LAX were closed. At least she had her passport with her. It was her backup ID, so she’d stuck it in her purse before leaving for the club opening. But she was never going to make it to the gate in time so it hardly mattered.
Breathing hard, she spotted the gate up ahead. Finally! There were just a few stragglers waiting in line to check in. By the time Anna reached the flight attendant to hand over her boarding pass, she was the only one left.
“Can you tell me if there’s a passenger named Logan Cresswell on this flight?” she asked, still panting, strands of blond hair stuck to her sweaty forehead.
The flight attendant—a beautiful Indonesian girl with raven hair down to her back, shook her head slowly.
“He isn’t?”
What?
So where was he?
“I mean that I cannot tell you. Regulations prohibit our giving out this information,” she explained in her lilting accent. “Are you ready to board, miss?”
Maybe he wasn’t on the plane. Maybe she was crazy. For a moment the old Anna took over. She should turn around, get in a cab and go back to her dad’s. Follow the plan. Don’t rock the boat. Do what you know.
She handed her ticket to the flight attendant.
“First class, very comfortable.” The Indonesian girl tore the pass in two and returned part of it to Anna. “Have a good flight.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped into the jetway, the last passenger to board the enormous, roaring plane, and heard the heavy security door shut and lock behind her. She wasn’t even sure Logan was on this flight. But there was no turning back. The only way was forward, into the unknown. …
CREATE YOUR CUSTOMIZED A-LIST at www.a-listnovels.com
IF YOU HAVE TO ASK,
YOU’LL NEVER BE ON
THE A-LIST
Name:
Zoey Dean
Nickname:
No nicknames, thank you very much. Sometimes my closest friends call me
Z
.
First job:
My first job out of college was as an A-List celeb’s personal assistant—if you call scheduling $$$[MS PAGE NO 140]$$$mani-pedis and blow-outs a real job.
Worst job:
See above.
Perfect date:
One that starts with dinner in New York and ends with lunch in Paris.
Favorite place:
The private stretch of beach outside my Caribbean hideaway. And no, I’m not saying where that is!
Guilty pleasure:
The Young and the Restless
. Oh, Cane …
Best friend’s first name:
Katya
Good luck charm:
My smile.
Tuesday night activity:
See favorite TV show, add best friend or boyfriend of the moment, and voila!
Last thing I bought at the mall:
Zoey does not do malls, But the last thing I bought at Kitson was a pair of white Missoni slingbacks.
Favorite movie:
Casablanca
and
Clueless
. Both classics.
Biggest fashion blunder:
l’ve worn some adventurous fashions over the years, but if I—m wearing it, it’s instantly stylish.
Item atop your grocery list:
Mangos, at the moment. I’m on a mango salsa kick, And so is everyone I make it for.
French fry dip:
My secret sauce is quite simple, ketchup and honey mustard, Best if eaten white actually in France.
Astrological sign:
Oh, please.
Favorite TV show:
American Idol
. I refuse to be snarky about this.
Lucky color:
Blush pink. Try wearing a pink sundress for a day and you’ll see why.
Midnight snacks:
Dinner. When you wake up at noon and go out, every night, meals don’t always happen at normal hours.
Celebrity crush:
His initials are J.G. And that would be his crush on me.
Favorite books:
The Great Gatsby
. I would have made an excellent 1920s socialite.
Favorite Hollywood Hangout:
Why in the world would I ruin LA’s best-kept secret by revealing it here? My second favorite, however, is Park City, Utah, during Sundance.
Best California Beach:
You’d expect me to say celeb-studded Malibu, right? But I honestly prefer Huntington Beach—cute surfers everywhere!
Life Motto:
Fashion passes. Style remains. (Thank you, Coco Chanel.)
Once upon a time on the Upper East Side of New York City, two beautiful girls fell in love with one perfect boy. …
Turn the page for a sneak peek of
it had to be you
the gossip girl prequel
and find out how it all began.
by the #1
New York Times
bestselling author
Cecily von Ziegesar
gossipgirl.netDisclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.
hey people!
Ever have that totally freakish feeling that someone is listening in on your conversations, spying on you and your friends, following you to parties, and generally stalking you? Well, they are. Or actually, / am. The truth is, I’ve been here all along, because I’m one of you.
Feeling totally lost? Don’t get out much? Don’t know who “we” are? Allow me to explain. We’re an exclusive group of indescribably beautiful people who happen to live in those majestic, green-awninged, white-glove-doorman buildings near Central Park. We attend Manhattan’s most elite single-sex private schools. Our families own yachts and estates in various exotic locations throughout the world. We frequent all the best beaches and the most exclusive ski resorts. We’re seated immediately at the nicest restaurants in the chicest neighborhoods without a reservation. We turn heads. But don’t confuse us with Hollywood actors or models or rock stars—those people you feel like you know because you hear so much about them, but who are actually completely boring compared to the parts they play or the songs they sing. There’s nothing boring about me or my friends, and the more I tell you about us, the more you’re going to want to know. I’ve kept quiet until now, but something has happened and I just can’t stay quiet about it. …
