Devious (14 page)

“I doubt there’s an Ike who goes to school here,” she teased.

Sebastian shook his head in mock outrage as he walked out the door. “I’ll be back to deal with you in a minute.”

She loved watching him walk—it was more of a swagger, really, and when she first met him it had annoyed her. Just another overly confident Waverly player, she thought. But once she got to know him, she discovered he was just comfortable in his skin. He didn’t worry about being from tacky New Jersey; he was, in fact, proud that he came from the Garden State and that his father owned a lucrative chain of car dealerships across the tristate area. Unlike Brett, who had for years told people her father was a surgeon, omitting the “plastic” part of his job description out of embarrassment.

Brett got to her feet, the heels of her black pumps clicking against the hardwood floor. With Sebastian gone, she had an incredible urge to look through his stuff. Not to find evidence of other girls, of course—but just to prove to herself that there wasn’t any. She quickly opened his desk drawers, searching for mementos of girlfriends past. Since the postcard in Chrissy’s room did come from him, she wanted to see if he kept any postcards from girls. But the only things on Sebastian’s walls were his enormous Italian flag, and a giant poster of
The Godfather
.

She opened the long, narrow pencil drawer, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw a stack of pictures. The one on top was of Sebastian having a snowball fight with a girl in a pink puffy coat. Brett looked closer. Wait, that was
her
. It was taken over break, in front of Sebastian’s dad’s house. His father must have taken the shot without Brett knowing. She smiled, remembering how she’d tackled Sebastian from behind and pushed him into the snow. He kept this in the top of his drawer? That was so sweet.

A knock at the door made her jump. She quickly dropped the picture back into the drawer and closed it guiltily. But when she opened the door there stood Tricia Rieken, wearing a pair of red stilettos, tight black jeans, and a tight black Ed Hardy tank top that showed off her huge chest. Brett had always suspected the rumor about her boob job was false, but when presented with her balloonlike breasts practically popping in her face, she had to admit the rumor seemed awfully valid.

“Yes?” Brett asked coolly, crossing her arms over her own chest. She’d hated Tricia ever since freshman year, when she’d flirted her way to an A in Monsieur Lamont’s French class—an A that Brett had to earn.

“Just looking for Seb.” Tricia peered over Brett’s shoulder, as if Brett were hiding him. Then her heavily mascaraed eyes lasered in on Brett. “We hang out every Friday night.”

Hang out?
From Tricia’s outfit, it was obvious she hadn’t come over to play board games. “Guess you’ll have to find something else to do,” Brett replied sharply, slamming the door in Tricia’s face.

She slid into Sebastian’s desk chair. What the hell? Okay, so not only had Sebastian hooked up with half the females at Waverly, he also had a regular Friday night booty call with one of the skankiest. How could a guy even
like
someone like Tricia Rieken? She was all boobs and no personality.

The door opened again and Sebastian came in. His hair was flopping sexily over his eyes, but Brett was too annoyed to think it was cute.

“You missed
Tricia
,” Brett announced. “If I’d known you had a regular date on Friday nights, we could have seen the movie some other time.”

“Oh, shit.” Sebastian rubbed his forehead, a chagrined look in his eyes. “I forgot about Tricia.”

“You
forgot
about her? About the
skanky
girl you hook up with every week?” Brett sprang to her feet, too irritated to sit still. When her mother got angry, she always paced back and forth across the room, flailing her arms. Brett had to squeeze her arms to her sides to keep from doing the same. Maybe it was genetic. “What about Leila? And Alena? And
Chrissy
? Did you forget about them, too?”

“Brett, what are you talking about?” The familiar amused gleam lit up Sebastian’s eyes. “You can’t be jealous of girls I was with before I met you.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be, if there were, like, two or three.” Brett twisted her scarf tightly around her finger, accidentally snagging the delicate fabric with her chunky rose coral ring. “But I can’t even count them all!”

“Calm down, okay?”

Her voice softened as she looked out the window. “Am I just the next one?”

“No!” Sebastian’s face darkened. She felt him step closer behind her, and she almost jumped when his strong hands grabbed her waist. He breathed into her hair. “Look, all those girls are in the past. I don’t do that anymore.”

Brett turned to face him. “So… what am I?”

“You’re my future.” His mouth curled up at the corner, hesitantly, as if afraid of sounding cheesy. But her heart melted. Okay, so it kind of sounded like a line, but it was also ridiculously sweet. And she could tell he meant it. No one had told her she was his future before.

“I guess that’s all right, then,” Brett replied, stepping into his arms. She tenderly wiped the lock of hair off his forehead with her finger, planting her lips in the same spot. His hands slid up and down her sides, and a warm feeling coursed through her body.

How could she care about stupid Tricia Rieken when she had
this
?

“We’d better get going if we want to make the movie,” Sebastian murmured into Brett’s ear. He kissed her on the cheek, just inches from her lips.

Brett closed her eyes. “Let’s make the later show.”

Instant Message Inbox

“Y
ou ready?” Isla asked, nudging a bare elbow into Tinsley’s waist. It was Saturday morning, and Tinsley was dressed in a strapless pink Alice + Olivia micromini cocktail dress. Her manicured cherry-colored toenails peeped sexily out of a pair of sky-high gold Jimmy Choos. Probably not the most appropriate outfit for the gym, but it was just right for their photography project.

“Of course.” Tinsley smiled, pushing through the double doors into the main room of the Waverly Athletic Club. Late Saturday mornings were one of the busiest times, with everyone eager to work off their Friday night pizza-and-beer binges. She and Isla had chosen to stage their latest photo shoot for precisely that reason. Isla had borrowed Tinsley’s body-hugging red Alexander Wang minidress and a pair of black sandals that laced up her calves. “The question is, are they ready for us?”

Isla giggled. The sound of some terrible Britney Spears song pulsed through the sound system. Did people really think bad music made you work out harder? “That’s what I like about you, Tinsley Carmichael. You’re always up for something new.”

Tinsley sighed.
New
was right. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d broken up with Julian. When she’d gone to his room Wednesday night, she was more than a little drunk and hadn’t meant to do anything drastic. She was sure he’d call or e-mail the next day, but she hadn’t heard a word from him since. Well, screw him.

He just didn’t
get
her. Tinsley shuddered, even though the gym was overheated.

She thought it would take a moment for people to look up from their workouts to notice her and Isla, but in about ten seconds, Tinsley felt the eyes of everyone in the gym on them. She tossed her loose hair over her bare shoulder, letting it fall into shimmery waves and tickle her skin.

“Let’s do weights first. Over there.” Isla pointed a bright red fingernail toward the weight machines, crowded with tall, sweaty Waverly guys in long basketball shorts and faded T-shirts that clung to their chests.

“Do you mind if we use this bench?” Tinsley asked politely as Parker DuBois, the quiet senior from Belgium or France or somewhere in Western Europe, dropped a set of barbells onto the giant rack with a clank.

Parker almost jumped in surprise. His handsome face flushed at the sight of two pretty girls in minuscule dresses and towering heels. A funny grin flashed across his face. Parker was so shy with girls, rumors always flew about whether or not he was gay. But Tinsley knew from the way he stared at her bare legs that he was far from interested in men. “Uh, help yourselves,” he said, in a slightly accented voice. He pushed his blond hair off his forehead and retreated to a butterfly machine in the corner—coincidentally, with an unobstructed view of the girls.

“Do you girls need any help?” Lon Baruzza, in a wifebeater that revealed his cut biceps, appeared next to Tinsley and Isla, grinning eagerly.

“I can hold your camera if you two want, you know, any shots together.” Chris Avery, the six-foot-four star forward of the basketball team, offered.

Isla shot them a cool look. “Thanks, but we can handle it, boys.”

Tinsley laughed and held the camera up, clicking off a few shots. She loved Isla’s attitude—it was like she didn’t give a shit about anyone, and it just made everyone want to be with her so much
more
. Even though Isla was only a year ahead of Tinsley, she seemed much older. Tinsley had asked Isla a few questions about her past, but Isla always brushed them off. And, as Tinsley wasn’t one to pry, she let it go. She definitely understood that the element of mystery only added to a person’s intrigue.

“Your turn.” Isla grabbed the camera and focused it on Tinsley, who picked up two barbells. She was in great shape because of the demanding tennis workouts her coach designed for the whole team. Even in the off season, Ms. Nemerov, who’d played tennis for Russia in the Barcelona Olympics, assigned each girl on her tennis team a specialized workout regimen. Tinsley had no problem sticking to hers.

She raised the slim five-pound weights, pushing them up in an artful shoulder press. Suddenly, with her flexed, toned arms lifting toward the sky, Tinsley felt like a goddess. She could feel Lon and the other boys staring at her body, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sage Francis and Rifat Jones huffing away on StairMasters, wearing sweaty old T-shirts and saggy Waverly shorts. Their eyes were positively dripping with envy. Tinsley felt her lips curl into a smile as she heard a couple of camera phones snapping away at her.
Go ahead
, she thought.
Tell your friends
.

Tinsley Carmichael was back.

Instant Message Inbox

S
aturday afternoon, Brandon skipped lunch and hiked into town to pick up flowers for Callie. It was a sunny, mild winter day, and the streets of Rhinecliff were bustling with activity—families pushing baby strollers, young couples holding hands, an ancient-looking man and woman kissing on a park bench. Brandon felt like he’d been walking on air ever since he and Callie had kissed. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense again.

Well, not everything. He rubbed his hand over his face as he thought about Hellie. After calling her every hour the other day, she’d finally picked up. He apologized profusely, but she didn’t really want to hear it. No one deserved to have to watch her boyfriend cheat on her, long distance, over iChat.

But he would never take back what had happened with Callie, not for anything in the world. He’d always known they were destined to be together. He just wished that Hellie hadn’t seen it. But he and Callie were in love again, and Hellie was better off without him.

Carrying a gorgeous bouquet of orchids, he pushed through the door to the rare books library. They were scheduled to tape the last interview with Brett, who hadn’t been able to make it to the Atrium the other day.

He spotted Callie leaning over the video camera. She sneezed, and Brandon smiled. He’d forgotten how cute her little sneezes were—he imagined a bunny sneezing would sound like that.

Unable to resist, Brandon walked up behind her and planted a kiss on the nape of her neck. The long wavy strawberry blond ponytail tickled his face. He could feel her body shiver with pleasure before she spun around.