Something Borrowed (10 page)

After standing there politely for a while listening to the horse chat, I cleared my throat and elbowed Teresa. “Oh!” she said. “Sorry. Kwan, this is my friend Ava Hamilton. Ava, this is Kwan.”

“Nice to meet you, Ava. Hamilton?” Kwan said quizzically as he ducked under the cross tie and stuck out his hand. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

I shook his hand. “I don't know. I'm sure we've never met before—I would definitely remember.”

My flirtatious comment appeared to fly right over his head. He had a thoughtful look on his face, obviously trying to puzzle out the connection. Nice. I liked smart, thoughtful guys.

“So you do the horse-jumping thing, huh, Kwan?” I commented.

Teresa rolled her eyes. “Ava isn't really a horse person,” she told him.

“I've got it!” he exclaimed, seemingly unaware of what we'd just said. “Hamilton—are you related to Camille Hamilton?”

“Yeah, she's my older sister,” I said. “Do you know her?”

He smiled, seeming quite pleased with himself for solving the mystery. “I've never met her,” he said, stepping back to give his horse a pat on the neck. “But I'm going to her wedding next weekend.”

What a surprise. Only not. “Oh,” I said. “Are you a friend of the groom?” If he turned out to be one of Boring Bob's best boring buddies, even being superhot might not be enough to redeem him.

“No, I've never met him, either.” Kwan shrugged. “A girl here at the barn is going and asked me to come as her date. Ashley Weiss,” he added, with a glance at Teresa. Then he returned his smile to me. “Small world, huh?”

“The smallest.” I knew Ashley Weiss, sort of. Her dad and mine played golf together, she'd taken piano lessons with
Camille for a while, and she spent every summer working part-time at Teresa's barn.

“Well, we'd better let you finish getting him untacked and cooled out.” Teresa nodded toward the horse. “Come on, Ava.”

“Great to meet you, Kwan,” I called as she dragged me off down the aisle.

“Same here. I'll see you around, Ava.”

“Definitely.”

Back at her trunk, Teresa grabbed some smelly saddle pads and shoved them into my arms. “Come on,” she said. “Let's go wash these.”

She grabbed a few more pads and some cloth bandages, then led the way to the stable office, which was deserted. There was a washing machine in the back room, and we soon had her stuff loaded in.

“So what did you think of Kwan?” Teresa asked as she dumped in some detergent. “I probably should have thought of him the other day when you were desperate for a wedding date. I didn't know he was already going.”

“Do you think it's a real date?” I asked. “Him and Ashley, I mean.”

She turned on the washer and turned to me with a smile. “I doubt it, Ms. Short
Attention Span,” she said. “Maybe you need to add Kwan to your dance schedule along with Oliver and Andy.”

I stuck out my tongue at her. “Maybe I will,” I said. “You know, I'm starting to think Lance did me a big favor by dumping me. Because Pink Horror and Crackpot Camille aside, this wedding is starting to look like a lot more fun than I ever would have expected!”

“Everything's going great, Mom,” I said. “Why don't you go get yourself a drink and relax?”

“Thanks, Ava. Maybe I should do that.” Still, she kept compulsively smoothing out the miniscule wrinkles in the linen tablecloth spread on one of the folding tables under the wisteria arbor.

I sighed, knowing it was hopeless. Mom was a great hostess—everyone said so—but she never really enjoyed her own parties until they were over. At least it was easy to tell where Camille had come by her OCD tendencies.

“Okay. I'm going to hang out with Teresa,” I said. “Call me if you need me.”

The backyard pool-party barbecue was in full swing. The place looked great—very tasteful, if perhaps slightly boring. In other words, perfect for Camille. Sprays of pink and white lilies decorated the white-dressed tables. Various friends and relatives were chatting and laughing and nibbling at an impressive range of hors d'ouevres. Camille was perched on a stool near the lilac bush talking with some friends. Bob was over near the bar nodding and smiling at one of my uncle Phil's meandering stories and pretending not to notice that Phil's gin and tonic was sloshing out of his glass as he waved his hands around. Dad was holding court over at his fancy new Weber grill, looking more cheerful than I'd seen him in a while. The scents of chlorine, sizzling shrimp, and alcohol mingled in a surprisingly pleasant way on the soft summer breeze. The weather was perfect, and several of my youngest relatives were already shouting and splashing one another in the pool.

Teresa and Jason were perched on a chaise lounge in the shade of a large potted palm. I wandered over.

“Is Oliver here yet?” Teresa asked, squinting and shading her eyes as she looked up at
me. She looked downright gorgeous in a red bathing suit, black shorts, and a gauzy white button-down overshirt.

“Not yet.” I grabbed Jason's arm and checked his watch. He had dressed for the occasion too, in preppy navy-blue swim trunks and a crisp white polo. “He should be here any minute now.”

“Uh-oh.” Jason pretended to look concerned as he yanked his arm back. “I hope you don't get stood up.” He smirked. “Again.”

Deciding not to dignify that with a response, I busied myself adjusting the front tie on my silver-studded black bikini top. I had dressed carefully that morning, trying to strike a balance between dutiful Main Line daughter and rebellious rock chick. I'd settled for olive cargo shorts, metallic silver flip flops and the black bikini, which I'd scored at a clearance sale at a funky little shop in Philly the previous summer but never worn until now.

When I looked up, I caught Jason staring. I blushed, realizing I was getting a little careless around him. He might be Teresa's boyfriend, but he was still a guy. Seeing me in those SpongeBob underpants had been
bad enough, and here I was practically flashing him right in front of his face. . . .

I was distracted from such thoughts by a commotion from near the gate leading in from the driveway. Glancing over there, I smiled.

“Look,” I said. “There's Oliver.”

I hurried toward him. He was dressed in baggy black swim trunks that came down to his knees and a crazy retro Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a tangle of chains around his neck. His hair looked even cooler than usual thanks to a new electric-blue streak on one side. A camouflage-print messenger bag was slung across his chest. And today his nose piercing sported a tiny skull and crossbones. Needless to say, half the party had already turned to stare at him.

“Oh my God,” I heard Camille mutter as I rushed past her. “Don't tell me . . .”

I smiled to myself. Mission accomplished!

“There you are!” I exclaimed as I reached Oliver. “I'm so glad you came.”

“Me too,” he purred, taking both my hands and letting his gaze wander all over me. “You look absolutely luscious!”

“Thanks.” I smiled as he leaned down
and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Come on in and meet everybody.”

Most of the partygoers were too polite to stare for very long. But I could tell that they were wondering who had let this alien creature into their tasteful little party. I started introducing him to various people as we walked in, including my mother, who was hurrying past with a plate of mini crab cakes.

“This is Oliver, Mom,” I said. “He's the musician I told you about.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. H.” Since her hands were full, Oliver gave a little bow. “Awesome party.”

Most people never would have noticed her gaze flick briefly from his nose ring to his blue hair streak before settling back on his face. Her polite smile never wavered.

“Lovely to meet you, Oliver,” she said in her best gracious-hostess voice. “Any friend of Ava's is welcome here.”

“Thanks, Mom. Come on,” I said, taking Oliver's hand. “I want you to meet my friend Teresa.”

I looked around for her. She and Jason had moved over to the edge of the pool, where they were talking with a tall, broad-shouldered African-American guy with
killer abs and a buzz cut. I recognized him immediately—there's just no mistaking a physique like that.

“Hey, Rocco!” I greeted him as Oliver and I joined the little group. “I'm so glad you came!”

“Are you kidding?” Rocco said as he reached down to give me a hug. “You know I never turn down free food.”

I'd been casual friends with Rocco forever; somehow we'd just never gotten around to dating each other. Everyone at school called him Rocco the Jocko. He was great at just about every sport there was and had even made the varsity football team as a freshman.

Rocco looked even hotter than usual in his sporty maroon trunks, but I hardly noticed. Most of my attention was taken up with Oliver—I was totally aware of him standing there beside me, looking at me with his intense eyes. Realizing I hadn't introduced him around yet, I quickly did so.

“Good to meet you, man,” Jason said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I'm a big fan.”

“Really?” Oliver gave Jason's Mr. Prep outfit a once-over, looking a bit skeptical.

“Trust me, he is,” Teresa assured him,
rolling her eyes. “He's made me listen to that ‘Brain Shock' song of yours at least a million times.” Suddenly realizing what she'd said, she smiled sheepishly. “Not that I mind, of course. It's a cool song.”

Oliver laughed. “Hey, I like this chick,” he said to me, pointing at Teresa. “She speaks her mind. That's cool.”

“Oh, look,” Teresa said, clearly fishing for a change of topic. “Andy just came in. Andy! Over here!”

Sure enough, my favorite ex had just walked into the yard. Andy looked as cute as ever as he came over and joined us. But again I didn't pay nearly as much attention to that as I normally would have. Having Oliver there with me was even better than I'd expected. It was nice to be the center of attention again. That sort of thing had been sorely lacking in my life since Camzilla got engaged.

“Hey, dude.” Rocco greeted Andy with a complicated high-five routine. “How's it hanging? Haven't seen you in ages.”

Andy ran a hand through his sandy hair to push it out of his eyes. “I'm just home for a couple weeks,” he said. “I ran into Ava's dad at the club and he invited me to this party.”

“The club, eh?” Oliver spoke up, slinging an arm around my shoulders and grinning down at me. “How very Main Line.”

Andy blinked at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Uh, hello,” he said. “I'm Andy.”

“This is Oliver,” I said. I glanced up at my date, trying not to shiver with glee at the feel of his arm around me. “Andy and I went to high school together.”

Was it my imagination, or did a shadow of hurt pass over Andy's face? I wasn't sure. If it was there, it disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

“Oliver's a singer,” Rocco told Andy. “He's with that band the Manayunk Mucus.”

Oliver had let his messenger bag drop to the floor at his feet. While the others started talking about the local music scene, I grabbed the bag and slipped away to stash it in the pool house so it wouldn't end up a pool toy for my bratty cousins. By the time I returned, the conversation had turned from music back to the ever-present subject of the wedding. I returned to my place beside Oliver and he put his arm around me again, this time looping it around my waist.

Eventually the conversation turned to
Teresa's upcoming trip, then to sports, then to Andy's first year at college, then to some TV show the guys had all watched. After that Jason started talking about some comedy group he planned to go see soon, but by then I wasn't really listening that closely. I was much more focused on Oliver's hand. It had started out resting on my waist. But as we stood there, his fingers started wriggling around, playing with the waistband of my shorts and then slipping down my hip.

I didn't particularly mind the sensation. Then again, I was pretty sure my parents would be somewhat less than thrilled if they happened to see.

“Excuse us,” I said to the group. I reached down and disentangled Oliver's hand from my shorts, holding it firmly in my own. “It's hot out here—I could use a drink. Want to come along, Oliver?”

He came willingly. “Your friends are pretty cool,” he commented as we wandered toward the bar hand in hand.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just wish Teresa wasn't going away. The wedding won't be the same without her.”

“Oh, yeah?” He spun me around so we were facing each other. “Well, I don't wish
any such thing, I'm afraid. See, with her out of the picture that means I'll have you all to myself.”

I might have forgotten to breathe as I stared up at him. We were at the far corner of the pool area, halfway between the gate into the yard and the bar set up at the back corner. The artful little cascade of rocks at that end of the pool hid us from much of the rest of the yard, making it feel like a private moment despite all the commotion of the party.

Oliver dropped one of my hands and touched my chin with his long fingers. “I'm really glad you came to my show the other night, Ava Hamilton,” he said in a low, husky voice.

I let my eyes flutter shut as he moved in for a kiss—a real one this time, not a peck on the cheek or forehead. His breath smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but I didn't mind. One of his hands was still on my chin, and the other wrapped around my waist as he pulled me close. My own hands slid up around the back of his neck. I wondered if he could feel my heart pounding through my bikini top as I melted into the kiss.

When he pulled back, I was smiling. I opened my eyes. “That was . . .”

My voice trailed off as I noticed Lance standing a few feet away, staring at us. Oops! He'd obviously come into the yard—alone—just in time to witness our kiss. What were the odds? I hid my smile in Oliver's shoulder.