Something Borrowed (8 page)

“There's the maid of honor!” she cried out in her baby-doll voice. “How
are
you, Ava? And how's that adorable boyfriend of yours?”

I winced. That was fast.

“You mean Lance?” I cleared my throat. “Er, we're not together anymore.”

Suddenly I was surrounded by the rest of the bridesmaids, all twittering with sympathy. “Oh, no!” Camille's sorority sister Mary
exclaimed. “But you two made
such
a cute couple!”

“Don't worry, Ava,” another bridesmaid assured me. I wasn't sure of her name, but I knew she'd gone to college with Camille. “Nobody will even notice you're alone on a busy day like that.”

Lissa patted me on the arm. “That's right. That day will be all about Camille, anyway.”

Camille and my mom arrived just then, distracting the flock of bridesmaids from my pathetic single state. Camille climbed out of Mom's car like a princess disembarking from her carriage and was instantly mobbed.

“This is
not
going to be fun,” I muttered to Teresa, hanging back from the lovefest.

“Deep breaths,” she advised me. “This too shall pass.”

“Thanks, Queen Solomon.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

“Come on, everybody,” Camille called out, “let's go in. We have a lot to do today, and I still have to meet with the photographer later.”

With a little help from Mom, she shooed us all into the bridal shop. The same woman was waiting for us. “Welcome, ladies,” she
said. “I have your dresses all ready—this shouldn't take long. Now, who'd like to go first?”

“Let Ava go first,” Mary urged. She smiled at me with sympathy. Or was it pity? “She's had a tough week.”

Camille frowned. “What are you talking about? Ava's been goofing off all week while I work my butt off.”

“She means because of breaking up with her boyfriend,” Lissa spoke up with that same pitying look on her face. “Poor thing—and right before the most romantic day of the summer!”

Now they were all staring at me again, as sorrowful as if my dog had just died on the same day I'd found out I had an incurable disease. I couldn't stand it anymore.

“Wait,” I said. “I didn't tell you guys the rest. Yeah, Lance and I broke up. But the good news is, I already found a much better guy.”

“Really?” Lissa gasped.

Camille looked suspicious. “Who is it?” she asked. “You didn't tell
me
anything about some great new guy.”

“I don't tell you everything, sister dear.” I tossed my head, going for a look of playful
confidence. “It's a surprise. You guys will just have to wait and find out at the wedding.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she muttered. But she was obviously too distracted to waste much energy on me. “Hey, Molly, did you remember to ask your grandmother if I could borrow her antique pearls?”

“She said yes,” the bridesmaid in question answered, beaming. “Those pearls are going to look so amazing with your dress, Camille!”

Lissa giggled. “Too bad they aren't blue!” When several of us gave her confused looks, she giggled again. “You know—something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. The pearls are borrowed
and
old. But not blue. Get it?”

I rolled my eyes at Teresa. All the wedding giddiness was making
me
blue, that was for sure.

“All right, girls.” Mom glanced at her watch. “Can we keep things moving? Lissa and Mary, why don't you two go get changed first?”

As the other bridesmaids started twittering again, Teresa leaned toward me. “Is
all the pink going to your head, or what?” she murmured. “Why did you tell them you have some incredible secret date for the wedding?”

I was already wondering that myself. But what was done was done.

“Because I do,” I told her. “That is, I
will
—just as soon as I find the perfect guy to ask.”

“How'd it go?” Jason asked as we climbed back into his car an hour and a half later. “Did you girls have lots of pink and frilly fun playing dress-up?”

“It was scintillating,” Teresa answered. “The most exciting thing that happened the entire time was when that girl Molly stepped on her hem.” She shot me a disapproving look. “Oh, wait. Also, there was Ava announcing to the world that she's bringing some fabulous man of mystery as her date. Too bad he's totally imaginary.”

“I know, I know,” I moaned. “What was I thinking? Now I have to come up with someone
really
good, or Camille's suburban gossip posse will have a fit. To that bunch, getting dumped is a fate worse than death.”

“Don't let them get to you.” Teresa
sounded more sympathetic this time. “They're too focused on their own lives to realize there's anyone out there who might be a little different from them. No imagination, that's their problem.”

I smiled at her gratefully. No matter what she thought of my sometimes impulsive behavior, I knew she was always in my corner.

“It's probably just as well that Zoom guy is out of the picture,” Jason said as he put the car into gear. “He was probably a little too edgy for that gang anyway.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. But I wasn't really paying attention. I was too busy scanning my mind for new ideas. “Listen, Teresa. Want to go hang out on campus again on Saturday? I had good luck there last time.”

“Why bother?” Jason said before Teresa could answer. “I already found you the perfect wedding date.”

“Who?” I glanced at him skeptically. “The counter guy at Burrito Moe's? I'd prefer someone older than fifteen, thanks.”

“No. The lead singer of Manayunk Mucus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. I'm trying to have a serious discussion here.”

“I
am
serious.” He shot me a glance in the rearview. His eyes held a bit of a challenge. “Unless he's not your type? Not safe and suburban enough?”

I frowned. “Who do you think I am—Camille? I don't go for suburban and safe.”

“If you say so.” He reached over and turned on the radio.

I leaned forward and poked him in the shoulder. “Hey,” I said. “Who are
you
to call
me
suburban? Which of us is wearing an L.L.Bean T-shirt right now? And who just said Zoom was too edgy?”

“Just ignore him,” Teresa advised me. “He's only trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, “ignore me. I'm just kidding around.”

We changed the subject after that, but inside I was still stewing about what he'd said. If he really thought I was too suburban and safe to be interested in a guy like that singer, he knew even less about me than I'd thought.

As soon as I got home, I hurried upstairs and turned on my laptop. It only took a quick Google to find the official website of the Manayunk Mucus. The site had a little profile of the band members. Staring out at
me from the top photo was that amazing lead singer. His name was Oliver, according to the site, and his eyes were almost as smoldering in the photo as they had been in real life. There was also a contact phone number on the site. Grabbing my cell, I dialed it. What did I have to lose?

“'Lo?” a hoarse, sleepy-sounding voice answered on the fifth ring.

“Um, hello? I'm trying to get ahold of Oliver? The lead singer of the Manayunk Mucus?”

“This is Oliver.” The voice sounded slightly more awake this time.

I clutched the phone tightly. “Uh, hi,” I said, taken aback. Somehow, I'd been expecting an agent or something. “My name's Ava. I was at your show last night at Thermopylae.”

“Oh, really?” Now he sounded fully awake, though his voice had that same raw, smoky quality it did when he was singing. “What do you look like, darlin'? Maybe I saw you there.”

“I'm about five-three, reddish blond hair,” I said. “I was wearing a green flowered halter top?”

“Yeah, and a black miniskirt, right?
Sure, I remember you,” Oliver said right away. “I always remember the cutest girl at every gig.”

I was kind of taken aback. Sure, I was used to getting my share of notice from the opposite sex. But this was different. Or was it?

He's just a guy,
I reminded myself.
One pant leg at a time, like all the rest of 'em.

“Listen, Oliver. This might seem like a strange question . . .” Before I could lose my nerve, I blurted out my dilemma.

I hung up the phone a few minutes later feeling a little overwhelmed. For better or worse, I had a date for the following night—
and
another date to the wedding. One that was sure to make Camille's twittering pink minions faint in their pink pumps.

So there, Jason,
I thought. I stared at the flickering photo of Oliver on my laptop screen and smiled.

Camille's bachelorette party the next evening was perfectly boring in a typical Camille-like way. I was glad that she and her dorky friends seemed to be having fun and all, but dirty Pictionary and karaoke just weren't my thing, and I was glad to have my date with Oliver as an excuse to duck out a little early.

I'd offered to take the train in to Center City, figuring the Main Line might be too much of a shock to Oliver's rock-and-roll system, but he'd gallantly insisted on being the one to travel. When I arrived at the local Thai place I'd picked for the date, he was at the bar waiting for me, looking smoking hot in a cool alt-rock kind of way.

“There you are.” He stood up when I approached and looked me over. He pursed his lips. “Just as gorgeous as I remembered.”

“You too,” I said with a smile. “And boy, am I glad to see you tonight. I just came from the lamest bachelorette party in the world.”

He put a hand on my back and steered me to an empty table. “What, no male strippers?”

“Hardly.” I rolled my eyes as I allowed myself to be steered. “My sister is way too uptight for that sort of thing.”

“Uh-oh.” He arched an eyebrow and pulled out my chair. “What did I let myself in for? I signed on for a date with a hot babe, not an uptight Main Line wedding.”

I grinned. “Too late to back out now,” I teased. “But don't worry. I'll do my best to keep you entertained.”

He laughed, showing nicotine-stained teeth and a surprisingly sweet smile. Suddenly I wondered why I'd ever been nervous about calling him. He was just a guy, like any other guy.

Well, maybe not
quite
like every other guy. Tonight he was dressed in skinny black jeans, electric-blue cowboy boots, a faded Sex Pistols T-shirt, and a tuxedo jacket with
patches on the elbows. Oh, and a different nose ring—this one was an actual ring, with a tiny silver cross dangling from it.

“I know one way to liven things up at the wedding,” I said, running my eyes over the outfit as he sat down across from me. “Wear
that
.”

“Ah, but no,” he replied. “I've got a much more interesting outfit in mind for the big day.”

“Really?” I giggled. “What?”

He leaned forward, lacing his long fingers together and gazing at me. “I thought I'd start with my favorite pair of leather pants. Black, of course—after all, it's a formal occasion. . . .”

After that, the evening flew by. Oliver was really fun to hang out with. Better yet, the more I got to know him, the more I relished the thought of parading him around in front of all the stuffy Main Line gossips who would be at the wedding. I wasn't sure Oliver would ever be Mr. Right. But as Mr. Right Now, he was perfect. As the evening went on, he continued to plan and improve upon the outrageous outfit he planned to wear—it involved all sorts of leather, a few chains, some zebra-patterned silk, and even
a touch of purple-glitter guyliner. Camille would definitely have him Photoshopped out of all the wedding pictures, and Boring Bob would probably faint when he got a load of him. Not to mention what Mr. Smug You're-So-Suburban Jason would say the first time he saw us together.

Suddenly I couldn't wait another whole week to see the reactions. “Hey,” I blurted out as the waitress cleared away our plates and dropped dessert menus on the table. “Want to come to a pool party on Sunday?”

“A pool party?” He leaned closer and arched his eyebrow again. I'd never quite realized just how sexy an eyebrow could be. “Depends. Will it involve seeing you in a bikini?”

“Maybe, if you play your cards right. So how about it?”

“I'll be there. Just tell me where and when.”

I gave him the info, silently congratulating myself for taking a chance on him. I'd never really pictured myself falling for a musician. Then again, I'd never met one quite like Oliver. Maybe this time Mr. Right Now really would end up turning into something more after all. . . .

I was in a great mood when I got home after my date. It was late—Oliver and I had hung out at the restaurant for a long time talking and laughing and drinking green tea. Then he'd driven me home in his old beater Chevy, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek before I hopped out. That wasn't at all what I'd been expecting from Mr. Walk on the Wild Side, and I'd found it quite charming.