Trust Me (28 page)

“Oh no, you don’t,” she says, using her no-nonsense tone.

Confusion laces my response. “No, I don’t, what?”

“You are not getting out of this party tonight, Allison Scott. If I have to drag your ass over here, I will. You have to come to my party tonight.”

Shit, shit, shit!
I have to go, and I completely forgot to tell Damien about it.
Hell, I completely forgot about it.
“Of course, I’ll be there. It’s just been a long week, and it slipped my mind. I cannot wait to pull out your dad’s famous sprinkler move. You know, the one he’s constantly showing us from his archives?”

She starts laughing. “Oh gosh. Please don’t. I’ll have to disown you if you do.”

I can tell Sam is very pleased that I am coming, which makes Damien’s potential wrath worth it.

Teasingly, I add, “Wasn’t it called the dean special?”

“Allison, not funny.”

I hear all sorts of commotion on her end, and I can tell she’s on the move.

“You want me to swing by and pick you up? Then, Damien can get you from the party later. I got us both some stuff to wear tonight. I can be over in twenty. I’ll honk when I get there.”

Oh, that’s right. It’s an eighties theme party.
I want to slap myself for forgetting. “Sounds good. You’re the best. See you in a bit.”

“Bye, girl.”

I am going to be in so much trouble.
The party doesn’t start for another few hours. He’s going to worry because he is not fond of the idea of me attending a college party. I throw my head back against the couch, dreading the impending argument.

My doorbell rings, momentarily taking my mind off the nuclear bomb I have on my hands. Peering through the peephole, I see a flower guy holding a massive bouquet.

As I open the door, he greets me, “Flowers for Allison Scott.”

I can barely see the head of the delivery guy behind all the flowers. “That’s me.”
They’re beautiful.
There must be at least two-dozen white roses with crimson tips.
Absolutely stunning.

I sign for them quickly, and he hands them off to me.

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

Damien’s beautiful gestures know no bounds. Rushing to the kitchen counter, I eagerly open the card and read the elegant script.

It makes the guilt of what I’m about to do a hundred times worse. I know how he’ll be concerned about me going to Sam’s function this evening. It’s not like he keeps me in a locked cage, but the death of his sister has caused him to worry excessively, and I try to be understanding. They were incredibly close, and I get it, but Sam’s done so much for me, so I need to be there for her. I feel like I’m being pulled in both directions.

Should I call him or text him?
Since he’s in a meeting, I decide to text him. When I grab my phone from the kitchen island, I notice I need to charge it.
I’ll do it once we get to Sam’s.
As I start to type my message, a car honks. It must be Sam. Focusing on anything that allows me to procrastinate a little longer, I decide to text Damien from the sorority.

I rush out the door and into Sam’s car. She is bouncing with excitement behind the wheel.

As she starts driving, Sam says in a hurry, “We are going to have a blast tonight. I think it’s going to be our biggest party yet. You won’t believe the outfits I found for us.”

“Geez, Sam, what are you on? I’m only getting about half of what you’re saying because you’re talking so fast.”

She’s practically jumping in her seat, and her black hair is a crazy mess as she moves. “Girl, we’re gonna drop it like it’s hot.”

“I’m excited. When we get there, I need to text Damien to let him know.”

As we are pulling up to the sorority, I know it’s about time to break the news to Damien. My stomach starts to knot, thinking about how irritated he’s going to be.

Sam looks at me, noticing my discomfort. In a sassy tone, she says, “Oh, he needs to lighten up. It’s a college function.”

Sam doesn’t know about his sister. It’s not my place to tell her, and Damien tends to be secretive about his life.

I shrug my shoulders. “He just worries.”
Ugh, I’d rather be subjected to watching sports for twenty-four hours than deal with this.

I get out of the car and head over to the side of the front porch. “Let me text him, and then we’ll get our party on.” I smile and give a little shake, which she returns.

Me: Hey, I’m at Sam’s. Will you pick me up from here when you get back?

Damien: Absolutely. What are you girls doing? Should be there around ten p.m.

Okay, that’s not so bad.
I’ll be at the party by myself for only two to three hours max. He should be able to deal with that.

Me: Oh, girl stuff, a little party. Have the adolescent jocks worked out their problems?

Damien: What kind of party?

Oh shit, here we go.
Of course, he’s honed in on that one teeny-tiny word in my text.
I wish I could have just omitted it altogether.

Me: It’s an ’80s party.

Damien: Is it one of Sam’s house parties?

Me: Yes. You have nothing to be worried about.

When my phone starts ringing, it startles me, and I realize I have been holding my breath. It’s Damien.

In a sweet voice, I answer, “Hey, there.”

“You’re not going to the party, Alli, and that’s final.” His tone is not as sweet as my greeting, and it makes me cringe.

Keeping everyone’s feelings in mind, I try the reasonable approach. “Damien, I promised Sam, and I forgot to tell you about it. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I haven’t been to one yet because each time she’s had one, we magically have out-of-state plans. I’ll be here for only two to three hours max.”

“Alli, you need to get in your car and get your ass back over to your place.”

His commanding tone has my temper slightly flaring.

“I didn’t drive, and there’s no harm in me staying. Stop being irrational. It’s a college party. I’ll be fine.” My irritation is coming through my voice, regardless of how calm I am trying to stay.

“I’m not fucking around here. Do as I ask. Now!” he yells.

I don’t think so.
I’m all for reasonable discussions, but yelling is unacceptable.

As I’m about to respond, Sam plucks my phone out of my hand. She has that no-nonsense look on her face.
Shit, the bomb I’m holding just went active, and it’s about to explode.

With her hip cocked, she says in a sassy tone, “Wales, this is girl time. I’m invoking a no-phone rule. You get her all the time, and now, it’s time to share.”

I can hear Damien’s voice on the other end, and he’s not happy.

“She’ll get her phone back after the party starts. See you soon. Muah.” She gives me a wink as she hits the End button.

Balancing my relationship with Damien and my friendship with Sam has been more difficult than I expected.

Instantly, I have a headache from how wrong this has all gone. It happened so fast. He knows I hate it when he orders me around without talking it through. My phone has been ringing incessantly. I go to grab it from Sam, and she moves it out of my reach.

“No, no, no. This is girl time. He can chill.” The phone continues to ring as she laughs. “Boy, he is a tad bit possessive and controlling. He must really like his P in your V.”

That does it. We both burst into a fit of giggles. It’s immature, but that just seems to come out of us when we are together.

The party will be fine, and then maybe he’ll lighten up some.
Sam stows our phones in the coat closet as mine continues to ring.

Forcing the stress from the drama to the back of my mind, I look around. “You guys are getting this place into pretty good shape. All the pink makes me feel bubbly.”

“Yeah, we have to add some more green. We might have gone a little overboard. It looks like Pepto threw up in here.”

I nod and press my lips together.
Better it come from her than me.

She grabs my hand and pulls me along. “Come on, it’s time to get spiffed-up.”

As we climb the stairs to Sam’s second-floor room, I notice the liberal application of pink continues upstairs. Since she’s the president of the house, she gets one of the few rooms with its own bathroom. Her room is painted in a neutral color with pink and green accents.

When I see our outfits laid out on the bed, I know I made the right decision in coming. I can tell she has put so much effort into them. The outfits are identical in style. The only difference is that one is pink, and the other is purple. She’s even chosen lots of accessories to go with each outfit.

“Oh, I likey, Sam.”

“Good. I get the pink one.”

“Perfect. Please tell me we have a hair crimper.”

She scoffs. “Do not insult me. We are going to rock this joint with our eighties getup.”

She plops me down in a chair in front of a vanity. As she starts brushing my hair, I look around at the mess before me. There are eye shadow cases with colors that should be banned, cans upon cans of hairspray, a crimper, a teaser comb, and a massive amount of scrunchies.
Getting ready like this every day seems like it would be painful.

Laughing, I look at Sam in the mirror. “We are going to look like clowns.”

Sam parts my hair and starts crimping away. “Hey, don’t knock what my mom says was the greatest decade ever.”

“If you say so.” I pick up the teasing comb, eyeing it with fear, as I put a mock look of horror on my face.

“I do say so. Keep still. This thing seems like it could be deadly.” She begins snapping the crimper, like it’s a mouth coming to eat my hair.

I move my body away from her, giggling. Our chortle boxes have been turned on. “Shit, Sam. Tell me you have used one of those things before.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. It’ll grow back if I singe it.”

This time, I give her a real look of horror.

“Oh, stop being a baby. Why do you think I wanted you to go first?” She continues snapping the damn thing with an evil little look on her face.

I cover my eyes as she goes to town. I say a silent prayer that my hair stays intact as Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” plays.
Yep, that seems about right.

Once we’re ready, we look like quite the dynamic duo. Eighties music has been playing the entire time we’ve been primping. At this particular moment, Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” is playing. With our pretend mikes up to our mouths, we are singing to each other as we dance and shake it across the room. We are belting it out as if we were rock stars in the making.

We look ridiculous dressed as eighties pop-star divas. I am wearing a black camisole and pettiskirt with artfully ripped black hose and purple leg warmers. To accessorize, my middle section has a black-and-purple splattered corset, and my hands are tucked into fingerless see-through gloves. Complementary beaded necklaces and bangles have been liberally added. Large purple hoop earrings add the perfect touch to my rocker-crimped hairstyle that is singe-free.

“Girl, we’re gonna drop it like it’s hot.” She gives her best Roger Rabbit dance impression.

Mimicking her dad’s sprinkler move, I add, “Girl, we were born in the wrong decade. The B-52s have nothing on us.”

“Bet your ass they don’t.” We continue dancing around, and then Sam suddenly stops. “Allison, on a serious note, thanks for coming. I know Wales didn’t want you to stay, but I appreciate you hanging with me tonight.”