White is for Virgins (39 page)

“
It would help if I saw you every now and then,
honey!” Dad barked.
“For all I know, you do whatever the hell you please every damn day!”

“
If you think of me so highly, I might as well humor you!”

“Great! It all works out! We can both be happy!”

I heard the door slam, followed by the clanking of glass.

The TV came on, blaring.

So, Mom left for the night and Dad’s drinking. I’m in bed at 8 o’clock, staring at the ceiling. The holiday spirit is really working magic this year, huh?

I turned to my side and stared at my phone. I reached over and held it in my left hand, weighing my options very, very thoroughly.

Fuck it.

***

.FOX POV.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, folding the sleeves of a simple black dress shirt. My voice echoed.
It freaking echoed.

All alone on New Year’s Eve, in a mansion… going to a stupid party where I can’t drink; where drunk girls will be coming at me left and right; where the smell of smoke and sweat is unbearable. It’s like house arrest, without the ankle bracelet.

My phone started buzzing, and I carelessly accepted the call.

“Yeah?”

“Um, hi,” the girl on the other end responded
shyly
.

Emery?

“Emery?”

“Uh, yeah, hey,” she laughed sheepishly.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Something wrong?”

Silence.

“Hello?” I asked into the receiver.

Shit.

“Can I go to that party with you?”

What?
Had I heard her correctly?

“What’s the matter? Something go wrong with your plans?” I questioned, standing up and heading for the kitchen counter to get my keys.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she muttered.

“Well um, we don’t have to party,” I said, opening the garage.

“No, no I kind of want to. I’m sick of sitting at home all the time and never going to parties with kids my own age.”

“Okay, you
gonna be ready in half an hour?” I asked, heading for the garage.

“Um,
gimme forty-five?” She sounded shy again.

“Alright.”

“Thanks, Fox,” I heard her say before she hung up.

From the tone in her voice I could tell I was doing her a big favor.

I didn’t know what to say.

***

I leaned over and pushed the passenger door open as I watched Emery secure the hood of her hoodie and speed walk through the snow toward the car. She looked very wobbly.

She slid in, covered in snowflakes, and closed the door. I noticed her heels, and made a connection with her walk.

She looked grateful as I pressed on the gas.

“Hi,” I offered.

“Hey.” Her voice was incredibly soft.

I looked over at her, noting her dark grey hoodie and what looked like a white skirt, which had scrunched up her thighs as she sat.

“Um, nice outfit,” I commented awkwardly. I think she noticed the questioning sarcasm.

“Shut up,” she laughed, “I didn’t
wanna ruin my hair.”

“Oh?”

To prove a point she pulled her arms out of the sleeves and shimmied out of her hoodie. She gently slid it over her head, which was curled and slightly disheveled from the trauma of the pull-over. I quickly averted my gaze back to the highway as she turned and placed the sweater in the backseat of the car. Let’s just say her neckline was lower than I had ever seen it before.

“Did I overdo it?” she asked in a nervous tone, fixing her hair and adjusting her dark blue sequin top.

There was a red light, so I stopped and turned.
I can’t just ignore her question. No guy in their right mind would.

“
Uhh, yeah,” I shrugged.

“
Uhh, yeah?
” she questioned.

“Somebody’s fishing for compliments,” I smirked, enjoying the self-conscious and annoyed look on her face.

“I’m just kidding, Em,” I reassured her by petting her head.

My fingers laced through her soft hair and then grazed her warm neck. Her eyes seemed glazed, which I assumed was just an illusion from the street lights.

“You look beautiful,” I said softly. “Now I’m gonna have to chaperone all night, thanks Em.”

She blinked for the first time in what seemed like hours. Opening her mouth to speak, she moved closer.

What is she…

“The light’s green,” she whispered finally.

I pulled away and we both smiled sheepishly, though I’m sure we’d never admit it.

That’s the way she’s
gonna play it?

By the time we got to the house, her smile was replaced with a look of awe.

“What?” I asked, parking the car and looking over at her.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she gulped. She seemed very unsure of herself, like a lost puppy.

“If anyone can, it’s you, Em,” I smirked. “You’re smarter than most of the girls in there, and you look just as good, if not  better than them.”

The look on her face made me laugh.

“Yeah, okay, Fox. You have your laughs while I go throw up by the rose bushes,” she smirked.

“I am completely serious,” I deadpanned. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Especially cause you’re here with me. C’mon now,” I joked.

Shit. Too late, I realized she’d probably take the negative route in analyzing what I had said, and out of fear of more rumors she’d ask to go home.

She surprised me, though. She kept doing that. She opened the door and slid out; making sure her skirt wasn’t wrinkled before closing the door. I got out and locked the car.

“It started, what, two hours ago?” she inquired as we walked up to the door. The bass was turned up all the way, I assumed, because I could feel it beneath my feet.

I nodded and watched as she licked her lips.

I decided to rip the band aid off as quickly as possible so Emery could get over the sting. I opened the door and stepped in, grabbing her hand and pulling her with me. Her grip was surprisingly firm, but it loosened as some people came up and greeted us with surprisingly sincere smiles.

“Thirsty?” I asked her, assuming she didn’t want to dance yet, if not at all.

“Um, yeah,” she replied indifferently.

I got us two cans of Sprite and poured them into plastic cups.

“Just Sprite, right?” she asked shyly, peering up at me with those brown eyes.

“Drink it and see,” I shrugged, laughing and clinking my cup with hers when she narrowed her eyes skeptically.

“You know what I just realized?” she asked as we sat on the soft leather couch and stared at the wide screen above the crackling fireplace.

“That this isn’t nearly as bad as you thought?” I guessed.

She smiled. “No,” she laughed and shook her head. “It’s really not, actually. But that’s not what I realized.”

“What did you realize?”

“Who’s watching my favorite rug rat?”

I laughed.
Typical Em, always thinking of everyone else.

“Holly’s in Paris, actually.”

“Paris?”

“Yep, Mil decided to take her to France. She wanted to open a new fashion label,” I said, staring at the bubbles in my sprite.

“Why does Holly have to go?” Emery smirked, “They bonding or something?”

“Oh yeah, child labor is the latest way to connect with your mom,” I sighed. “Holly’s designing it all.”

“What? That’s crazy,” Emery argued.

I put my hands up in surrender, “It wasn’t my choice. The kid loves to color people’s pants.”

Emery laughed, thinking back on the memory. Her laugh was contagious.

She looked at me, the amusement in her eyes merged with a solemn look. I wanted nothing more than to know what she was thinking in that moment.

“So, you’re all by yourself? No siblings, parents, maids?” she asked, looking around.

“It’s not the first time,” I shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“Is that why you party?” she asked, “To be around people?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t like most of these people,” I admitted with a grin.

“To get with people, then?” she smirked.

Ouch. So this is what she thinks of me. What everyone else thinks of me.

“Why’d you call me, Em?” I countered calmly. She clenched her jaw. “I don’t have a problem with you being here, I’m just a nosey
man whore
.”