CHAPTER NINE
Daisy
After the meeting with Mr. Ranger I’d had to report the results to the girl clique, and unfortunately it’d been a complete let down.
“What do you mean, nothing happened?” demanded Trina. “Mr. Ranger came over to your house right? You had him alone?”
“Well, yes, for part of it,” I admitted, biting my lip. “We met with my guardian at his office first and then headed back to my house for some studying. Mr. Ranger helped me dissect the book, threw some study questions my way,” I added lamely.
“Hmmph,” scoffed Trina, hands on her hips. “That’s all? You didn’t get down? Did you kiss him? Touch him? What happened to his pen?”
And I sighed. That stupid pen. I was supposed to get it, to procure it as evidence of our illicit liaison. But it was hard to explain that pen or not, I wasn’t the least bit interested to our overly muscled English teacher. To me, John Ranger was no different from any other John on the street, just another guy that I’d pass without even noticing his face. Because I was obsessed with a different man, a man who was a thousand times more off-limits, more dominant, more alpha, who conducted himself like he owned the world.
But how could I tell that to this rapacious girl crew? So I just hemmed and hawed.
“I didn’t get the pen,” I said, hanging my head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I can try again,” I promised, “Mr. Ranger will have more meetings with my guardian, I’m sure,” I said quickly, “you know, to raise money for the library and all.”
And Trina scoffed then.
“Make sure you get it next time,” she said haughtily. “We don’t really know you yet, so this is your test, get it? To make sure you’re like one of us.”
I looked around, confused. Like one of them? What did that mean?
“Are you saying that … you all have pens?” I asked, looking around, shaking my head. I expected the girls to ridicule me, make fun of me for asking a stupid question but instead they tittered, hiding their smiles behind their hands
“Of course we do!” exclaimed Mary, a particularly dumb blonde. “I got Mr. Peters’ pen,” she said in a hushed voice.
“I got Mr. Nichols’,” whispered Carrie, giggling a little as her cheeks colored. “It was so big!”
I shook my head, shocked. Were we talking about the same thing? Did “pen” allude to cock? To male penis? These high school girls had all had some illicit liaison with various male faculty at our school?
And they confirmed it, voices chattering, unable to keep from blabbing despite the illicit nature.
“Oh yeah, we all have “pens,” they’re like trophies to us,” bragged Carrie-Ann, Trina’s best friend. “It’s how we’re graduating this year. Because you know, I haven’t done any homework for months, no reading, no problem sets, no nothing,” she simpered. “But it’s worked out because I’m graduating with honors.”
And I gaped then. Holy smokes! Clearly, my naive past hadn’t prepared me for this revelation, the Swiss boarding school was nothing compared to Central Prep. Girls were putting out to get their diplomas? My head reeled and I couldn’t help but stare. But it was absolutely true.
“We’re passing with flying colors,” nodded Trina with a smirk. “Not only are we graduating, we’re going to have honor cords wrapped around our necks too!”
And so I bit my lip, trying not to look amazed, trying to make like I was cool with it.
“Oh sure, I get it,” I nodded, hoping I appeared noncommittal and casual. “Totally awesome,” I added for good measure.
And Maria was the only one who caught onto my discomfort. She was the only girl who’d rolled her eyes slightly at the exchange, a dark-haired beauty from a rich family.
“No worries,” she whispered to me while the other girls continued giggling. “Just say you got the pen even if you didn’t,” she confided.
I shot her a quick smile, grateful. It was the only acknowledgment that what these girls were doing was totally, utterly wrong, a sex squad for good grades. So I shook my head, whispering back, “Got it, thanks.”
And Maria and I have developed a friendship of sorts, just to stay alive in this crazy girl crew. We look like we fit in, with all the right clothes, our hair done just so, but sometimes I felt like we’re the only ones living in reality, that the other chicks are vapid, caught up in La-La Land, always talking about whichever new guy they were going to screw. It was insane, especially since a couple of them were doing policy officers and even the town mayor. But then again, who am I to judge? I’ve shown Tristan my pussy, which is just as nasty and whory.
And feeling especially pitiful, I said no at first when Maria asked me to come out.
“The Carlyle Hotel?” I asked skeptically. “Isn’t that filled with old people?”
“Yeah,” the brunette confirmed, “but we can’t avoid them forever.”
And I knew who “them” was. For the last two afternoons we’d decided to have lunch by ourselves, saying that we had to finish up a lab experiment for Biology. But our absence had been noted and the alleged experiment was done now. There were no more excuses not to hang out with the girls.
So I hung up and got dressed slowly, pulling on a red wrap which complemented my chestnut curls, the dress the exact hue of an autumn leaf, bringing out the highlights in my hair without clashing. Plus, I loved the way the jersey hugged my boobs and butt, clingy without being vulgar. Just right for the Carlyle, a super-classy joint. Sighing, I stepped into brown suede boots and picked up my purse.
“Coming!” I called downstairs and Maria giggled as I descended the stairs.
“Looks like we match,” she said, indicating her own outfit. Because she too was dressed in a red dress but I just shook my head.
“Let’s not change,” I said, looking at her meaningfully. “Seriously, we’re not like other girls, it’s fine to wear the same color.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she nodded. “Although if we were headed to the Academy Awards, I’d say one of us should change,” she joked.
“Sure, but it’s the Carlyle, not the Oscars,” I retorted wryly as we got in the car. And soon enough, the black car pulled up outside the hotel. The other girls were already waiting on the sidewalk.
“You’re late, ladies,” sniped Trina, shooting us a nasty glance before swiveling in her high heels and heading in. Her long platinum locks flew, almost hitting us in the face and Maria and I exchanged a tortured look. Why did we put up with this? Oh right, because Trina was Queen Bee, leader of the Mean Girl pack and somehow, we’d become part of her coterie.
But as we filed into the Carlyle’s bar, a feeling of well-being settled over me because the setting was so wonderful, luxurious and exquisite. It was old-school with a long oaken bar along one side of the room, soaring ceilings with colored glass paned windows and artwork that looked expensive yet hip at the same time. I was reminded of just what money could buy and settled down in a booth with my friends, making myself comfortable on the red velvet cushions.
“Oh my god Daisy, isn’t that Tristan Marks over there?” said Carlie quizzically, nodding towards a table across the room. Immediately, I swiveled my head, glancing, squinting my eyes a bit in the dim light.
But Tristan’s form was unmistakable. He was ungodly handsome in his suit, massive and imposing in a small wooden chair, an amber shot of something or other in front of him. But what caught my eye wasn’t the drink, the setting, or even the man … it was the blonde with him. She looked like a model, probably six feet tall sans heels, hair gleaming in the light, buttery-yellow with expensive highlights. And the female talked animatedly with my man, her lips ruby red, parting to flash even white teeth, making long, meaningful eye contact with him as matching scarlet nails clicked and clacked with animated hand gestures.
Oh god, who was that woman? She was so beautiful, all smiles and flirtatious female charm wrapped in a gorgeous package. I felt like an oaf, a two hundred pound walrus next to her, suddenly aware of how rolls jiggled under the thin jersey of my dress, how my calves were like solid tree trunks next to the thin twigs of her legs. Oh god, I thought again, mortified. What had I been thinking? Tristan would never be interested in someone like me when he could get her.
But the little voice in my head spoke up then. Get a grip Daisy, the voice warned. There’s nothing between you guys but a little taboo action in the past. Get a grip.
And I shook my head resolutely. The voice was right. There was nothing between Tristan and I, nothing. So I turned back to the group and began chattering, pretending I was checking out other men in the room, pretending to be really into the scene although my heart pounded with awareness of Tristan, trying to keep myself from turning to look at them.
Except the big man had seen me and now stood by our table, the skinny blonde at his side.
“Daisy,” he rumbled, his eyes taking in the table full of girls, all nubile, shimmying flesh.
Before I could reply the blonde cooed, “Oh aren’t you guys cute! So cute!” she trilled, her voice high and fake.
And Trina, one bitch to another, snapped back.
“Oh yeah, so cute!” she agreed sarcastically. “We’re so cute and so young right?” she added. “We’re drinking virgin margaritas,” she added, smirking. And I had to smile internally because it was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, we were old enough to get into the bar, it was a hotel bar after all so there was no bouncer at the door and you could waltz right in. But on the other hand, we were so young, juicy, and ripe that we weren’t even drinking alcohol yet, as if to remind the older blonde of her advanced age.
But Queen Bees never lose their sharp stingers.
“Virgins?” trilled the old lady. “I don’t think so.”
And I applauded silently at her rapier wit. Because yeah, we had virgin drinks in front of us but this was no group of physical virgins, no way.
But evidently Tristan had had enough.
“Daisy,” he nodded at me again. “Have fun with your friends,” he rumbled before walking off, the blonde hanging onto his arm.
And the gasps and titters started up again.
“Oh my god, your guardian is sooo hot!” giggled Carlie, her little form almost bouncing up and down in her seat. “Soooo hot!”
“Get his pen, get his pen!” cooed Carrie-Ann, never far behind. “Do it, do it!”
And I brushed them off.
“Oh my god, you guys are so gross!” I scoffed even as I flushed inside. “He’s my guardian for crying out loud, he raised me since I was a little girl!” I would have explained more but thankfully didn’t have to since the girls were distracted by a junior banker type who’d just stopped by our table.
“Ladies,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “I’m Colin,” he introduced himself, “and this is my buddy Jason,” he said, pointing to another frat boy.
And so the spotlight was off me for the moment as the gaggle of girls began chatting with the two dudes, eating up their muscles, engaging the meatheads in conversation. Except they’d been right on point without even knowing it. I wanted my Tristan’s pen, needed it, craved it … but who was that woman he was with? Jealousy coursed through me again, making me see red, then green. Oh god, I hated myself for feeling this way, but the dragon within me had woken.