Attraction

“It makes sense to me.” His words were quiet, softly spoken.

I looked up at Ray, surprised to find him looking down at me with equally soft eyes. “You’re smart, beautiful—”

I snorted, rolled my eyes.

“Wait, listen, you’re not pretty in a conventional way. You’re not pretty at all. You’re beautiful.”

I pressed my lips together and frowned at him, saying flatly, “And I have a really great personality, right?”

He grinned at that, looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Yeah, you do have a really great personality.”

“You’re nice, Ray.”

“No, you’re nice, Kaitlyn. And you have nice laugh and a great, weird smile with that cute gap between your teeth.”

I mock-scowled at him, pressing my lips together.

He seemed to hesitate as he studied at me, debating whether or not to give a voice to his thoughts. He must’ve decided in favor of the idea because he abruptly said, “You’re the girl that guys like us, if we’re smart and if we’re lucky that is, you’re the girl we marry. You’re the marriage girl.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes bugged out of my head. It took me three or four seconds to find my voice before I said, “What are you talking about?”

“I have two sisters, and I tell them this all the time. Be the marriage girl. Don’t be the hook-up girl. Don’t be her. She’s stupid and shallow. Yes, she gets lots of male attention, dressing in her sexy lumberjack or sexy nun costumes…for a time. But then she’s used up, hardened, disillusioned and desperate, because no one stays with the hook-up girl.”

I blinked at him, pulled my hand from his elbow, and backed up a step. “You’re disgusting and that’s completely misogynistic. What if the hook-up girl is using you just as much as you’re using her? What if she’s just having fun? This is the problem with society. When a guy sleeps around, he’s sewing oats. When a girl does it, she’s a hook-up girl.”

He held his hands up and shook his head. “I’m not going to defend society, I’m not saying it’s right. I’m saying it’s biology. It’s evolution. It’s programmed behavior.”

“You do realize I’m nineteen, right? I may never marry. And I certainly won’t be getting married any time soon.”

“Doesn’t matter. Your independence, the fact you aren’t actively seeking your MRS degree—that the very idea is repellant—only makes you more of the marriage girl. You’re the polar opposite of the hook-up girl.”

I growled at him. He laughed at me.

“Listen, I’m not talking about the girl who wants to have fun and a good time with no strings attached. I’m talking about the girl who’s looking for a free ride after the ride ends.”

I snapped my mouth shut, scowling at him for real, and crossed my arms over my chest. I said nothing, because I knew that girl. Well, I didn’t know her, but I’d overheard her plotting with Ben on Friday to drug Martin. That was what Ray meant when he was talking about the hook-up girl.

“Ah…I see you know what I mean.”

I huffed. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore.”

“You. You’re not the hook-up girl, you couldn’t be if you tried. You’re the girl we marry.”

“How lovely for you, especially after you’ve spent your adolescence and early adulthood making girls like me feel like excrement.”

He gave me a shrug that would have been charming ten minutes ago. “I’m just telling the truth. It might not be easy to hear, but that’s the way of the world. You are the finest example of the marriage girl I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful. From what I’ve seen, you’re graceful under pressure, smart, capable, and drama free. You come from a family that’s historically famous for being brilliant and exceptional. You’re nice—like really, really nice—genuine, and you’re hilarious.”

“You think I’m funny now? Just wait until the party. There will copious pointing and laughing then.”

Ray ignored me. “That’s why you and Martin make sense. Because, if Martin is one thing, he’s smart. He may not be nice, but he is fucking sharp as a Katana. He’s never had to work for it, he’s never had to work for anything. He’s bored. He’s had his fun. He’s over the hook-up girls. He’s ready for what’s next and you are the Olympic gold medal, the Nobel Peace Prize, the Pulitzer Prize, and the Academy Award of marriage material.”

The rest of the carts chose just that moment to show up. I heard Sam’s squeals of glee as she and Eric swung around the corner. They parked neatly and tidily in the space next to Ray’s. Herc and Tambor were next, followed by Lee and Will, Ben by himself, then Martin and Griffin bringing up the rear.

Meanwhile Ray was looking at me like an older brother or a father might look at his sister or daughter after delivering a hard truth about life. Like he was apologizing for the way things were, but not sorry to have delivered the message.

He stepped forward and offered me his elbow. “Did I ruin your night?” His tone was sober and apologetic.

I shook my head, took his offered arm, and said, “No.” He hadn’t ruined my night because I was going to a party. There was no way to ruin something that was already ruined.

“I’ve known him forever,” he whispered, as the engines of our companions’ carts turned off and they spilled out onto the gravel driveway.

“How long?” I asked, careful to keep my voice low.

“Since elementary school.”

I nodded, thinking about this, thinking about our bizarre conversation.

“He’s kind of crazy about you, Kaitlyn.”

My eyes cut to Ray’s. His mouth was a grim line. Before I could question him further, the others were upon us and our strange heart-to-heart was at an end.

“Let’s go!” Sam slipped her arm in mine and tugged.

Ray let me go with a small smile and a wave, and a look that said, Let me know if I can help.

I didn’t know quite how to respond to that, what look to give in return. So I turned my attention to the mansion in front of me and the task at hand. I couldn’t think about being Martin’s marriage girl, not until I was safely through the evening with the odious party at an end.

Then and only then would I examine this new development and try to figure out what, if anything, I was going to do about it.

CHAPTER 12

Limiting Reactants

Sometimes I hate it when I’m right. Sometimes I love it when I’m wrong.

Let me explain what happened. I’ll try to keep it as emotion free as possible for the sake of all the people who can’t deal with the ups and the downs, and the drama and the angst. This is because I’m one of those people. I can’t deal with the drama. Admittedly, this is likely because I was raised in a drama-free household.

I once tried being dramatic when I was fourteen. My mother told me to add it to the calendar.

We arrived at the house, Sam and I arm-in-arm, the boys behind us. We walked in the door. Martin gave me a curt nod then left. That’s right, he walked away. He disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there stunned for about twenty seconds before Sam pulled me closer and yelled over the music, “Maybe he has to use the bathroom or something.”

“Or something,” I said, feeling gargantuan levels of annoyed and hurt and confused. Boys were so epically strange and obviously placed on the earth to torture girls. Martin’s behavior made no sense. I considered trying to sort it out, but ultimately decided the actions of men were beyond my comprehension.

I noted Herc was glued to Ben as they passed and were absorbed into the throng. I’d wondered if Ben would try to drug someone at this party, but now I suspected Herc has been assigned to keep an eye on him.

Sam, Eric—who, let the record show, stayed with Sam—and I took a brief tour of the party. We walked from room to room, surveying the surroundings, getting a lay of the land as it were. To me it looked like a party in a big house and nothing more exciting than that. So…not at all exciting.

The rooms were gargantuan and lavishly decorated and were getting trashed by partygoers. A DJ played loud house music. People were dancing and getting drunk, and talking loudly to hear each other over the music. The majority of the girls were dressed in string bikinis. The majority of the guys were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, or board short swim suits. The pool was huge and wrapped around one side of the house. It had a waterfall and three slides as well as four hot tubs.

Sam said she wanted to go swimming. I hadn’t brought a swim suit. She lifted up a bag on her shoulder and informed me that not only had she brought me a swim suit, it was a string bikini. I thought I might die of happiness.

That last part isn’t true. I was being sarcastic. Sorry.

Sam and I left Eric on the deck with a promise to return once we were appropriately attired. I numbly got dressed, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, because…why? Why would I do that to myself? Afterward, we walked downstairs. We walked on to the deck.

And I saw Martin kissing a girl.

That’s literally how it happened. I took two steps out the door, scanned the space for Eric, and instead saw a leggy blonde with her arms around Martin’s neck and her body plastered to his, and her mouth suctioned on his like she wanted to taste his dinner.