Heaving a big sigh, I push open the heavy door and climb out of his luxurious Mercedes, slamming the door behind me. I’m heading up the walk when I spot two girls sitting on a couch on the front porch of the house, the both of them gawking at me like I’m some sort of celebrity who magically appeared.
“Did you just get out of Shep Prescott’s car?” one of them asks, her voice full of wonder.
Oh, here we go. Shep groupies. “I did,” I say with a lift of my chin. I hope they don’t want to beat me up or pull out my hair or whatever.
“Wow,” the other one says, drawing out the word so it sounds more like woooooow. “Rumor has it he doesn’t let any girl get in his car. Not even his mom.”
His mom doesn’t even live in this state but whatever. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” the first one pipes up. “He won’t even fuck a girl in the backseat. Too afraid he’ll get his leather interior dirty and sweaty and…wet.” They both dissolve into giggles.
Um, this is awkward. Even more awkward? That what they’re telling me actually makes me…happy. If what they’re saying is true, I feel some sort of strange honor that I’m supposedly the first girl to ride in his car.
“Hey.” The second one straightens up, her giggling coming to a halt. “Aren’t you in my communications class?”
I tilt my head, studying her. She’s cute, with long golden blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and clear blue eyes. Her boobs are about ready to burst out of the deep V of her pale pink T-shirt and she’s wearing extremely short denim cutoffs. “I think so,” I tell her though truthfully, I don’t recognize her. That class is ginormous though so there’s a good chance she’s right.
“I knew it!” She smiles brightly, her ponytail swishing. “My name is Emily and this is Emma.”
Emily and…Emma? Oh good lord. “Nice to meet you,” I say with a smile.
“We like to call ourselves Em and Em.” Emma smiles and nudges Emily with an elbow. “Get it?”
“Oh yeah,” I say as they start giggling again. “I definitely get it. That’s…cute.”
“We thought so! So hey, are you going inside?” The giggles are gone again and Emily leans in close, like she’s about to confess something big. “I wouldn’t if I were you. There’s some freak sitting at the blackjack table who refuses to leave.”
“We know that freak, you bitch,” Emma says, slapping her arm.
“Right. I think that’s why Shep is here,” I tell her, my gaze going to the window. The blinds are cracked but I can kind of see through them and I try to peer inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shep. But I don’t see him.
“Ooh, so are you two fucking exclusively or what?” Emma asks, all perky and cheerleader like. I can imagine her as a cheerleader too. Her dark hair is pulled into a high pony just like Emily’s and she’s wearing a black V neck T-shirt with denim shorts. Just like Emily. In fact, Emma has a pink bow in her hair and Emily has a black bow. As in, they match.
Weird.
“We’re not…fucking,” I tell them, earning disappointed looks from the both of them. I’m tempted to apologize for letting them down. “I barely know him.”
“Honey, you don’t have to know Shepard Prescott to fuck him,” Emily says sarcastically. “I mean, look at the man. He’s fucking gorge.”
I’ve heard of girls who talk like this. I’ve witnessed them in class and even Kelli slips on occasion. Shortening her words, talking in code, tossing out crude words like they’re no big deal. It’s so odd. With my friends back home, we never talked like that.
Of course, we were pretty nerdy.
“Want a drink?” Emma waves a silver flask at me and I blink, wondering where it came from. “Vodka and Redbull. It’ll give you wings.” Emily bursts out laughing and I figure she already found her wings.
“Sure,” I say, because why not? I have no idea how long Shep’s going to take and I could be out on this front porch all night. Besides, Em and Em, they seem harmless.
Emma hands over the flask and I take a sip, then another, wincing as the liquid slides down my throat. It’s sort of awful. I’ve never liked Redbull. I prefer vodka and cranberry juice. But hey, when in Rome…
Within twenty minutes we’ve polished off Emma’s flask and are starting in on Emily’s. Shep still hasn’t come out of the house, I’m giggling like the Em and Em girls and we’re all three relaxing on the couch—because all houses close to the university have a couch on the front porch, duh—passing the flask back and forth between us, careful not to spill a drop.
“Can I confess something to you?” Emma asks me as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth but somehow she misses. Her lips are still shiny with vodka and Red Bull and her eyes are dilated. She looks spun.
I start to laugh because my head is fuzzy and damn it, I’m a happy drunk. “Sure,” I tell her as I take another sip. Emily’s flask is hot pink. I like it. I need a flask. I’m going to ask for one for my birthday. Or maybe Christmas. It would make a great stocking stuffer. I’m sure my parents won’t mind.
“I thought you were a total stuck up bitch when I first saw you in class.” Emma slaps her hand over her mouth the moment the words tumble out.
“Em!” Emily yells, nudging her so hard Emma goes toppling into my lap. We all start laughing, though deep down, I’m sort of hurt.