Boy Crazy (11 page)

She knew, deep in her bones, that soon he would kiss her, and it would feel like it stretched on forever, beautiful and perfect, and like she could never, ever, be satisfied.

She could hardly wait.

I
can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Greta said from beside Cassie, “but I think Keagan might be beating me at Project Kiss, which is obviously unacceptable.”

The girls were at a party down on the beach in Venice. It was cooler by the water than it was inland, especially after dark, and so everyone was rocking that particularly Californian look, like a wool hat with flip-flops, or a heavy sweatshirt over a bikini. Cassie was somewhere in between, since she’d worn jeans and a fun halter top that meant she was now shivering in the ocean breezes. You’d never know it was the second week of August.

“What do you mean?” she asked Greta, who, of course, never paid any attention to the weather if it got
in the way of fashion, and was therefore wearing a dress that had probably started life as a tunic, that was how short it was. Needless to say, on Greta it looked fantastic.

“She was supposed to be getting us drinks,” Greta said. “So, naturally, she is making out with Kenny Lawson.”

Cassie snickered, and peered around Greta to see for herself. Sure enough, Keagan was all over some guy near the volleyball net—drinks clearly not foremost on her mind.

“No one can beat you,” she said, turning back to Greta. “I mean, sure, K might get some numbers. But you’re Greta. You’re an institution.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Greta said regally. “Please continue.”

“Every guy here wants to make out with you, and every girl here hates you but secretly wants to
be
you,” Cassie said, spreading her hands out to encompass the whole party and all of Venice beyond. “I’m not even exaggerating.”

“You’re so good for my ego,” Greta said, sighing happily. She studied Cassie for a moment. “Something’s different about you,” she pronounced. Cassie felt a stab of fear—did Greta know about Trey? But then Greta grinned. “Clearly, coming home this summer was the right move. I think you needed it.”

“I think you’re right,” Cassie said. Guilt and relief at not being caught mingled inside her and made her stomach hurt. She wished she were a better friend. She vowed to be, immediately. “I don’t know what I was thinking, staying away for so long. Getting to spend all this time with you and K again has been amazing.”

Greta blinked, surprised, and then her grin widened. “Well, yeah,” she said. “Duh. We’re the Three Musketeers, right? Except much, much hotter. And better dressed.” She leaned close and pressed her shoulder against Cassie’s, like a secret hug.

“If you can call that a dress,” Cassie teased her, looking at Greta’s outfit.

“Oh, you can,” Greta all but purred. She eyed Cassie. “But what about you? Your fabulousness can’t be overlooked.”

“What?” Cassie pretended not to hear, striking a pose as she leaned closer. “Fabulous? What?”

“Totally fabulous in all ways,” Greta declared, stepping back dramatically to look Cassie up and down, like she was judging
Project Runway
. “You have that laid-back but super-hot thing going on, which threatens all the girls, but they try to mimic it. And meanwhile the guys want to tell you their life stories”—she grinned wickedly—“and then stick their tongues down your throat.”

“That’s quite an image,” Cassie said, making a face. She nodded across the sand toward Keagan, who was
demonstrating the same image with her newest hookup. “You know that guy?” she asked.

“Sure,” Greta said with a shrug. “Kenny’s in my class. He’s an okay guy. Not the brightest bulb, but who cares? He’s pretty.”

“You have to hand it to Keagan,” Cassie said, with a surge of pride. “When she says she’ll do something, she does it. One hundred percent commitment.”

“She’s making me feel like a slacker,” Greta complained, and it seemed like she wasn’t entirely kidding. “I feel like my reputation is at stake here. I’m only up to eight guys this summer! Keagan must have blown past that a while ago, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Cassie said, hedging, because Greta’s “only eight” shocked her. “Only eight,” when Cassie was still on number four. Number four, and not really interested in racking up any higher numbers. But how could she tell Greta that? “But that doesn’t matter. You’re an institution!”

“This institution is verging on tragedy, as far as I’m concerned,” Greta said. She narrowed her eyes at Cassie. “But what about your numbers? The last was that guy at that party up in Laurel Canyon, right?”

“Ooh,” Cassie cooed, in a desperate bid to change the subject. “Who is
that
?” She pointed toward the outskirts of the party, where a super-hot guy had just walked over to get himself a beer. He wore a ripped black T-shirt
that showed off two bright sleeves of tattoos on his muscled arms, and was doing fabulous things to the pair of jeans he wore low-slung on his hips.

“Very Good Charlotte,” Greta said approvingly. “I can’t believe you saw him first!”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cassie said, grinning at her friend, “I have some flirting to do.”

Cassie made her way across the sand, happy to have escaped the inquisition, but knowing it was temporary at best. She needed to tell her friends what had happened. That she and Trey had gone out despite Greta’s warnings. Repeatedly. Cassie only had to think of him and she went warm all over. He was so funny, so sweet, and so deliciously hot—why would she want some random guy on the beach?

But she was a coward. She was afraid of what Greta’s reaction would be if—when!—she confessed. Greta had a tendency to get really mad when people didn’t do what she thought they should. It wasn’t like Cassie was Greta’s puppet or anything, but she’d missed out on years of her friendship with her L.A. girls while she was away at school. She didn’t want to give them any reason to think they were better off without her around.

But she also didn’t want Trey to think she was embarrassed to be with him or something. Not that he thought that. Yet. Tonight he was hanging out with some of his
guy friends, but he kept texting her, just to say hello. Last night he’d picked her up after work and they’d ended up hooking up pretty intensely on the beach on Catalina. It made her knees feel weak, just remembering it. Cassie felt like he was a part of her somehow, even when he wasn’t around—that was how much she missed him.

She knew Greta was watching her, so she made a beeline for Tattoo Guy.

“Hey,” she said when she reached his side, smiling at him. “Want to get me a beer, while you’re here?”

“Anything for a pretty girl,” he replied at once, grinning back. His eyes traveled over Cassie’s body, and he obviously liked what he saw. She was happy she’d worn the halter top, she decided, even if she was cold. He handed her an icy beer and moved closer while she opened it. “What’s your name?”

Cassie figured she could compromise. Flirt with all the boys she could, so as not to make Greta and Keagan suspicious, but not
do
anything, so as not to feel slimy or like she was betraying Trey.

Only for a little while,
she promised herself.
Just until I figure out how to break the news.

“I’m Cassie,” she told Tattoo Guy and, for fun, batted her eyelashes a little bit. Because if she wasn’t going to
do
anything, the flirting was harmless.

And anyway, she was good at it.

“You both are crazy!” Greta exclaimed much later, as the three of them walked the long blocks inland toward Greta’s car, which they’d had to park a million miles away from the beach.

“Not crazy, just on a mission,” Keagan replied at once. “Boys are fun.”

“You’re the make-out queen,” Greta told her. “But Cassie! You were a superstar! Every time I looked up you were flirting with a different guy!”

“What can I tell you?” Cassie said breezily. “I’m very likeable, apparently.” Except when she was lying, she thought, but she shoved it away. Cassie couldn’t bring herself to tell her friends something that might make them treat her differently.

“When you wear a halter top and slink around like that, yeah, you are,” Keagan said through a fit of giggles. “Check it out.” She hunched over and started walking with a rolling-hipped gait that looked like a crabwalk, and then she stuck her chest out. “Look! I’m Cassie!”

“You’re an idiot,” Cassie retorted, swatting at her. “I’d show you what
you
look like, K, except I don’t think Greta wants me slobbering all over her.”

“I do not
slobber
,” Keagan replied primly. “I kiss very delicately. And very well.”

“I’ve created monsters!” Greta cried, which set them all off again.

Cassie linked her elbows with her friends, and the three of them careened down the sidewalk in Venice, making as much noise as possible and laughing into the night.

W
hen I die, I’d like to think heaven looks a lot like Robertson Boulevard,” Greta said happily, propping up her hip against one of the tables in the trendy Kitson boutique. Cassie laughed and picked up another pair of jeans, which, while super cute, cost over eight hundred dollars. She studied them to see if she could figure out why. Extra-special embroidering, maybe? Or was it the fabric? It felt like normal denim to her.

Keagan was trying on a pair in one of the dressing rooms, to see what eight hundred dollars looked like when worn.

“I am totally serious,” Greta continued, running her fingers almost lasciviously across a neat pile of T-shirts. “I live for this street.”

They’d decided that their mutual day off was the perfect opportunity for a shopping extravaganza. Greta had insisted that they start off with lunch at the News-room, where healthy food was served up with all kinds of Hollywood industry people at the nearby tables. Then they’d lingered outside the Ivy for a little while, hoping that the scrum of paparazzi outside meant that someone really famous was having lunch there. Cassie’s personal hope had been for Jake Gyllenhaal, while Keagan had been holding out for Zac Efron. Sadly, they’d seen no one they recognized. Greta had then insisted that they spend some quality time in Kitson—which she claimed was always the first stop on a Robertson shopping spree. Only after she’d gone through her beloved Kitson with a fine-tooth comb would she condescend to visit the other stores that lined the street.

“I look kind of fat in them,” Keagan said, walking out of the changing booth with the super-expensive jeans over her arm. “For eight hundred dollars, I want to look in the mirror and see Keira Knightley, you know?”

“I hear that,” Cassie agreed. She drifted over to another table, and picked up a vintage Team Jennifer T-shirt. “I lost mine,” she said. “Do you think I should buy another?”

“You must be kidding,” Keagan retorted, snatching the shirt out of her hand and picking up an artfully
faded Team Angelina shirt instead. “Angelina and Brad are, like, totally sainted humanitarians with big hearts and so many cute babies, and anyway I can’t forgive Jennifer Aniston for stealing John Mayer from me.”

Cassie blinked. “Are you saying you like John Mayer?” She paused. “In public?”

“I can’t help who I love,” Keagan said seriously.

“This is not the summer of love, ladies,” Greta scolded them. “It’s the summer of boys. K, you must be up to like twenty by now.” Cassie felt her shoulders tense up—her new and improved response every time Greta brought up Project Kiss. She told herself not to panic. She didn’t have to lie or anything. She just didn’t have to mention Trey. How hard could that be?

“Not
twenty
,” Keagan said, grinning down at the display table. “I think I’m at nine.”

“See?” Greta looked at Cassie. “I told you she was already winning!”

“We’re not actually competing, are we?” Cassie asked, her voice dubious. “Like we’re frat boys or something?”

“Says the girl in last place,” Keagan scoffed. “Nice try, Cassie.”

“What?” Cassie made a face. “Can I help it I’m a little more selective than you guys? I don’t want to just trip and find myself making out with someone; I want to
choose
who to make out with. I want to own my experience.” All of which was true. Cassie didn’t mention that
she’d become so selective that she’d picked one boy in particular.

“There was nothing in the Project Kiss pact about being
selective
, Cassie,” Greta said, shaking her head. She and Keagan exchanged a look. “You’re just trying to cover up the truth,” Greta pronounced.

“What?” Cassie heard her voice squeak up. “I am? What do you mean?” How did Greta know?

“The sad truth is that you’re at, what, five guys?” Greta continued with a laugh, obviously not recognizing Cassie’s terror. Cassie made a vague sort of noise, which Greta obviously took as an affirmative. “And you’ve been super lame lately, with all the sudden wanting to
sleep
,” Greta continued, teasing Cassie mercilessly. Cassie felt a deep pang of guilt. Because, of course, she hadn’t been sleeping. She’d been with Trey. Part of her longed to be with him right now.

“You can sleep when school starts,” Keagan chimed in. She ran her fingers over a display of hanging necklaces, making them dance. “I like to sleep in math class. Very restful.”

Greta pointed a finger at Cassie. “There’s a huge party in Silverlake this weekend,” she said. “It will be overflowing with hot emo hipster boys.”

“Emo hipsters?” Cassie echoed. “Not really my type, Greta.”

“Hello, Cassie.” Greta shook her head. “This is not
about your type, this is about boys to kiss. And hipsters are nothing if not kissable.”

“That is actually
all
they are,” Keagan said with a snort.

“Your numbers need to go up,” Greta declared. “Not just for your own personal growth. But for all of us. This is about
girl power
, Cassie.”

“Oh my God!” Keagan interrupted in a horrified voice—one that wasn’t girl power–y at all. In the blink of an eye, Keagan went from lounging against the display table to hunched down on the floor, trying to hide
behind
the display table.

Cassie and Greta stared down at her. Cassie, to her shame, was grateful for the distraction.

“It’s that guy!” Keagan hissed, frantically waving her hands toward the door.

“Sweetie, you need to be more specific,” Greta said dryly.

“That football player guy from that party in the Palisades!” Keagan hissed.

Cassie had only a vague memory of the guy Keagan had hooked up with that night—since she had been far more taken up with meeting Trey and hearing Greta’s crushing opinion of him. But when she looked over by the door, there was something familiar about the boy who stood there, all big shoulders and that football swagger. He was frowning in Keagan’s direction.

Or, since Keagan was hiding, at Cassie and Greta. Greta sniffed and appeared unconcerned. Cassie felt her face go hot—almost as if the guy were glaring at her deliberately.

“Uh,” Cassie said out of the side of her mouth, pretending to study the nearest pile of clothes, “I don’t know how to break this to you, but I think he saw you….”

Keagan swore under her breath and then peeked over the top of the table.

“He calls me like a thousand times a day,” she whispered. “I have never responded, not once. I can’t believe that in a city this big, I keep running into guys I don’t want to see!”

“And…here he comes!” Greta singsonged.

“What do I do?” Keagan hissed, eyes wide.

“We’ll create a distraction,” Cassie said, apparently overtaken by Samurai Girl or something. “You just need to get around him and run for the door.”

Greta looked over at Cassie and smiled, indicating that she was ready.

Cassie grinned back, and then it was like the two of them were in sync the way they’d been in that coffee shop with Zachary Malone. Football Shoulders marched across the store, glaring at Cassie, who looked back at him with a serene smile.

“Hey—” he began, but Greta “accidentally” tripped into him from her position near the hat display. She
flopped against him, using all of her body weight to shove him off course.

“Eek!” Greta shrieked, as if she were onstage. “I’m so clumsy!”

“Sorry,” the guy muttered, righting the both of them despite Greta’s sudden attack of floppiness. When he finally stepped around Greta, his eyes scanning the area for Keagan, Cassie tipped over a display of books with a quick and dirty jolt from her hip.

“Hey! What are you doing?” one of the salesgirls shouted, as the books crashed to the floor all around Football Shoulders.

In the noise and confusion, Keagan bolted for the door.

Cassie and Greta looked at each other, then at the salesgirl bearing down on them with fury written across her face, and ran for it.

“If I get banned from Kitson, I’m killing both of you!” Greta cried when the three of them reunited outside the store, laughing.

“You spend way too much money in that store to get banned,” Cassie assured her.

They all jumped when a voice boomed out from behind them.

“Keagan?” the guy asked loudly from a ways down the sidewalk. “Why won’t you return any of my calls?”

The three girls all grabbed each other. Cassie didn’t
know if she wanted to shriek or scream with laughter—maybe both.

“Um, hi…?” Keagan said weakly. Her eyes widened in panic. “What am I supposed to do?” she hissed in an undertone.

“You
did
spend the whole night making out with him,” Greta drawled. “I’m sure he feels you have a connection—”

“Greta!” Keagan cut her off.

“You’re doing fine,” Greta murmured.

“It’s me, Mark,” Football Shoulders continued, moving toward them. “I met you at that party—”

“Sure,” Keagan said, backing up—and right into Cassie. She grabbed Cassie’s hands and squeezed. “That party.”

“I keep leaving you messages,” Football Shoulders said, frowning. “Like a million since I last saw you.”

“Maybe it’s the wrong—” Keagan started to say.

“It’s your voice,” Football Shoulders insisted. “I know your voice and, hello, your name is kind of unusual.”

“Um, you know, I have a thing about technology…” Keagan rambled, clearly grasping at straws and at a loss. She threw a pleading look at Greta—who was, after all, the master when it came to uncomfortable guy situations.

“Keagan!” Greta said suddenly. “Your appointment!”

“My appointment? Yes!” Keagan cried, catching on. “My appointment.”

“She has an appointment, uh, Mark,” Cassie told the guy, who was scowling at them. “You know. So.”

Very calmly, Greta turned around and started walking away. Not nearly as calmly, Cassie and Keagan followed her lead. But then they all glanced at one another and that was that—they all started convulsing with laughter.

Cassie glanced over her shoulder.

“You guys!” she hissed, though she could barely speak through the laughter. “He’s following us!”

It only made them laugh harder.

And then there was nothing to do but run—up the street and past the pack of photographers who camped out in front of the Ivy, until they dashed across traffic and hid around the corner of the Starbucks, where they could track the approach of Football Shoulders Mark through the coffee shop’s glass windows.

“I hope he gives up,” Cassie said, clutching her sides where they ached from all the laughing. “I really want a mochaccino.”

Keagan grinned at her and then kissed her loudly on the cheek.

“And that’s why I love you,” she said. “Always so practical!”