The Promise of Amazing (10 page)

“Nitrate-laced mystery meat wrapped in fatty dough,” I said, fighting the blush that was creeping across my face. “But I’ve never said that out loud to a guest. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

“Nice one,” he said as we reached the serving station.

A tray of cocktail franks was pushed my way by Chef Hank, an evil glint in his eyes.

“Figures,” I said, groaning. Gray snatched the tray before I could.

“I got this one,” he said.

“Really?” I grabbed another round of ravioli.

He swiped a hot dog off the tray, tossed it in the air. I held my breath as he executed his trick to perfection, chewing triumphantly.

“Game on,” he said. “Stay close.”

I followed him upstairs and back into the crowded ballroom. We worked the right side of the room. I kept my distance from him but stayed within earshot. Sure enough, Grayson walked
up to a circle of older ladies, and a moment later one of them asked the dreaded, “Ooh, and what are these?” question.

In the smoothest, most serious-sounding voice, he answered, “Micro tube steaks in puff pastry.”

I bit my lip to keep from bursting but shook a little and snorted. Eben caught my eye as he passed by both of us and mouthed,
Funny
. Grayson kept a straight face, charming the ladies into cleaning his tray.

We met in the back after my tray was emptied.

“So how’d I do?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” I said.

“Pretty good? I thought that was kind of killer.”

“Okay, better than pretty good. I nearly lost it,” I admitted.

“I know. That was the best part,” he said, winking. He was one of those guys who could say things like “I dig it” with a wink and make it seem natural. There was something I still didn’t quite trust about it, about him being here, but he was slowly winning me over to Team Grayson. The cocktail hour had never been this fun.

Working at the Camelot had never been this fun. Period. With Grayson there, the night flew by. I found myself making excuses to be near him, all under the guise of helping him out, like showing him the best way to stack dirty dishes to get the most on a tray or the difference between the decaf and the regular pots of coffee—as if any of that took a degree in rocket science. He mastered it all, easily, and more than once
I caught the guests flirting with him. I wasn’t the only one influenced by his stellar grin.

“So now what?” he asked, coming up behind me after he’d finished taking the last tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“Just waiting until everyone leaves,” I said, peering out the windows in the double doors. “Then we can break down the room.”

“And then what?” His voice was quiet, low.

I spun to face him, aware of the short distance between us.

“And then . . . we—”

Eben joined us, peering out the door. “Are they ever going to leave?”

“I know, right?” I said, dropping Grayson’s question without answering.

And then what?
My mouth went dry.

“Hey, I’m starving. Want to hit Leaning Tower after this? You can tell me all about Brooke and your Thanksgiving drama,” Eben said.

“Yes, that sounds great,” I answered, looking back at Gray.

“Why don’t you join us?” Eben asked him. My heart froze, waiting for his response.

“If Wren doesn’t consider it stalking, sure, I’ll go,” he said, eyes on mine.

“Yeah, you should come.”

“And they’re out,” Eben said, throwing open the door. The rest of us followed him, a black-and-white wave
pulling tablecloths and stuffing them into giant laundry bags. I couldn’t finish the last task of the evening quickly enough, the thought of sitting across from Grayson propelling me at record speed. As I yanked the tablecloth off the last table, someone wrapped their very cold hands around my eyes.

I jumped, peeling back frozen fingers...

“Mads!” I dropped the tablecloth at our feet.

“Surprise!”

“What are you doing here?” She was dressed in thigh-high black boots and a black micromini, which would have been obscene if she hadn’t been wearing black tights. Her bronze ski jacket gathered at her waist, and her short hair was tousled and feathery. In my Camelot duds, I felt like a prime candidate for an ambush makeover.

“Bringing you a present,” she said, motioning toward the front doors of the ballroom. Zach was there, posing in a lewd way next to Sir Gus, while another, taller boy took a picture with his phone.
A present?

“Mads?”

“Before you say no, he’s Zach’s cousin from Baltimore, in for the weekend. If you don’t like him, you never have to see him again, and hey, if you do, Baltimore is, what, like three or four hours away? Win-win, Wren.”

“Hey, you,” Eben said, coming up behind Maddie with an armload of tablecloths. “Come on, let me see this ensemble you’re rocking.”

Mads pivoted gracefully on one foot and curtsied.

“Gorgeous as always,” Eben said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Eben, pretty, pretty, pretty please release Wren from her servitude for some fun!”

Just then Zach entered the ballroom with a howl, lumbering across the dance floor toward us like an escapee from the zoo. For the life of me, I did not understand what Mads saw in him. She was artistic, smart, and cool. He was picking a college based on its Greek life. My “present” trailed behind, his head down, keeping his distance.

“Mads, I sort of have plans,” I said, right before Zach engulfed her in a bear hug from behind.

“Oh, Wren, please,” Eben said, waving me off. “Go. Have fun. You can—”

“Grayson!” Maddie said, prying Zach’s hands off of her.

“Hey, Maddie,” Grayson said, plopping a giant laundry bag in the center of our circle.

“Since when are you working here?” Maddie asked, eyes darting between us. Once she and Grayson were talking, I got Eben’s attention.

“I really want to go to Leaning Tower,” I said low, trying to motion behind me by tilting my head toward Grayson.

Eben squinted a moment until a lightbulb finally came on. “Oh, wow. Wren . . .”

“. . . so you see I’m not taking no for an answer . . .” Mads said, tugging on my arm to face a tall boy with chestnut hair.
Whoa
. This guy wasn’t one of Zach’s soccer dudes. I took a step back, suddenly self-conscious in my work clothes. He smiled, almost apologetically, and chuckled through his nose. His only apparent flaw? He wasn’t Grayson.

“Caleb, this is Wren. Wren, Caleb,” Zach said. He and Maddie were beaming, as if Caleb and I were getting betrothed in front of them.

“Hey,” we said together. Caleb pawed the dance floor with the tip of his Timberland. I turned to Grayson.

“Go. We’ll hang another time,” he said.

My heart deflated. For real? “Oh, um, okay. Sure you don’t mind if I skip out now?”

“Baby, we got this,” Eben said, stuffing the rest of the tablecloths into the laundry bag. “Go!”

Maddie linked her arm through mine, and we followed the boys to the lobby, where Zach continued to act like a five-year-old with Sir Gus. I fetched my coat and purse from the office.

“Hey, why don’t we ask Grayson to hang out too?” I asked.

Maddie frowned. “Wren,” she whispered, “it’s a party for four. And it’s Zach’s
cousin
. Please do this for me?”

I shrugged on my coat and looked into the ballroom. Grayson was still there, giant laundry bag slung over his shoulder. He waved. I waved back, hoping the gesture would
communicate . . . what? That I wanted to stay? That I was sorry Maddie showed up unexpectedly with a boy toy for me for the evening? Did he really mean we’d hang out another time?

“Sure,” I said, committing to my decision. “But at least let me stop home to get changed first.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

EIGHT

GRAYSON

“
TIMBERLANDS,” I SAID. “THE UNIVERSAL SHOE
choice of complete tools. Poor Wren.”

“Jealous much?” Eben asked, stuffing the last of the tablecloths into the bag.

“Jealous? Of what?” I asked, hoisting the laundry bag over my shoulder. At that moment Wren came into view. She caught me staring. I waved. Me. The village idiot with a nut-sack-shaped thirty-pound bag of laundry on his back. Jealous couldn’t even describe what I felt when I watched the four of them disappear into the night.

“That was more about Maddie,” Eben said. “You do realize that?”

“Whatever.” What had I expected by taking this job? Of course she thought I was stalking her. Was I stalking her? No.
Stalking was sinister, like I wanted to scalp her and make a sweater from her hair. I had something more, ah, mutually pleasurable in mind. I thought—well, she felt the same, didn’t she? We’d been getting along all night.

I followed Eben to the loading-dock door and slammed the laundry down.

“So we’re done?” I asked, wiping my hands off on my pants.

“Still want to go to Leaning Tower?” he asked. “I can see that Wren’s leaving has your boxers in a bunch, and I’m as hungry as hell and don’t feel like eating alone.”

“I could eat,” I offered.

“Great, see ya there.”

Eben was sitting in a front booth when I arrived. He had a couple of Corona longnecks in a bucket of ice and one opened in his hand. I slid into the cushy, red-booth seat across from him.

“Can I grab one of those?” I asked, taking off my jacket.

“They’ll card you,” he said, smiling.

“No problem,” I answered, taking one and wiping off the excess water with my cuff. The waitress came over. An older chick, probably about Eben’s age. Cute.

“I’m going to need some ID.”

“Really? C’mon,” I said, leaning back. She stiffened. Eben shifted in his seat.

“My manager is over there, and if you want me to open
this for you, you’re going to have to prove you can legally drink it.”

“Sorry, just messing with you. No one’s asked for this since my birthday,” I said, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my wallet. She grabbed my ID and held my gaze a moment before putting it up to the stained-glass lamp that hung over the table. Her light eyes scanned the important information. Satisfied, she handed it back to me.

“Do you want a lime?” she asked, cracking the cap off with a bottle opener.

“Nah,” I said. Her fingers grazed mine as she pulled away.

“Don’t mess with me, Mike. I’m not in the mood.”

I raised the beer to her before taking a sip and watching her walk away.

Eben sat bug-eyed across the table. “Mike?”

“It’s the name on my ID.”

“I get that, but I just witnessed you transform into a completely different person than you were back at the Camelot. It’s like the air around you changed,” he said, fanning his hand around.

“C’mon,” I said.

“So tell me this,” he said, leaning across the table. “Why should I be in your corner and not, say, the tool in the Timbos?”

I almost snotted my beer. “What do you mean?”

“Mike. Grayson. Whatever your name is, it’s plain to see you’re into Wren. You were heartbroken back—”

“Whoa, dude, I don’t get heartbroken.”

“Well,
dude
, you sure played the part back at the Camelot. And I’m right with you. Maddie means well, has been trying to hook Wren up since her jackwad of a boyfriend dumped her at the beach over the summer—but Wren’s not into it.”

“Someone dumped Wren . . . at the beach?” I sat up straight, intrigued. “Continue.”

“Then today . . . there’s something different about her. I didn’t put two and two together until the end of the night, after I egged her on to go with Maddie, and she told me she wanted to hang with us. Or more correctly . . . you.”

Hope bubbled in my chest. “She said that?”

“Yes, but not so fast—I’m not sure you’re worthy of her either.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You appear out of nowhere. Mysterious, hair-flinging boy giving all his attention to my pretty little hothouse wallflower. My Spidey sense is up to begin with, and now this . . .
Mike
.”

“Hothouse wallflower?”

“Wren is all kinds of awesome; she just doesn’t know it. Being dumped really did a number on her pride. So she thinks it’s easier to hide out at the Camelot every weekend and call it work instead of putting herself out there. I want to make sure you’re not just playing her. Why are you interested?”

A question I’d tossed around myself. Eben seemed like the kind of person who might understand or who would at least
listen, and considering my friends were scarce these days, I had nothing to lose.

“You know that saying, ‘One door closes, another door opens’?”

“My bullshit meter is off the charts,” he said, taking a long sip from his beer.

“Okay, Eben, I’m a total screwup. Got kicked out of school last year; my friends are gone. Any future I thought I had is on hold at the moment, and in walks Wren. . . .”

“And?”

“And I want to know her.”

“Know her how?”

Knowing Wren in every sense of the word
had
crossed my mind, but it wasn’t the first thing. And that was something I hadn’t experienced since, like, never. I dug the way I felt around her. I could be myself, but a new-and-improved version.

“She’s . . . sweet. Smart. I feel good around her, like it’s okay to be myself. And I think she’s the kind of person who is, you know, naturally good. Not because it’s right or anything, just because that’s who she is, like a moral compass. I want her in my life, and if that’s just as friends, well, okay. I’m down for that.”

“Well, I was hoping for something sexier than a moral compass, but okay. I like you for her,” he said, clinking his beer against mine. “But I smell an iota of bullshit and . . .”

“And I leave the Camelot.”

“Glad we understand each other,” he said.

The waitress came back with our pizza and set it down on the stand between us. My stomach growled, but something else Eben had said bothered me. He took a plate, doled out a slice, and handed it to me.

“Dude, do I really fling my hair?”