Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [99]
And now that he’s less than twenty feet away, and growing closer by the millisecond, he seems less real to me than he has while I’ve been obsessing over him the past few weeks. It’s almost shocking to remember he’s an actual person and not simply a construct of my mind.
“Remember—you’re cool,” Stephanie says, under her breath. “And cool girls do not make scenes.”
I nod and then force myself to laugh like she’s just said the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard in my life and that, in fact, I’ve been doing nothing but laugh uproariously since Adam and I last talked. He’s now just a few feet away so I glance at him and act surprised, like I’ve completely forgotten he exists until this very moment.
“Hey, Adam,” I say, as casually as I can. I don’t lean in for the requisite-in-L.A.-hug-greeting but smile so broadly that it doesn’t seem like I’m being passive-aggressive—just that I’m maybe too busy being happy to hug him.
“Amelia,” he says, looking me in the eye in a way that gives me the good kind of chills. “Stephanie.”
“Hi,” I say softly. He gives Stephanie a kiss on the cheek and then leans toward me. I hold my breath as his lips brush my cheek. Amazingly, horrifyingly, all the resentment I have for him seems to evaporate instantaneously.
“A-dam,” the blonde whines, nodding her head toward the bar. “I want to get a drink.”
“Oh, sorry, um…” He just stands there, looking at me. Our eyes are locked on each other but he breaks our gaze by glancing at the blonde distractedly.
“Lizzie,” she huffs. He continues to look at me while Lizzie literally stamps her foot and points toward the bar.
Stephanie, God bless her, looks at Lizzie and says, “What does everyone want? Lizzie and I will make a bar run.” Without even waiting for a response, Stephanie grabs one of the girl’s probably siliconed arms and starts pulling her away.
“Diet Coke!” I yell after her, gratitude and anxiety rushing through my veins simultaneously.
“Make that two!” Adam adds.
And now that I have Adam in front of me, I don’t know what to say. Why the fuck didn’t you call me back? occurs to me. Why don’t you like me? also floats through my mind.
Instead I say, “You look good.”
He smiles, and I notice dimples that had somehow escaped my notice before. Christ. Did he have to get better looking by the millisecond? Wasn’t this bad enough already?
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” he says.
I want to play it cool, but can’t seem to. “Yeah, what happened?” I ask, feeling sure-to-be-embarrassing tears springing to my eyes.
“What happened?” he repeats, looking hesitant.
“Yeah, what happened?” I suddenly feel enraged. “You wanted to but first you had to raid the Playboy Mansion for one of Hef’s cast-offs?”
This last part comes out of me before I even realize it. I’ve always seemed to lack the filter that stops thoughts from turning into phrases and it can be incredibly inconvenient when I happen to be intensely jealous.
His eyes flare. “Jesus, Amelia. You’re one to talk.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I run into you and you tell me how much you’ve changed, how pure and innocent your life is today, how that wild girl is just a part of your past.”
“It’s true.”
He doesn’t even seem to hear me, just keeps talking. “So I’m all excited, thinking this girl I’ve always thought would be perfect if she just wasn’t so out of control has actually tamed herself.”
I try to talk but he cuts me off.
“But then it turns out that the very day I’m telling you how excited I am about you, you’re all over TV, selling yourself as this sexy, wild woman who fucks groomsmen at weddings.”
I have the strong feeling that if this were a movie, now would be when I’d slap him. But I don’t actually feel offended—just misunderstood.