“Well, I liked them then too,” he replies. “How come you never wear heels, though?”
For some reason, this question really irritates me. Not only was his compliment not genuine, but now he’s trying to ask me to wear heels for him without just asking me to wear heels for him. He’s not even smiling or trying to be charming either. In fact, he’s reminding me of my dad…
“I don’t know,” I reply, letting the sass flow. “I guess I like being able to walk without worrying about breaking my ankles.”
Reed makes a face. “Geez, okay. Didn’t mean to wake the dragon or whatever. Let’s go inside.”
I don’t know why I do, but I say okay and we both go upstairs into his second-floor apartment. It’s ridiculously nice, paid for by his father, and probably costs more than the mortgage on my family’s house. Once we’re inside, Grant casually points to his wet-bar by the pool table as he heads for the bathroom.
“I gotta piss, but make yourself whatever you want.”
Charming.
“'Kay.”
I’m only eighteen, so I don’t really drink, but I wander over to the bottles anyway and pretend like they interest me. The whole apartment is really a college jock’s wet dream. Pool table, wet-bar, a table to pull out for beer pong whenever his friends are over. He even has posters of girls in bikinis on the walls that he doesn’t bother to take down when I come over.
Contemplating what it is I’m doing with my life, I go over to the couch and collapse down into the cushions just as Reed is coming back from the bathroom. He flashes me the same frat-boy grin he always gives when he’s doing his best to come off charismatic, and saunters over to the bar to pour himself something.
“Did I ever tell you how much I like dating a working-class girl like you?” he asks. His question takes me aback. Working-class girl? Have we stepped back into 1800s England?
“Um, no?”
“Yeah,” he replies, coming over to the couch. “Rich girls, like from my class, are just always spoiled and obnoxious. Girls like you are much more down to earth. Much more grateful for things, you know?”
I’m still processing and trying to figure out how to respond to his question as he takes a seat beside me. But as he does, the cushion behind him lifts up and that’s when I see it: a flash of seductive red. I recognize it immediately, and my chest tightens.
“Um…Reed?” my mouth goes dry. I immediately wish I’d poured myself something to drink.
Reed, completely oblivious and clearly unable to read a girl’s body language or facial expressions, leans in and places a hand on my knee. “Yeah, baby?”
I cough and clear my throat. “Why do you have another girl’s thong in your couch cushions?”
For a split second, Reed’s face shifts. He recovers quickly, but it was long enough for me to see the guilt in his eyes. He glances back at the panties, then looks at me and shrugs.
“Oh, that? Those are from a girl Brian was smashing the other night when I let him stay here—”
“I’m leaving,” I reply, getting to my feet. For some reason, I expect Reed to follow and try to stop me, but he doesn’t. He actually falls back on the couch and sighs as I tug open the door to outside.
“Ugh, whatever, bitch. You’re so not worth all this.”
“Worth…all what?” It’s a question I know I shouldn’t be asking, but I ask anyway.
Reed waves his hand around the apartment. “This. I could have girls ten times hotter than you over here spreading their legs for me. All I wanted was to pop your cherry, but it’s not worth putting up with your mediocre bullshit. Get the hell out of here!”
It’s a good thing I don’t have any real feelings for this guy, because if I did, what he just said to me would tear me apart. As it is, I feel my whole body start to go hot and my cheeks start to blush with embarrassment. I was about to leave, and now he thinks he can kick me out? Part of me wants to stand here, fold my arms, and not go anywhere just to spite him. But I don’t do that. I dig deep and pull out the best response I can come up with.
“I pity the poor girl who decides to put up with you just to marry you for your money.”
And before he has a chance to respond, I’m out the door and ordering an Uber on my way down the stairs.
I don’t cry on the car ride home. No, Reed isn’t worth my tears. I do think of all the ways I’d like to beat him up if I was a big, tough man, though. The car drops me off at my empty house, and I go inside, change into a pair of sweats and a big comfy sweatshirt, and plop down in front of the television.
I’m there for the next hour or so when I see headlights out front. Assuming it’s my mom and dad coming home, I get up and start to head back to my room. But when I glance back over my shoulder, I see some kind of absurdly fancy black sedan parked in the driveway that definitely doesn’t belong to anyone in the family.
Could it be Reed?
No. That wouldn’t make any sense. After everything he said, why would he be here at my house? And he doesn’t drive that kind of car either. But then who could it be?
But then, the driver’s side door opens, and my question is answered as Reed’s father, Grant, steps out wearing a charcoal-colored suit with a white dress shirt opened at the collar. I’m wet instantly and almost have a heart attack at the same time.
His eyes catch mine through the window. His lips curl into a smile that feels like a warm blanket being draped over my body, and he points to the front door as if to say, “May I come in?”
I nod as if to say, Yes, sir, but in my mind all I’m thinking is, Um, abso-fucking-lutely you can!