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Chapter 35

RHAPSODY IN AUGUST

I started the car but kept it in park while I gunned the engine, trying to kick-start the air-conditioning. I had it set to full blast, but the day had been a scorcher and it was taking a few extra minutes to get the freon flowing. Even nearing dusk, the heat was barely showing any sign of letting up. The physical labor of the past hour had left me overheated, my face damp with sweat, causing moist little tendrils to appear around the edges of my hairline.

I lifted the hair off my nape and turned at an awkward angle, trying to cool the back of my neck, then pressed my forehead right up against the vents in an attempt to dry my face. I fanned the top of my dress and checked to make sure I didn't have any hideous pit marks under my arms. Thankfully, the moisture had been confined mostly to my head area. I pulled down the visor mirror for a quick makeup check, and noticed that my waterproof (ha!) mascara had become smudged. I was grateful when a quick swipe with a tissue brought my face back to its pre-hike condition.

I pulled off my Converse high-tops and socks and slipped into my black, strappy thongs. If I thought the hike was bad wearing my sneakers, I couldn't even begin to imagine how I was going to make the trek in sandals. I figured determination alone would get me to my destination.

After only a few minutes, I was cooled off and presentable enough to put the car in drive and head up the hill to get Trip.

I pulled into the driveway and crossed myself that his father wouldn't answer the door. Trip assured me hours before that he was away on business- he knew that after my last encounter with the man, I wasn't planning on ever being in his presence again- but one can never be too sure. I was wearing a fairly snug, stretchy-cotton black dress which had spaghetti straps that tied into a lazy bow over each shoulder. It also had a plunging neckline, which was a little out of my comfort zone to begin with, so I supposed that any judgmental commentary from Mr. Wilmington would have hit a little closer to the mark that night. For insurance, I threw on a lightweight, button-down sleeveless top to cover any cleavage, tying the tails around my waist. I was yoinking at the bottom of the elastic skirt in a futile attempt to lengthen it as I made my way up the front walk.

I checked my reflection in the glass of the Wilmingtons' front door and decided I could still pass as good ol' Layla Warren: Catholic-girl, honor-student and all-around moral citizen.

I rang the bell, and mercifully, Mrs. Wilmington answered.

"Hello, Layla, come on in."

"Hi, Mrs. Wilmington!"

The Wilmingtons' house had central air, so any residual heat from my ordeal vanished within one minute inside their blessedly refrigerated marble foyer.

Trip's mom closed the door behind me, asking, "Are you all set for New York?"

I'd been trying all day not to think about it, but there it was. I gave her my standard reply. "Yes. I'm excited, but kind of scared too."

She started to tell me that the greatest adventures in life were like that, when suddenly, she did a double-take. "Oh, my, don't you look pretty tonight!"

I could feel my face flush. "Thank you."

She gave me the once-over and added, "Where are you two headed tonight all dressed up?"

"Oh, uh," I hadn't thought about the fact that my dress could provoke suspicion (which was stupid, since I'd spent practically every other summer day in T-shirts and shorts) and hadn't devised a proper ruse for my semi-formal attire ahead of time. So, I improvised. Chances were good that we'd swing by Rymer's at some point, and I figured Trip's mom would buy that as reason enough to get all decked out. The truth was, I wasn't wearing some dress to impress anyone at some stupid party. I was wearing the thing to affect one person and one person only. So, I played dumb. "Oh... There's a birthday party tonight. You think I'm overdressed?"

I could hear Trip's clunky feet thudding down the stairs as Mrs. Wilmington said, "Oh, no. You look terrific. Whose birthday is it?"

Yes, it was Rymer's birthday and yes, he was having some sort of family party. But I was feeling pretty guilty about pretending that we were on our way right at that moment to actually attend said party and I didn't want to continue lying into that sweet woman's face any longer. Mercifully, Trip rounded the corner just then and answered for me. "We're just going to Rymer's, Ma."

I watched as he walked across the foyer, registered what he was wearing. He had on a pair of jeans and a grey T-shirt, which on anyone else would have looked ordinary, but on Trip looked like a magazine ad for some expensive cologne. His hair was still wet from a shower and he looked great, devastatingly gorgeous as usual.

He offered a "Hey" in my direction as he grabbed the small, insulated cooler bag from next to the door and swung it over his shoulder, the muscles in his arm stretching the shirt taut around his bicep, making my stomach flip.

There was an unmistakable sound of cans clanking with ice coming from the bag, but his mother didn't make any attempt to confiscate it. She even bypassed the lecture and only raised a knowing brow. "Please be safe tonight, Terrence. And Layla-" I could feel her wanting to say something about being a responsible designated driver, but then she must have realized who she was talking to. To her, I was Saint Layla, after all. It's not as though she had any reason to suspect that I was actually planning on fucking her son's brains out that night. She smiled and said, "Have a good time."

*** Next chapter on MONDAY. ***

Have a great weekend!

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