Better (Too Good series) (13 page)

Cadence stared at her.

“They believed me. They made sure to tell me I deserved it for lying to them, but they believed me.”

“I really don’t like your parents,” Cadence mumbled.

“Yours aren’t all that great either,” Avery pointed out.

“You find that ironic?”

“Why? Because they’re
supposed to be these good-hearted Christians?” Avery asked.

Cadence nodded.

“No. Christians are no better than anybody else,” Avery said.

“But aren’t they supposed to try to be good people?”

“I think they’re just supposed to be forgiven.”

“So that pardons any judgment they pass or gossip they spread?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t get it.”

“Look it. I haven’t cracked open my Bible in two months. You’re gonna have to consult an expert on this one.” She thought for a moment. “No, wait. I did crack open my Bible last week to read Song of Solomon, and that’s only because I’m so damn horny right now.”

Cadence burst out laughing. “You read the Bible for smut?”

Avery giggled. “My freaking Kindle’s broken. I can’t access any of my go-to books.”

“Oh my God. You’re like the only Christian I know who’s going to hell.”

“Nope. You’re coming right along with me, sister,” Avery said, her eyes sparkling. “Sex outside of marriage. Bad, bad girl.” She shook her head.

“Yeah, well this bad bad girl is gonna be late for work if she doesn’t leave now,” Cadence said.

“I’m still spending the night next Friday, right?”

Cadence nodded as she gathered her bags.

“Thank God,” Avery said. “I need to get out of that house.”

“Oh, I have a whole fun girls
’ night planned for us,” Cadence replied.

“Won’t Mr. Connelly be there?”

“I’m making him hide in our bedroom. Actually, I think he’ll prefer to hide.”

Avery grinned. “Just as long as he buys us booze first.”

Cadence laughed. “You’re so bad.”

“Cadence, don’t you realize how awesome it is that you’re dating a 28-year-old? You probably drink it up all the time, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Shoot. I would. I’d probably be an alcoholic by now.”

“Are you coming or what?” Cadence asked. She hovered over the table waiting for Avery to pack her bag.

“No. I’m gonna stay here and study for a while,” Avery replied.

“Okay. I’ll see you later,” Cadence said. She turned and started walking, then paused at the sound of Avery’s voice.

“Cadence!”

She turned around. “Yeah?”

Avery smiled. “You’re the only one who really gets me.”

Cadence smiled back.

“Just wanted you to know that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Cadence nodded, then left for work.

“Will you calm down?
” Mark asked, stirring the sauce.

Cadence flitted about the kitchen
in a frenzy—taste-testing the lemonade she made, pulling plates from the cupboard.

“Where are those cloth napkins I just bought?” she asked.

“We need cloth napkins? This is Dylan we’re talking about,” Mark replied. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. And his girlfriend. I’ve never met her.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t care about cloth napkins.”

“Just tell me where I put them!” Cadence demanded.

Mark turned around and looked at her. She was wrapped in the same black apron she always wore since the first time they cooked together. This time, however, she wasn’t naked underneath. Her hair was pinned back, and it made her look older. He knew that was her goal—a mature look for what she concocted in her brain was supposed to be a mature dinner. She’d hung out with Dylan several times. He wasn’t quite sure what all the fuss was about.

“They’re in the pantry,” he said.

He watched her set the table, then turned his attention to the buzzing timer. He pulled the garlic bread from the oven, and she gave him a bread bowl.

“I have a bread bowl?” he asked.

“
We
have a bread bowl. I bought it the other day,” Cadence replied.

He grinned and said nothing.

The doorbell rang, and Cadence jumped.

“I didn’t light the candles!” she cried, dashing into the living room with a box of matches. “Wait!”

Mark’s hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Cadence, seriously?” he whispered.

“Just wait!” she hissed, moving quickly from candle to candle until all four were lit.

“Now?” he asked.

She ran back to the kitchen, threw away the used matches, and tore off her apron.

“Now, Cadence?!” Mark called from the other room.

She turned the corner and asked, “Do I look okay?”

The doorbell rang a second time.

He ignored the sound and stared at his girlfriend. She was so pretty and flustered and sexy that he thought about opening the door and telling their dinner guests to get lost—that he had business to take care of. And it involved Cadence and a dining room table.

“Beautiful,” he replied and watched her light up. He opened the door, and Dylan shoved past him.

“Dude,” he said, “what the hell took so long?” He hightailed it to the bathroom while his girlfriend stood in the living room, unsure where to put her purse.

Mark had never met her. This was a new girlfriend—one in a long line of them—and he wondered how many weeks she’d hang on before she was replaced.
He knew she was a daddy’s girl. Dylan told him that. Dylan told him a lot about her, actually—things she’d be pissed to know he knew.

“
Portia,” she said, extending her hand to Mark. He shook it and smiled.

“Mark,” he replied. “And this is my girlfriend, Cadence.”

Cadence waved from the dining room then excused herself to rinse the linguini. Dylan emerged from the bathroom and took Portia’s purse, tossing it onto the couch.

“Hey, Cadence!” he called.

“Hi, Dylan!” Cadence called back.

“Remind me how you two know each other? Is it through Mark?”
Portia asked, walking into the dining room.

“Yeah,”
Dylan said.

“I met Dylan at his record store,” Cadence said.

“Oh, Mark took you there?” she asked.

Dylan cleared his throat. “He—”

“No, I went there on my own. Mark suggested I go there to listen to records,” Cadence explained.

Mark shot Dylan a look that said, “What the hell? You didn’t tell her?”

Dylan mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t Mark go with you?”
Portia asked.

Cadence laughed. “We weren’t really at that point in our relationship yet whe
re we could go places together.” She paused. “Okay. Everything’s ready. You guys are okay with chicken alfredo, right? Mark was supposed to call you and ask.”

“It’s fine,”
Portia replied dismissively. “Now what do you mean about not being at that stage in your relationship?”

Mark spoke up. “I thought maybe—”

“He was my teacher,” Cadence said absently. “Dylan told you.” She stood at the stove carefully pouring the chicken mixture over the noodles.

Portia
looked shocked. She turned to Dylan then Mark.

“Your
teacher
? Like professor?”

Cadence
froze, realization dawning. Dylan never told Portia. He was supposed to tell her, to save Cadence from feeling ashamed. Like she did just now. She stared at the four plates lined up on the counter. She had placed a tiny parsley sprig on the edge of each plate for decoration, and now she thought it was silly—like she was trying too hard to be older than her eighteen years.

“We met Cadence’s senior year,” Mark explained.

“Oh. What did you major in?” Portia asked, looking at Cadence.

Questions, questions. The girl was full of them.

“High school,” Mark clarified. “We met in high school.”

Silence.

“I forgot to put the music on,” Cadence mumbled. “I’ll be right back.”

She excused hersel
f from the kitchen and hurried to the bedroom. She didn’t shut the door. She approached the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and looked at herself. It wasn’t Portia’s fault, she thought. She was clearly reacting the way anyone else would. That didn’t alleviate the excruciating embarrassment Cadence felt, but she understood.

She studied her hair—the way she pinned it back, off her neck in a messy bun. She wanted to look older and realized she hated it. She pulled the pins out and dropped them to the floor
, letting her hair tumble about her shoulders in soft waves.

She pulled a tissue from a box on her nightstand and wiped her lips. Just an hour before she liked the color—a bright
red that reminded her of a 1950’s housewife. At the time she thought she wouldn’t mind being Mark’s housewife. Now she saw a garish, unflattering color.

She knew they were talking about her. She could
make out the harsh whispers in the other room. She knew she’d have to reemerge eventually, invent a reason why she took her hair down. She needed to decide on a CD, too. After all, she said she was going to play some music. She’d do all of those things, but for the moment she needed to stand in front of the mirror and own her embarrassment. Where no one but her reflection could see.

She took a deep breath, then marched down the hall in a cheery gait.

“Sorry about that,” she said to the group at the table. “Those pins were hurting my hair.” She patted her head and smiled. “Any music suggestions?”

“Your choice,” Dylan replied.

Cadence scanned the table.
Portia was busy pouring herself a glass of wine. A second glass of wine, actually. And avoiding Cadence’s eyes. Apparently Cadence wasn’t the only one who felt embarrassed. Mark sat biting his nails—a nervous habit. Obviously he felt it, too. Dylan shoveled food in his mouth because it didn’t occur to him to wait to eat until she returned. His plate was nearly empty. No embarrassment on his end. She rolled her eyes and walked to the stereo. She searched the CD collection until she came across a Linkin Park album.

Cadence, think about how that’ll make you look
, her conscience warned.

I’ve earned
it!
she shot back.

Yes, you have
, but you know it’ll make you look immature.

Cadence
tore her eyes away from the album and continued searching until she came across a Tori Amos CD.

Better?
she asked.

Much.

Fine, but I’m not starting it from the beginning,
she replied.

Cadence placed the CD in the player and cued up “Cornflake Girl.”

Fuck all y’all.

She hovered over the player for a moment listening to the sounds of her new anthem fill the room.
She was no cornflake girl. She was stronger than that, so she decided to take control of the situation. She stood tall, turned on her heel, and joined everyone at the table.

“Wine?”
Portia offered.

“Oh, no thank you,” Cadence said pleasantly. “I’m not old enough.”

Dylan snorted.

Mark sighed patiently.
He’d noticed all the subtle signs. Hair down. Lips wiped clean. Tori Amos.
Please
. Did she think he was an idiot?

“So, what’s your job?” Cadence asked
Portia. She twirled her cold linguini around her fork.

“I’m a nurse,”
Portia replied, guzzling her wine. She was nearly finished her second glass. “What are you studying?”

“Business,” Cadence said. “I wanna own my own business when I’m finished with school.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Portia asked.

“Floral shop.” Cadence bit into the pasta she’d spent two hours carefully preparing. She didn’t want Mark’s help. She wanted to do it herself. And it was damn good,
she realized. Even cold.

“Cute,”
Portia replied. The word was speckled with the tiniest bit of condescension.

Cadence smiled sweetly. “I guess flowers can be cute.”

“No, I just meant that I can see you owning a flower shop. You have this whole cute look that goes along with doing something like that,” Portia explained. “You kinda remind me of Meg Ryan in all those romantic comedies she used to do.
You’ve Got Mail
! She owned that adorable little bookstore. You know what I’m talking about?” She shook her head. “Well, it was kinda before your time.”

“Her bookstore got bought out,” Cadence said evenly.

“I know,” Portia replied. “Business is a tough . . . well, business.” She laughed and finished off her wine. She poured a third glass.

“I plan to be really good at it,” Cadence said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that! But you’ve got some hills to climb in this economy. Most businesses go under in the first year. Just too hard with everything that’s going on,” Portia replied. She liked to talk with accompanying hand gestures, and it pissed off Cadence.

Mark spotted Cadence in his periphery—her body reacting to the words. She was
about to pounce, so he piped up.

“So I got those tickets for
that DJ sample concert,” he said. “You still wanted one, right?” He directed the question to Dylan.

“Yeah,” Dylan replied.

“You owe me 64 bucks.”

“What?” Dylan said. “Jeez. No one even knows these guys.”

“Whatever. You still owe me 64 bucks.” Mark glimpsed Cadence and put his hand on her thigh. She turned to him and smiled. It was disingenuous and annoyed him. It wasn’t his fault! He told Dylan to tell his idiot girlfriend about Cadence. He wanted to strangle Dylan. He wanted to strangle Portia. She needed to back the hell off of his girlfriend. Suddenly he felt a surge of primal protection for Cadence. Caveman style. He needed a club.

He was unaware that the conversation had progressed while he was thinking.

“You’ll understand in a few years,” Portia was saying. Her tone dripped with pomposity. “It’s like a whole different world when you get out of college. Like running headfirst into a brick wall. Reality. Responsibilities. I know you don’t get it now, but you will. You’ll understand eventually.”

“Your dad bought you a car,
Portia,” Mark said. “And he pays your cell phone and car insurance bills, too.”

Portia
froze, wine glass pressed to her lips.

“
And your rent, if I’m not mistaken. Cadence here knows a little about responsibilities. She pays her own bills.”

He bit
a chunk out of his bread and eyed Dylan. The message? “Don’t bring this chick around my house again.”