Declaration (18 page)

Tia’s squeals could be heard from around the corner. I set Liz’s guitar case down and folded my hands awkwardly on my lap. I’d always been weird with kids. They were great and all, but I hadn’t had much experience with them, let alone any interest in them. I never knew what to say. It was kind of like talking to people who were parents. You know, the parents who drone on and on about nothing but their children, while you sit and listen. Understandable, of course, considering those kids are the loves of their lives, but downright boring to someone who isn’t a parent. So, you sit there and listen, nod politely, and let them talk. But you have absolutely no idea what to say back, because you can’t relate.

Talking to kids was a similar scenario.

They go on and on with their cute little kiddo talk—even though you totally can’t relate to what the hell they’re rambling about—and in the end, you don’t know how to respond. Not unless you had a little one of your own or shared their passion for eating crayons.

I hoped Tia would be different. Easier to manage for people like me, who didn’t naturally jive with the little tykes. I’d only met her for a few seconds, so I had no idea what I was in for, here. All I knew was this wasn’t my element, and her father had just compared me to a pregnant woman.

Wasn’t there something wrong with this picture?

I contemplated this and reminded myself why I was excited to take this job as Tia zipped around the hallway corner and jumped in front of me to say hello, like she was surprising me with the biggest present in the world. It looked like someone had doused her in Pepto and plastered unicorns all over her shoes.

No, really. Unicorns were really plastered all over her sneakers.

She grinned up at me, and there was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I hadn’t seen it the night I met her, but now it was clear as day.

Oh, yeah. This one was definitely a little pisser.

“You’re Carter,” she said, her nose scrunching up. “I remember you!”

“I remember you, too.”

Tony came from the same direction as Tia, appearing through the hallway archway, carrying a small guitar. “Here is your new guitar,” he said, all jolly and daddy-like. He handed her the instrument and pointed to me. “You be good for Mr. Carter, yes? You learn a lot and make Mommy very proud. She’ll be watching from heaven.” He gestured to the ceiling and Tia’s head fell back with a great big smile.

“Okay, Daddy!”

“That’s my girl.” Tony looked to me. “I’ll be back in one hour.” He gestured in the air with a pointed index finger. “Going to run downstairs and make sure everything’s running smoothly in the kitchen. We preparing for big party tonight for dinner. They reserve the whole restaurant!”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

I watched Tony disappear. Guess it was time to get down to business. “So,” I said, looking at Tia, “are you ready to get started?”

“Yep. I’ll sit next to you.” She hopped up on the sofa with me, cradling her guitar on her lap. She pointed to my case. “That your guitar?”

“Yes ma’am.” I zipped the case open and pulled out my girl and a spare pic. “Her name is Liz.”

“You named it?”

“Of course I did. You have to name yours, too.”

“I’ll name mine Liz, too.”

“Uh…don’t you want to pick a different name?”

“Nope. I want Liz.”

“Okay, then. Sure.”

“Why did you name it Liz?”

“I like the name Elizabeth.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the name of a queen.”

“Why?”

“Because I like queens.”

She tilted her head to the side, thoughtfully studying my guitar. “Like the Queen of England?”

The pick I’d been holding took a tumble to the living room floor. “Yeah,” I said. “Like the Queen of England.”

“I wanna go to England some day! Will you tell my Daddy to take me? Plleeeassseee?”

“You want to go to England.”

“Yep!”

“Kid,” I extended a hand for a shake, “we’re gonna get along just great.”

***

Tia’s first lesson was a success, partially due to her inquisitiveness, love for the name Liz, and her general level of cuteness.

The kid was alright.

But now I was running late—Tony was a talker, and boy, did he talk my ear off after the lesson—and I had somewhere to be. Tonight was the Halloween party Whitney had invited me to, and I couldn’t wait to rush home, shower, and pick up my girl.

It didn’t take me long to wash up and throw on my Queen’s Foot Guard costume, complete with bearskin headpiece. I’d actually sucked it up and bought a costume. It was either that, or let Whitney dress me.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

She wanted to pick my costume, of course, but God only knew what humiliation she would’ve had in store for me if I’d let her get away with that one. So, I picked a form of humiliation I could at least live with, although I was really rethinking the damn headpiece. It wouldn’t fit while I drove, so I stuffed it on the passenger seat and sped off, anxious to see what Whitney had chosen to wear. She’d insisted on keeping it a secret, and I didn’t doubt for one second that she’d be a knockout in whatever the hell she chose.

I knocked on her door at 8:15, my jaw dropping when she answered.

“Hey you,” she said, planting a hand on her hip. Reaching forward, she grazed my chin and tipped it up, closing my gaping mouth. “Where’s the Queen?”

“You’re…” I shook my head, eyeing her up and down.

This absolutely was not happening. It couldn’t be possible.

“Will you marry me?” I stammered back, reaching for something, anything to hold myself upright.

She burst out laughing, pulling me inside and shutting the door. She did a little twirl to show off the goods, and I almost scooped her up and carried her off to the bedroom right then. “Well, do you like it or what?”

“Whitney, seriously. I will walk you down the damn aisle. Right now.”

“I’m Posh Spice!” She held her arms out and did another twirl. “What do ya think? Did I get it right?”

“I know exactly who you are.”

And I did.

There was no way this girl could have known my deepest, darkest secret—the enormous crush I’d had on The Spice Girls during middle school. No one knew. Not even Dean or Kate, and that was really saying something. If the truth ever got out, it would positively perpetuate the never-ending joke that I was Dean’s lover, until the end of time.

The theory
would not die
.

So I never told a soul. Even then, during my school days, when the crush was at an all-time high, I knew better to keep my mouth shut. I was already picked on for being the quiet, boring, nerdy kid. There was no surviving the torment for being a Spice Girls fan. Period.

Whitney played with her short wig, brushing the sides of the bob style down against her cheeks. “Posh was my favorite when I was a kid. And I figured you’d do something British, so…”

Funny. I pegged her for a Scary or Ginger fan.

“You nailed it, Whit. You look amazing.” I studied her short, tight black dress and black heels. I’d just keep the little fact that Ginger was my favorite to myself.

“You look pretty charming yourself, Montgomery. Where’s your hat?”

“Uh…yeah, about that…”

“You have to wear the bearskin hat thingy! The costume’s not the same without it!”

“It’s in the car. I think my dog chewed on it or something.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“The neighbor’s dog did.”

“You’re not getting out of this one that easily, you know.”

“Ha.” I held out my arm. “We’ll see about that. You ready?”

“Oh, I was born ready. I hope they’re ready for a British invasion.” She struck a pose, slipped her arm in mine, and we started for the door.

10
THORNS

By the time we arrived at her friend’s beach house, Whitney had gotten her way. The hat that came with my costume was firmly planted on my head. It was a struggle not to knock into people when we entered the party. I was worried I would take someone’s eye out or something. “I’m not keeping this thing on the whole night, you know,” I warned Whitney as we worked our way through the main hallway to the living room.

“Yes, you are!”

“If I injure someone with it, you’re responsible.”

“Just keep it on until I can find Em and have her take a picture of us.”

It didn’t take long to find Emma. She was making out with Jackson in the corner near the snack table. Damn, Jackson really had no shame. He had her pinned up against the wall, and she was clearly loving every second of it.

“Ugh. Jackson, she doesn’t need your cooties.” Whitney tugged at his shirt sleeve, effectively breaking up the make-out session.

He kept Emma caged against the wall, scowling at Whitney. “Hey, look who it is! The Black Widow. Peddle your poison elsewhere, Sinclair.”

Whitney pounded her clutch purse into his shoulder with an audible smack, but all he did was laugh. His cackle grew louder with each whack, until she finally abandoned her beating and addressed her friend. “Emma, I know I encouraged you to be with this asshat, but I’m starting to re-think my advice. I don’t think I was in my right frame of mind at the time.”

Emma smiled and rolled her eyes, pulling Jackson against her. “Come on, Whit. Play nice, will you?” She glanced over Whitney’s shoulder to greet me. “Hey, Carter, nice costume!”

“Thanks, same to you.”

Jackson grinned at me and mouthed
nice
,
right?
gesturing to Emma’s super-short mini skirt. She was dressed as a sexy sailor girl in a white, blue, and red skirt and top that bared her midriff and tied at the center of her boobs. The outfit was completed by a pigtail hairstyle and sky-high silver stilettos. Jackson was matching her, fully clad in sailor attire.

“Whit,” Emma asked, looking curious, “are you supposed to be a spy or something?”

“I’m a Spice Girl, Em! Guess which one.” She posed, sucking in her cheeks and popping a hip.

Jackson eyed her from head to toe. “Let me guess, you’re the bitchy one.”

“That’s it, Taylor!” Whitney sent another slap to his shoulder, and his roaring laughter resumed.

“Damn, Carter,” he said, raising his hands to block her assault, “I feel sorry for you, bro.”

“Whatever, you little parasite.” Whitney fluffed her wig and straightened her dress. “We’re out of here. You behave, Emma Pierce!”

“Yes,
Mom
,” Emma chided, smirking as she yanked Jackson’s mouth back to hers. We wandered off, in search of the party host and some much-needed drinks.

“Hey, didn’t you want Emma to take our picture?” I asked Whitney, grabbing some skeleton-themed cups from a tray.

“Meh. It can wait. One more second around Jackson and I’ll have a migraine.”

I laughed, handing her one of the cups. “In that case…”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Her hand shot up to my head, where I was already removing the hat.

“It itches. I’m taking it off. Don’t boss me around, lady. I’m putting my foot down with this one.”

Whitney’s shocked expression morphed into a proud smile. She crossed her arms and took the hat from me, tossing it into a nearby closet. “Good for you, Montgomery. I need to be put in my place every now and then.”

“I’m learning from the best.”

She softened and her cheeks reddened. Her lashes danced as she looked down and dropped her arms to the side. That thin veil of vulnerability I’d witnessed her wear beneath her saucy exterior was in full view now, and it made me want to kiss her.

“Hey,” I said softly, pulling her flush to me to bring my mouth close to hers, “you’re adorable, you know that?”

“Even when I’m prickly?”

“Even when you’re prickly.”

She grew quiet and her eyes rose to meet mine. “You’re good for me. The best, actually.”

“Yeah?” I guided her backward, away from the loud, rowdy living room crowd, toward the back sliding door. The stereo was blasting and there was movement everywhere—dancing, jumping, shouting, laughing—but I could hear her. Nothing and no one existed in that room at that moment except for us.

“Yeah.”

I was about to seal our kiss and capture the intimate moment, when a large, obnoxious body slammed into me from the side, knocking us both off balance.

“What the hell, Ruben?” I blurted, turning to face the Latino giant.

“Well hello to you, too, little English boy. And helllllooo, Whitney. Looking hot, as usual. What are you supposed to be, a spy or something?”

Whitney sighed. “What do you want, Ruben? Don’t you have one of your groupies around to keep you entertained?”

“Quite a few of them, actually.” He moved forward, towering over her. “But guess what? I want
you
.”