Jack tossed and turned on the organic cotton sheets stretched tightly over the horsehair- and felt-filled California king-size mattress. No matter what, she just couldn’t get comfortable. She’d woken up half an hour ago, still in her white Dior gown, but was way too dizzy and nauseated to get up and take it off.
Next to her, J.P. was sprawled out facedown, still wearing his black Harris loafers. So much for passionate sex. She and Avery had ditched the party sometime after midnight and gone to a totally divey bar, where they were the only girls. They’d drunk pitcher after pitcher of crappy beer, done shots with some off-duty cops, and actually had fun. Jack had glanced at her phone around 2 a.m. only to find ten frantic messages from J.P. and his dad, wondering where she was. She’d gotten Avery into a cab and returned to the lofts, where she was immediately whisked away for more photo opportunities, more introductions to totally boring people, and more interviews with dorky cable channels.
And more drinks?
Because she’d disappeared for two hours, Candice and Jean-nette wouldn’t even let J.P. and Jack out of their sight until 4 a.m., when the party finally wound down. Then, they’d insisted that a NY1 reporter follow them up to the apartment to do a final closing interview. Jack sincerely hoped she didn’t sound like a complete idiot on it. Actually, thinking about it, she didn’t really give a fuck. She closed her eyes again. Maybe when she opened them, she’d feel less hungover.
Unfortunately, being the face of the Cashman Lofts doesn’t come with superpowers.
“Ughhh,” J.P. moaned, and flung his arm over Jack’s chest in a dreamy haze. Rather than being turned on, Jack was completely turned off. Why couldn’t he stick to his side of the bed?
She queasily swung her feet to the ground, practically stepping on Magellan. The little dog gave a low-pitched whine of indignation as she jumped onto the bed.
“Off,” Jack hissed, pushing the puppy off the bed. She glanced around the loft. Overnight the hammered-steel countertop in the kitchen had become flooded with gift baskets and bottles of wine. When had that happened?
She wobbled over to the counter and snatched a blueberry muffin from one of the gift baskets. She took a bite. It was totally stale.
“Gorgeous?” J.P. croaked, rolling over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair was sticking straight up and there was a red pillow indent on the side of his face.
“Morning.” Suddenly, Jack had a vision of herself and J.P., fifty years later, still living in the Cashman Lofts. Still waking up to him calling her gorgeous. Still getting way too drunk on champagne and then eating stale muffins the next morning.
“You okay?” J.P. asked, obviously noticing Jack’s falling expression.
Jack glanced over at J.P. They’d been together since ninth grade, when they’d met at the Silver and Gold Ball. She’d immediately been attracted to his low-key confidence, the fact that he didn’t need to prove himself, that he was fine floating through life at an even keel. Jack had loved that about him when they’d started dating, since it offset her tendency toward drama. But now she wanted just a little bit of intrigue. Everything—their entire future—lay before her like a really predictable movie. One that probably wouldn’t even air on Lifetime, it was so boring. Jack sighed.
“I don’t think this is working,” she said in a rush, taking another large bite of muffin so she wouldn’t have to explain. She didn’t even know where that had come from.
J.P.’s mouth dropped open in an O of disbelief.
“I mean, the apartment’s not working,” Jack added, her mouth still full. “I mean, there’s so much pressure and so many people watching us. And it’s just a lot of time together, and maybe not in the right way. I mean, have you noticed everyone treats us like we’re married?”
“Yeah.” J.P. paused. “It’s kind of nice.”
Jack took a deep breath. “I think we need to slow down. It’s great and all that your dad offered me this apartment, but… it’s too much. I mean, we’re only sixteen, you know? I’m moving to my father’s place downtown,” she said, surprising herself. Hopefully her dad would take her in. But she knew it was true: She couldn’t stay here anymore.
“I’m going to take a shower. I think I need some alone time.” She turned and stalked to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t be there when she got out.
If he knows what’s good for him.