Emmy
À la seconde [ah / la / se-cund] v—A movement into second position
To say the Village is big would be an understatement. It’s like stepping into a cement corn maze with endless corridors. Altogether it takes us thirty minutes to find the correct room number.
Before we follow the loud din of voices inside, Evie stops to smooth her hair and then swings her Chloe bag off her shoulder and pulls out her favorite department store lip gloss. Color: Double Dare. Only Evie could make hot pink look classy and not eighties trashy. I’m partial to whatever brand the drug store sells with Daisy Duck on the tube. But to each her own, I guess.
Evie tries to hand me Double Dare, but I wave it away. “I’m good.”
Her eyes crease at the corners as if to say, You’re really not. When I ignore her, she loops her arm through Kennedy’s, and they walk inside. I follow after them.
Vaulted ceilings, modern gray wallpaper, and several couches make for an inviting party area. A ping-pong ball bounces off a table at regular intervals, barely audible over the crowd.
We press through the mass to the back corner of the room where a group of twenty or so sits on a large sectional.
“We made it just in time.” Kennedy points to a guy sitting on an ottoman, pulling a guitar out of a case. Messy-styled blond hair. Dimples. Broad shoulders. Cute, if not cliché. Evie takes one look at the guy, who I’m guessing must be Q, and does a squeal face at Kennedy. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we share identical DNA. Evie and Kennedy crowd onto the end of the sofa, leaving me no room to join them. I scan the couch for a place to sit, but the only one open is right in front of Q. Great.
Careful not to bump his guitar, I slide past him and sit down. As he brushes his fingers down the guitar strings, the group quiets for the show. The song starts off slow and full of angst. Wait, I’ve heard this one before. Damian Rice. Good taste. And surprisingly, Q has a nice voice. Soft. Smooth. Sultry, even.
He scans his admirers, and our eyes catch. My face flames, and though I hate to admit it, I can understand what Evie sees in this guitar player. He’s cute. But then a girl on my right sighs, and Q’s gaze moves from me and settles on her with a wink. It surprises me so much I almost laugh at the hilarity of the situation. It’s like witnessing the human version of an animal mating dance.
An intense urge to laugh or snort or do something else entirely inappropriate overwhelms me. Trying not to make a fool of myself, I press my lips together. Q must take my expression as flirting though, because the corner of his mouth quirks up and his eyes lock on me as he sings.
Mortified, I look down and study my peeling nail polish. As soon as he hits the last note, I stand from the couch to make my escape. “I’m going to get some water,” I say as I scoot past Evie and Kennedy. They nod, and I pretend not to notice their disgruntled looks as I walk to the mini kitchen. Water bottles line the counter. I grab one and take a quick sip. Before I have time to set it down, someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Hey,” Q says in a husky voice. But not real husky, like he’s trying too hard husky.
“Hi.”
He leans against the counter and crosses his feet. It’s the kind of relaxed position only a guy who knows he’s good-looking can pull off. Unfortunately, that kind of guy isn’t my kind of guy. He’s got the wrong twin.
“Did you like the song?” Q asks me the question, but he keeps scanning the room like he’s at a buffet and wants to make sure someone else doesn’t walk away with something better than what’s already in front of him.
“Yeah. Sure. It was great.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
I’m sure I liked the song. I’m also sure I don’t want to encourage him. He seems like the type of guy who requires a lot of attention, and I’m not interested in being the girl to give him that attention. It would be mean to lead him on, so I say, “It was a nice song.”
“Pretty song for a pretty girl.” Q reaches toward my face, and I rear back. “Easy there.” He holds his hands up, then inches them toward me. “You have hair in your face.”
I freeze, wanting to move away but physically unable. His fingers are rough against my cheek as he tucks loose strands of hair behind my ear. He leans against the counter again, watching me like he’s waiting for me to react. Maybe I’m supposed to swoon or something.
“Thank you?”
His chest puffs like a strutting peacock. “Anytime.” He grabs a bottle of water and takes a quick swig. As he sets it back down, he not so subtly checks me out. “So what are you? A dancer or something?”
I pull my draped pink cardigan tightly around me, trying to hide my black yoga pants from his appraising stare. Maybe this isn’t the best outfit to wear to a party, but we’re playing ultimate at FHE tonight, and I wanted to be ready so I could go straight there after the party. “Yeah. I, uh, dance ballet.”
“Nice.” Q smirks. “Want to show me a spin or something?” He swirls his hand in the air.
Do I want to show him a spin or something? That would be a negative.
“I mean it’s only fair.” He continues to flirt, oblivious to my disinterest. “I showed you my talent; you should show me yours.”
I frown. “I’m not going to dance for you.”
“Another time, maybe.”
“Not likely.”
Now Q frowns, but then a girl walks by, and his eyes light back up. This is why I’m not attracted to guitar players. They have less than a two-minute attention span.
My eyes wander over Q’s shoulder to the door, searching for a valid excuse to walk away. While I don’t find an acceptable reason to leave, I do find something worth staying for.
Rhys walks into the room with a determined stride that makes it obvious my study partner is here for a specific reason. I never knew the way someone walks could be attractive. A face, a personality, absolutely. But a walk? No clue. Rhys has serious swagger. I’ll admit it. He’s make-your-eyes-melt hot.
He holds up a phone to a guy sitting on a couch, and though I can’t see his friend’s expression because his back is to me, it’s obvious from his body language he’s very happy to see the phone.
Q follows my gaze to Rhys. “Someone you know?”
“What? Oh no. Well, sort of . . . We have a class together. Do you know him? Is he in your ward?”
Q appraises Rhys and shakes his head. “Nope. Never seen the guy before.”
“Oh.” I watch Rhys hand over the phone, slap his friend on the back, and then start toward the door. He is nearly outside when a guy in front of him collides with a girl, knocking a case of water bottles out of her arms and onto the floor. The guy doesn’t stop, so Rhys stoops to help her instead. They pile the bottles back onto the flat, and then he rushes out the door. The girl he helped looks about as disappointed as I feel to see him go. Reluctantly, I turn back to Q.
“Em.”
I sigh in relief when I hear Evie’s voice behind me, but the feeling fades when I turn and find both Evie and Kennedy tucked under the arms of some way-too-muscled guy.
“You really are a twin!” Muscles says to Evie.
Q’s eyes dart from me to Evie, and a Cheshire-cat grin grows across his face.
“If I hit on one of you, will you both go out with me?” Muscles asks.
Never heard that one before.
“We aren’t conjoined twins, silly.” Evie giggles, and Q can’t take his eyes off her.
“I’m Q.”
“Evie.”
And that’s my cue to go. There will be no sisterly bonding tonight. I check the time on my cell.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Evie pouts.
I hate it when she acts like this to get a guy’s attention. Maybe if I ask her to come to FHE in front of Q, she’ll agree to impress him. “I should get to FHE. Why don’t you come with—”
“I’ll give you a ride home if you want to stay,” Q says to Evie.
Evie beams. “I’d love that. Thank you.” She turns back to me. “All settled, then. Have fun at FHE.”
Well, that backfired. “You sure? I could stay a little longer . . .”
“I’m pahhhsitive.” Evie’s eyes flash to me like she’s trying to convey a secret message. All that’s missing is a conspiratorial wink.
“Right. Okay.”
Evie turns a smile loose on Q, and I walk away. Nothing about this day has gone how I hoped it would.